Making Grandma’s charoset (or how I learned to love Passover)

By Edgar M. Bronfman for JTA

When I walked into the house through the back door one day as a young man, I was shocked to see my mother in the kitchen. To put it mildly, this was not one of her favorite places. When I asked her why she was there, a look of panic crossed her face.

“Now that Grandma’s gone,” she explained, “I have to make the charoset.”

Sensing her culinary discomfort, I volunteered to take over.

With a look of vast relief, she fled the scene. Guided by the memory of my grandmother’s charoset — the sweet, chunky, fruity mixture that symbolizes the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves to build Egypt’s real estate — I chopped up apples and walnuts and added raisins.

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