October 7 changed me from biscuit baker to accidental activist

I am a passionate and slightly obsessive person who really loves food. My late father couldn’t understand my obsession and wondered how such a thing could happen. Ironically, it came from all the stories he told me about his balaboosta mother, my Buba Shendel, who I never knew. (More on that another time.) 

Cooking and eating, and talking about cooking and eating, have been an enormous part of my life thanks to my DNA, the man I married and my life’s work, the Monday Morning Cooking Club project. Social media gave me the perfect vehicle to share my obsession.

I would eat at my favourite Bondi cafe, photographing the exceptional fattoush salad with smoked trout before eating, to share the joy and encourage others to go. I spent many holiday hours making videos of buttery, crisp-shelled, just-doughy croissants in Paris and flaky molten-custard Portuguese tarts in Lisbon.

I baked fluffy flour-dusted mini pita breads and fried soft eggy matzo brei, filming every mouthwatering step along the way. I created a ten-part food show called Walking up an Appetite, where I walked, ate and cooked (my three favourite pastimes) my way across Sydney.  

Was I too obsessed? Did my social media feed serve any purpose other than deliciousness? I can easily rationalise it. Instagram made sense alongside the Monday Morning Cooking Club project. Our mission was to collect, curate and publish the recipes and stories from our food-obsessed Jewish community, which we did through our four books. Over the years, the essence of our community - the family table, culinary traditions around the festivals and preserving all of these for future generations - became an intrinsic part of my life.

Social media was the way to showcase it all. The platform, alongside the books, encouraged and inspired people to cook with confidence and joy and to be part of a unique cooking community with shared values and interests.

I rationalised further that all the cafe visits, travel videos and miscellaneous food content was “for the project” or “for the show”.

And then came October 7. Israel. The massacre. The savagery. Disbelief, death and destruction. The hostages. Unimaginable horror.

Then the celebrations in western Sydney, the violent words and flames on the Opera House steps. Inexplicable hate directed at my people. The ground beneath us began to give way. As did my social media world. 

After joining 10,000 Sydneysiders at the first prayer vigil, I felt connected and supported. I created a video on Instagram, tagging #IstandwithIsrael. Cue hate-filled comments and 2000 unfollows. It was a sad moment. Sounds a little unhinged now, but my initial reaction was to make cholent, the ultimate Jewish centuries-old comfort food: slow cooked beef, beans, barley and potato. Truly soul-soothing. It’s a reminder of the old world, of communities united and strong despite hardship. And together, on Instagram, we cooked cholent, united in grief.

My usual scrolling for food content stopped and I started obsessively looking for everything to do with Israel and the reaction in the diaspora - Instagram, X, podcasts, articles, interviews, Zooms. I stopped posting what I was eating and started posting about Israel, deliberately curating content to share those messages most important to me.

I became more brave as the weeks went by, and, unsurprisingly, received more hate. “Go to hell, Grandma,” was one response, but not the worst.

I tried to find a way, through food, to share important messages. Come for the food, stay for the activism inspiration!

I made my Shabbat “essential” Egg and Onion. I told the story of tradition, of a recipe passed down from my grandmother, a dish which reflects the longevity, unity and strength of our people. 

I baked our classic Chocolate Chiffon Cake which tells the Jewish story of tradition, family and life, while imploring people out there to address the elephant in the room:  how can they not see that Hamas was the enemy?

I made a Challah bread pudding in the face of the terrible hate towards the Jewish people and Israel, trying to encourage anyone listening to stand up and be strong in the face of such hatred.

I baked a Plum Cake in gratitude for being called a Zionist. I made Latkes for Chanukah to tell the story of long ago as evidence of our claim to the land. I kneaded challah, feeling immense Jewish pride with each fist of dough, urging everyone to stand up to the unbearable hate.

Like so many, I have become all-consumed with social media’s role spreading antisemitism and anti-Zionism here in Australia, against the terrifying backdrop of the hostages still in Gaza and the necessary war against Hamas and its tragic outcome for Palestinian civilians.

I am heartbroken to see so many chefs and cooks, who I used to revere, unable to see past their inexplicable, irrational hate of Zionists to have a conversation with me. I guess, though, one door closes and another opens, and I have since found an incredibly inspiring and impressive online community of passionate Zionists.

For the moment, creating food content for its own sake has lost its joy for me. I find creating food content with a serious message extremely challenging and I can’t even tell you why. Maybe it feels like too much of a dichotomy. Most days I feel overwhelmed by the vile rhetoric circulating on socials. I ask myself every few days, am I doing something worthwhile?

I know I am not changing those minds that can’t be changed, but I hope I am speaking out for those who feel they have no voice. And I really hope that I am now inspiring even just a few to be strong, to stand up and to speak out.

Will I ever go back to posting food for no purpose other than sharing deliciousness?

Maybe once the hostages are returned. Maybe once Hamas’s military is wiped out. Maybe once Israel can live in peace. 

Am Yisrael chai (with a bowl of chicken soup and kreplach by my side).