Over deviled eggs, latkes, bagels, and roe, Naama Shefi—wearing her lucky carp brooch—is expounding on the diversity that exists within Jewish cuisine. We’re at the historic Russ & Daughters cafe on Manhattan’s Lower East Side sharing quintessential New York City-centric Jewish foods—but as Shefi knows better than anyone, the diaspora is sprawling and multicultural, so the definition of “Jewish food” encompasses something much broader than gefilte fish and matzah ball soup.
She explains that even in Israel, the varied geography and agricultural traditions contribute to a unique dining experience. “People think about Israel as a desert, but it is actually made up of many micro climates,” she says. “It’s a tiny place, smaller than New Jersey, but it has green mountains, a beautiful coast, lush valleys—and also a desert. When you have that kind of density, creativity, and immigrants from 70 nations, ideas and recipes travel at a very rapid pace, and then they transform and combine in very interesting ways. Toss that into the Mediterranean climate and what you have is the perfect culinary storm.”
Such discussion is at the heart of the Jewish Food Society’s popular podcast, Schmaltzy, hosted by program director Amanda Dell—and where the intersection of Jewish identity and food is explored through interviews with guests like Alison Roman, Jerry Saltz, and Maira Kalman—as well as Shefi’s new print publication. Asif Journal’s first issue covers a variety of topics ranging across the Halachic judgment regarding lab-grown steak, how kibbeh was transformed as a result of its relocation to Israel, and the essential ingredients that make up the Ethiopian pantry.
It’s an endeavor to catalog as many Jewish recipes and culinary traditions as possible, and an attempt to capture the true diversity and breadth of Jewish food culture. Asif recently published its first issue, celebrating one year of Asif: Culinary Institute of Israel in Tel Aviv. (Asif: Culinary Institute of Israel is a joint venture between two nonprofits, the New York-based Jewish Food Society and the Tel Aviv-based Start-Up Nation Central.)
Asif, which means “harvest” in Hebrew, also translates its work into Arabic, and centers Palestinian and Arab food stories that are often overlooked. A beautifully designed culinary digest printed on thick cardstock, the publication shares the institute’s explicit aims “to bring the Arab society into this dialogue,” as Shefi says, “because it’s clear that one of the most significant influences on our cuisine is Palestinian Arab food.” When I spoke with the 42-year-old at the magazine’s December launch party, held at Chef Michael Solomonov’s new restaurant, K’far in Williamsburg, she had temporarily lost her voice, and in a hoarse whisper, emphasized: “We want to cover every iteration of Israeli food traditions.”
A spread from Asif Journal, designed by Field Day Studio and co-edited by Matan Choufan.
Shefi grew up on a kibbutz—an intentional, typically agriculture-based community—in 1980s Israel, and began working a variety of jobs around age 10, making paninis for visitors to the community’s country club and tending to the cornfield. Her mother, an educator who recognized her daughter’s talent, told Shefi she must realize her potential; she took her out of the kibbutz education system and sent her to art school, which she likens to the Juilliard of Tel Aviv. (It was there that she studied filmmaking and learned the fundamentals of storytelling.) Her hybrid kibbutz and art school life informed much of the way Shefi approaches the world; the collectivism of the kibbutz taught her how to work in a community and think of others, while her later experiences studying filmmaking at The New School taught her how to analyze the world around her and develop a strong point of view.
To be proudly Israeli is complicated for obvious political reasons, but, Shefi says, “I do feel that from different circumstances and influences, the result is that, in this country, the food culture is something extremely diverse and extremely exciting.” Asif exists to research those influences, “and to know them and to honor them, and to just give them space,” she says—something more difficult to accomplish than one might think, because “with food media, there is no gray. But 20 percent of Israel’s population is Arab, and of course, the influence on the cuisine is tremendous. So this is really part of that.”
As a nonprofit with limited resources, translating and creating content from an Arabic point of view for what may ultimately be a small readership is a big commitment. But Shefi is playing the long game and acknowledges that in the early years of building an institution, it’s natural that people will be skeptical. “It’s on us to gain their trust,” she says, “and hopefully, to grow interest in the content.”
In creating exhibitions and events at the culinary institute in Tel Aviv, and producing stories and content for the website and journal, Shefi and her team have prioritized Arab voices, too. In their first year, they reached out to every Arab researcher and chef they knew to ask them to collaborate, to teach them, and to share their knowledge. Still, not everyone has been on board with her vision. “Some people accept this invitation with enthusiasm, and others not,” Shefi says.
In 2021, the Palestinian Arabic editor at the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz,accused Shefi and the institute of “cultural and culinary appropriation,” writing that presenting Palestinian foods as Israeli cuisine reflects “the injustices of the occupation, discrimination, and cultural erasure of the Palestinians in Israel.”
“I totally respect and understand where people are coming from,” Shefi tells me. “I do.” She tries to convince potential collaborators as much as she can, “that what we’re trying to create is about providing space and about honoring truly, with all honesty, your culture, your influence, your history. And yes, sometimes it brings difficult conversations. It’s not all pink, not at all. But that’s part of the job,” she says.
A spread from Asif Journal, designed by Field Day Studio and co-edited by Matan Choufan.
“I mean, I can’t tell you that we’re going to fix [everything],” Shefi continues. “But I do feel like that’s the place of art and film and food. It’s people to people. So just to be more knowledgeable about people who live next to you. It’s really about that.”
A month after that conversation, the Jewish Food Society co-hosted a Passover Seder with the designer Susan Alexandra in lower Manhattan. More than double the number of expected guests arrived, and extra tables and place settings were hastily crammed into corners to accommodate the eager crowd. The rabbi, Samantha Frank, said that it was in the spirit of Passover to make room, so none would be turned away. She pointed out the orange on the Seder plate, in recognition of LGBTQ+ Jews and others who are marginalized in the Jewish community, and acknowledged: “It’s only within the last 10 years or so that women could even lead a Seder like this.”
“This is very different from the Seder I had with my family last night,” Shefi told me. Her mother, father, and sister, all in town from Israel, had shared an intimate and thoughtful meal the night before, reflecting on the ongoing political conflict and injustice in their home country. Meanwhile, at our non-traditional celebration, we were served eggplant tachin: a Persian baked rice dish from Orly Elyashar that traces its history to the Hamedani Jewish community Elyashar grew up in, in Iran. As far as metaphors for Shefi’s project go, it’s a neat one: subtle, a little subversive, and straight from the heart.
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