Opinion: Chummus Maleh

By Azriel Ganz

Issue of July 10, 2009 / 18 Tammuz 5769

I wasn’t planning on speaking at my grandson’s shalom zachor. There were other people more qualified to speak and, in any event, with all the craziness of the preceding three days, I really hadn’t had time to prepare.

The baby was born on Tuesday afternoon in Yerushalayim. By the time we worked out all the arrangements that would enable us to leave for a few days it was late Tuesday night. We booked our flight on Wednesday morning, packed Wednesday night and hopped on the plane Thursday evening.

After a smooth, uneventful flight, we arrived in Nachlaot after 3:00 p.m. After setting down our bags, I asked whether there were any last minute items our kids needed for Shabbos or the shalom zachor. Their wonderful friends from the community had provided all the meals for Shabbos as well as a bunch of delicious cakes, so almost everything was already done.

All we needed was a bottle of wine and, of course, that staple of shalom zachors, chickpeas (even though, as is well known, no one really eats chickpeas). Zev asked whether I would mind running to the shuk (Machine Yehuda), which is a three minute walk from their apartment, to pick up those last minute items.

I realized as I was about to leave that neither of us knew exactly what chickpeas are called in Hebrew. Arbis? Zev thought they might be called “garinei chummus” or chummus seeds, but wasn’t sure. He called a friend who wasn’t sure either. I decided that as a lawyer with 30 years experience at solving problems, I would somehow figure out how to buy arbis in the shuk and went on my way.

Sure enough, at the first makolet, I was able to get the chickpeas in a can. What struck me was that it was called “Chummus Maleh” or “whole Chummus.” I found this deeply intriguing and thought about it for a while. I then asked Zev if it would be OK for me to say a few words at the shalom zachor; an idea was percolating.

Later that evening, I noted how curious it was that chickpeas, which, after all, are the source, the “makor” for chummus, are named after that which is its derivative. It is like calling sesame seeds “Tehinah Maleh,” whole tehinah. I wondered how the chickpeas would feel if they knew that they were named in such a strange, seemingly backwards manner.

Then I suggested that if the chickpeas were like Jewish parents, they would be very happy. While generally people prefer to be known for their own accomplishments and skills, there is no greater joy for Jewish parents than to be referred to in relation to their successful children.

Throughout the years, we’ve experienced this in relation to our children’s various talents. “That’s Zev’s or Max’s (the sick hockey players) dad.”  “That’s Rebecca’s (of the amazing voice) mom.”  “That’s Shira’s (the amazing dancer) mom.” While it is sweet and nice to hear these things, that’s not really what I’m talking about.

What we, as parents, really yearn for is to be described as the parents of a mentch; a ba’al or ba’alas midos and chesed, an erliche Yid (upstanding Jew) who treats people with respect and honor. We daven that the lives our children lead will cause us to be known as the parents of children who give back to the community through their vocations or avocations, children who, simply put, make a difference.

My bracha to Zev and Aliza was that they be so successful in raising their little son (and all their children) that they will come to be known not just as “chickpeas” for the things they’ve accomplished personally, but as “Chummus Maleh,” in relation to the wonderful accomplishments of their children.

Azriel Ganz is general counsel of a trade organization though, for simplicity's sake, he tells people that he eats for a living. He lives in Woodmere and davens at Aish Kodesh where, on most Shabbat mornings, he can be found pacing.