It
is Pesach. I want to speak with you about matzo, about
the Americanization of matzo to be exact. I want to tell you a true
story. It shows us that what happened regarding the making of matzo
and reveals so very much about our modern day society and values.
My comments are based a great deal on the research of Dr.
Jonathan Sarna of Brandeis University under the sponsorship of
the American Jewish Archives.
Until
the late 1800s matzo was made by hand, everywhere. When I say everywhere,
I mean in every city and village, every yeshivah and shul,
in every shtetl and dorf. For the month before Pesach,
lots of poor Jews would find temporary employment assisting in the
making of matzo, a job that would frequently make a huge difference
for the good concerning the annual income of these workers.

Individuals
had their specialties. There was the baker and the apprentice
to the baker called the mehl mester. He measured the flour.
Then there was the weiser-giesser who poured cold water
into the batter under the critical gaze of the kneader. After
the matzo was rolled it was turned over to the perforator,
a youngster who handled a wheel called the roedel. The handle
would be turned and the roedel would run over the matzo in parallel
lines to prevent it from rising and swelling. The derlanger
carried the matzo on a rolling pin to the schieber, a man who
placed it in the oven with a shovel. Before he did this, for just
the right amount of time, he examined carefully each piece to be sure
it met standards.
So
it went, for century after century, generation after generation. Matzo
was made everywhere there were Jews. No particular brands dominated
the market.
Then
came Dov
Baer Manischewitz who settled in Cincinnati, Ohio, and built
there the largest matzo factory with the largest oven on earth. He
developed an automated means of preparing the dough, a process that
would yield kosher for Passover matzo untouched by human hands.
He created a new technology to create a superior product, but how
could he gain acceptance for it?
He
would need rabbinic approval, not only from American but also from
European rabbinic authorities, and most important--the okay from leading
rabbis in Palestine. He would have to convince the masses of Jews
that the matzo that was ballyhooed as hand made was inferior to matzo
made by machine. He would have to overcome the reality of the cottage
industry that made matzo cheaply in thousands of localities and supplant
that reality by demonstrating that he could manufacture matzo mechanically
more cheaply than the small matzo makers could. He would have to overcome
halachic objections; objections based on interpretations of Jewish
law. What chance did he have against such odds?
Professor
David Ellenson of the Hebrew Union College recently published
an old responsum, an answer to a question asked about Jewish
practice. This responsum dealt with whether machine made matzo was
acceptable Jewishly. The answer written by Solomon Kluger goes on
for four fully printed pages of single spaced text. The answer is
a definitive NO! Why?
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First,
it will throw the poor out of work. It is an assault on the needy.
Unacceptable.
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Second,
the machine works on its own and the law says that a discerning,
knowledgeable man must supervise the baking, making decisions as
the baking takes place. Automation may lead to mistakes.
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.Third,
the people consuming this possibly imperfect matzo will not know
what they are eating. To prevent the contamination of the supply,
the mechanically produced matzos must be banned from entering the
market place.
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Fourth,
the matzo is moistened with lukewarm water. A passage in the Talmud
(Maseket Pesachim 36b) states that this practice
is not acceptable. It could lead to leavening.
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And
lastly the shape of the matzo could be wrong. Only human supervision
can make sure the shape is correct. That is also clear from the
Talmud, Pesachim 37b.
Here
is the conclusion: 'Therefore, do not veer from the custom of your
fathers."
How
might Manischewitz overcome such strong rabbinic opposition? Money.
First of all, not all rabbinic authorities agreed with the opponents
of machine manufactured matzo. Manischewitz brought many of them to
examine his process. They approved it. Now, it so happened that they
were also from his hometown in Europe and some were relatives. But
he did gain a measure of rabbinic endorsement for his high tech approach.
With that he began to fund yeshivahs in Europe and Palestine
that bore his name.
He
got the money in part from the proceeds from the matzo he made the
rest of the year, the regular matzo not meant to be kosher for Pesach
produced in his vast oven in his plant in Cincinnati. It was known
as "Cincinnati Matzo" then, just as today fame has attached itself
to Cincinnati chili.
He
contributed to the education of rabbis in the places he needed them
to be. They were trained to be in favor of the machine made Cincinnati
matzo for Pesach. They got ordained and went forth to spread
the Manischewitz "gospel."
Before
too long the 100,000 square foot factory in Cincinnati that produced
75,000 pounds of matzo per day, with each piece the exact same dimensions
as every other piece, slowly bled to death the matzo
baking endeavors in the thousands of towns where Jews lived in American,
Europe and Palestine.
Marketing
and advertising paved the way. Suddenly it was deemed best to eat
matzo that no human hand had touched. It was deemed cleaner. The making
of the mechanical matzo was called more precise. Even the square shape
was advertised as vastly superior to the rounded matzo of local producers.
The
small matzo businesses closed down one by on. The mehl mester,
the weiser-geisser, the kneader, the perforator with the roedel,
the derlanger, and the schieber with his shovel--all of them lost
their jobs. The poor Jews who worked in these little bakeries would
have to earn their keep elsewhere by other means. The big matzo producer,
Manischewitz, just squeezed them out of business.
Imitators
of Manischewitz quickly seized on the fame he had developed for his
Cincinnati Matzo. They began calling their matzo by this name. Now
Manischewitz had to convince people to look for his name on the box,
rather than the name of the city in which it was baked. He used marketing
techniques to instigate yet another change in the matzo scene.
Traditionally
men bought the Passover matzos for their families, but women were
fast becoming the primary purchasers. His ads would have to change
to reflect this new phenomenon.
In
the 1930s a popular ad revealed a square piece of matzo touching a
drawing of the huge bakery with an American and Jewish-Palestinian
flag flying from the pole on the rooftop, Underneath the illustrations
were these words:
The
Manischewitz Bakery is a Temple of kashrut, a palace of cleanliness.
Manischewitz matzo is endorsed by leading rabbis, and may be partaken
by the most exacting and pious. Protected against dust, air and moisture,
by strong, sealed cartons, it reaches your table everywhere, just
as crisp and as fresh as the very minute it left the oven. Remember
that it is Manischewitz, not Cincinnati. We caution you that there
are diverse brands sold as Cincinnati Matzo. To be assured of the
genuine one, ask for them by the name of Manischewitz. Make sure this
name is on the package. Attention Housewives! With Manischewitz matzo
meal and cake meal you can make the most delicious Passover dishes!
So
people were swayed. Now, the freshness of the locally baked matzo
bought by men was deemed inferior to the clean and packaged mass produced
matzo shipped to your local market and purchased by women.
As
the success of Manischewitz skyrocketed, it outgrew its quarters and
found it necessary to move to New Jersey, to yet larger spaces. Around
that time the Internal Revenue Service began to investigate why Manischewitz
deducted its huge contributions to yeshivas as a business expense.
Off
to court went Manischewitz. The company's attorneys claimed that the
yeshiva graduates teach as rabbis in Palestine, Europe and
South America. These yeshivahs have the name Manischewitz associated
with them. The rabbis trained in them help to overcome the impression
of Orthodox European Jews that American machine made matzo is not
kosher, especially matzos for Passover. 70 percent of the company's
income is derived from the sale of matzos for consumption during the
Jewish festival of Passover. It was a business expense. Manischewitz
won its cases with the IRS, setting some precedents in tax law that
continue to this day.
The
story of matzo pointed the way the world would move in regard to thousands
of other future products. Local, hand made, goods employing many low-income
wage earners were displaced. Their companies were shut down by less
costly mass produced products made and distributed by distant, technologically
advanced competitors whose advertising and marketing expertise lead
consumers to favor the exact opposite of what they previously wanted.
It
is the business story of our time, a clear description of how our
business world has and economy have changed. It is the story of big
winning out over little: whether we are talking about automobiles,
banks, airlines, book stores, electronics companies, clothing manufacturers,
hardware stores, even funeral homes and cemeteries. It is the story
of Wal-Mart's success and the success of Microsoft and
The Home Depot. It is the economic story of our time. But before
all of that, it was the story, the true story of the Americanization
of Matzo.