Hafroshas challah. Separating the challah dough. One of the few mitzvos given specifically to the Jewish woman. Our Sages relate that observing the mitzvah of “hafroshas challah” brings an abundance of blessing to the Jewish home. Why was it, then, that I almost never found the time or the energy to bake challah? It was probably a test. We are told that Hashem only tests a person if He knows that he or she will pass. I was determined to be a winner!

We were in the midst of the month of Elul. Rosh Hashanah was fast approaching, heralding the beginning of a new year.

It was Friday night. I glanced around me. Everyone was gathered at the dining room table waiting for the recital of kiddush.

“I’m sorry, I had a very busy week,” I replied meekly. “If you really want me to bake challah, please remind me earlier.”

They did. The following week, rather than approaching me at the Shabbos table, they reminded me on Friday afternoon. After school. After they were all bathed and ready for Shabbos. After the silver was shined and the table was set.

“That’s still much too late for me. The challah would never have a chance to rise properly and be ready in time for Shabbos.” Again, the children were disappointed.

Beneath it all, I was grateful that they loved my challah so much. They often told me that it tasted more like Danish pastry or coffee cake. On the rare occasion that I did bake challah, it had an exceptionally sweet taste—almost like the taste of Shabbos itself.

I made a (silent) resolution that very moment to bake challah for the following Shabbos without anyone having to remind me. After all, wasn’t the month of Elul a time for making good resolutions for the coming year?

I awoke early on Monday morning and composed a grocery list. I wanted to be sure to have all the ingredients on hand. I would need plenty of flour, sugar, eggs, oil and yeast.

The store was practically empty when I got there; just a few earlybirds were there before me. We had a certain respect for one another. We were all people who enjoyed getting a head start on the day. I always shop first thing in the morning when I can get in and out of the supermarket in a minimum amount of time. It is fun browsing the almost-deserted aisles without bumping into shopping carts headed in all directions. The cashiers are friendlier early in the morning as well. After all, they have not yet dealt with those disagreeable customers who rush in late, grab the wrong item and yell at the cashier before he or she does anything wrong. My goal is to be out of the store before those grumpy individuals terminate their snooze alarms for the final time.

The store had everything on my list, except for the brand of yeast that I preferred—the Quik-Rise variety that makes the challah ready to bake in half the time. I knew there were other brands that might work just as well, but why take chances? After all, the yeast I always use has never failed me.

Then again, I deliberated, if I purchased the “other” brand, I would have all the ingredients I needed when I was ready to start baking. Who knew if I would get to the store again in the next few days?

After standing in the aisle for a while trying to resolve the yeast dilemma, I decided to buy the “other” brand. If I was lucky enough to get to the store again, I would see if they had gotten in my favorite brand. Otherwise, I would use the new one. You never know until you try something whether or not you will like it, I figured. I recounted numerous occasions when I had braved a new product and was more than pleased with the results. (I also recounted at least as many occasions when I was disappointed, but I put those out of my mind.)

As it turned out, I never did get back to the store that week. First the car broke down, then school was canceled for a couple of days. There was no way I would take the children along with me to the supermarket. (That would be an article in itself.) Then we had unexpected company.

On Thursday morning, I decided it was now or never. As I would need quite a supply of challah to feed my family as well as all of our Shabbos guests, I decided to double the recipe.

I combined the ingredients just as I had done so many times before. Then I added the “new” brand of yeast. I glanced at the clock to be sure of what time the dough would be ready. I set the kitchen timer, covered the dough and set off to do some chores around the house.

At about the same time the dough was ready for a good punching, the school bus arrived bringing my nursery and pre-1-A’ers home for the day. I quickly called them into the kitchen to watch the punching of the dough. Then I covered the dough once again for the second rising. Forty-five minutes later, exactly as indicated on my tried-and-true recipe, I went to punch down the challah dough again. I could not believe what I saw. The dough had risen to such heights that it was out of the bowl and all over the countertop!

I punched it down, separated the necessary challah for burning, said the blessing, and divided the dough into two very large bowls.

I had never seen dough elevated to such heights. I decided that it was a “simon bracha”—a sign of blessing. Although challah is very difficult and time-consuming for me to bake, since I put forth the effort, Hashem had rewarded me tenfold. On the other hand, perhaps it was simply the new brand of yeast that I had used. (As I favored my first theory, however, I pushed the second thought aside.)

In any case, I ended up with more challah than ever before—which also turned out to be a blessing. I always delight in sharing my good fortune with others. Why keep something so special all to myself? Besides, the more challah I had available to distribute, the better. I chuckled as I recalled the last time I baked challah. I made sure to send a few to my next-door neighbors in the hope that it would remind them that Shabbos was coming. My young neighbor later informed me that her parents enjoyed the “rolls” with their coffee on Friday morning. When the challos had cooled, I sent a few to a lonely woman who lived down the block. The smile they brought to her face was certainly contagious. Then there was my good friend who had not been feeling well. I was sure a few freshly-baked challos were exactly what she needed to make her feel better. She thanked me profusely, took two pain-killers, and went back to bed.

Soon the older children returned from school and asked to sample the freshly-baked challah. “Just one roll each,” I was quick to respond. “Remember, I made them for Shabbos, not for Thursday night sampling. Besides, I already distributed more than I planned and need all the rest.”

They each took a challah roll. They also gave rolls to their friends who came over. I was too busy washing all the pans to pay attention. I still had to prepare the chicken soup, roast chicken, kugels, assorted side dishes and dessert. The list went on and on...

It was not until I set the table on Friday afternoon that I realized there were no challos to place under the challah cover. I had given away more than I realized and my children had taken care of the rest. Gratefully, I still had time to run to the bakery and buy what we needed. But, of course, somehow, they just didn’t taste the same. No one complained. They all knew why there was no home-baked challah on the Shabbos table.

The following week, in honor of Rosh Hashanah, we tripled the recipe. We had enough to share and plenty for our guests and family to enjoy. May we merit the coming of Moshiach speedily in our days so that we can celebrate the New Year and observe the mitzvah of lechem hapanim (showbread) in Yerushalayim.

Sara Gottlieb lives in Oak Park, Michigan and is a frequent contributor to The Jewish Homemaker.