My mum, Esther, and her family arrived in Melbourne from Poland in 1938 escaping the Nazi's. My dad, Mayer, settled in Sydney as a teenager with his father, Berish, in 1946, also from Poland after surviving World War II.
They began their life again in Australia from scratch.
A mutual friend suggested that my parents meet, so my dad went to Melbourne to get to know mum and as it turns out, they were well suited. They married in 1958 and mum moved to Sydney to begin their family. I'm the youngest of three.
Food was the epicentre of our household growing up, and it all rotated around Shabbat. If throughout the week mum cooked anything special, it would go into the freezer until Friday night. However, the main preparations for Shabbat began on Thursday afternoon. Right after school, I would join her in the kitchen to make , and roll the for the chicken soup.
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I can still remember licking the raw batter of the marble cake right off the bowl and the feeling of waking early on a Friday morning to the warm smell of challah baking and matzoh balls in the chicken soup, wafting from our kitchen.
It was the little things that were part of the cooking process that gave me so much joy, and although we had the same menu every week, it was the soul and the 'spice of Shabbat' that my mum put into her cooking that made everything special.
I learned to cook traditional Jewish food by watching and following her instructions. It was always a little bit of this spice, a handful of sugar, or a pinch of this and that. She never followed a recipe, even though she had a book of her mum's ones written down.
Friday night after synagogue mum had an open home for anyone that wanted to join the feast. Our tables were always laden. This is something she has passed on to me and how my love of giving through food began, including by packaging Shabbat food on Friday afternoon and delivering it to our community members.
I have a running joke with my husband. He comments on how I've cooked too much food. I always reply, "you just haven't invited enough guests".
My home is always open just like my mums was. Shabbat food is packaged on Friday afternoon and delivered to our community members.
My home is always open, just like my mum's always was.
As a child during Shabbat, what was extremely special about our guests was how they were mostly Jewish gentlemen who had left their families behind in Europe in hope that after starting over in Australia and making a bit of money to send their wives and children, they'd rejoin them. For many, this never happened, mostly because their families perished.
My parents hosted these men in our home every Friday night and always sat them at the head of our table to enjoy homemade traditional foods that reminded them of home and family times. I was tasked with serving them Shabbat foods. I would serve them the , matzo ball soup, and the rest of the meal. Each time, they would bless me, just as they would've done their children. I realised that in their eyes they were looking at me as the children they had lost. It was very moving.
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How Our Big Kitchen began
I'm a hairdresser by trade. For some in the Jewish tradition, once a woman gets married, she covers her hair with a wig. In learning wig design, I decided to style wigs for women undergoing cancer treatment. In 1993, I made a wig for a woman who'd just started chemo, and our chats always ended up being about food.
Consequently, I began cooking more food and offering her my home-cooked meals. Eventually, I asked her for her favourite recipe, and I made that meal for her every few weeks.
When I ended up making more food for cancer-affected families than wigs, my husband and I started big cooking groups. We eventually created in 2005 in the basement of our Bondi Beach synagogue. People from all walks of life donated their time, resources, and materials just to bring goodness into the world and to empower people to feed and nourish others.
The aim with cancer patients is to make them a meal of their choice while they go through chemo. Once they've finished treatment, they can come back into the community-run kitchen and cook for the next woman. Knowing that the food she's eating is made by someone who's survived gives them something to look forward to emotionally but also the grit to survive.
Laysa Slavin and Rabbi doctor Dovid Slavin are the founders of Our Big Kitchen. Source: Supplied
Food does bring people together and bridges differences and that's why I'm passionate about Our Big Kitchen.
Donations to our initiative have continued to grow and we've gradually been able to serve more people at risk and also take on more volunteers. Our kitchen can hold up to 170 people per session. We empower them to feed others, irrespective of their cultural or religious backgrounds.
It's common to find a Jewish woman and a Muslim woman, either in traditional dress, each preparing customary recipes because, at the end of the day, they're just mums talking about their kids and cooking to nourish other families and children.
Food does bring people together and bridges differences and that's why I'm passionate about Our Big Kitchen.
Over the years we've had many food programs introducing Muslim, Jewish and Christian children to cooking skills and enabling various migrant groups to showcase their countries' foods. We have prisoners coming in on their last year of service to help us fulfil community orders and businessmen taking a day off to wash dishes, peel onions, chop veggies and do whatever is needed to prepare and deliver 4,500 meals a week for the Salvos, women's refuge, and other not-for-profit organisations and shelters.
Laya Slavin's mum's open home during Shabbat inspired her love of giving through food. Source: Supplied
We also operate as a business incubator. For people who want to begin their own food business. Before they invest, we encourage them to come in, test their food business and see how it runs.
I believe that everyone should take what they're passionate about and use food as the vehicle to support that purpose.
Further, we empower people who want to give back and help others. For example, during bushfires or other natural disasters, people volunteer their cooking skills, and we deliver food packs to those directly affected. We had two teenage girls, one wanting to raise funds for whales and the other to build a school in Africa, use our kitchen and bake cupcakes which they sold and raised money for their cause. I believe that everyone should take what they're passionate about and use food as the vehicle to support that purpose.
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It wasn't an option not to continue during lockdown. Domestic violence numbers were staggeringly high, and we were always delivering food to refuges. The Salvos needed more, and we just kept saying, "yes we can provide", to anyone who asked us.
Food was going out to unemployed families, overseas students, locals with special requests, like Jewish families needing Shabbat food, and we partnered with Foodbank Australia and other services to keep afloat. Companies even sent us machines to help cut a vast number of veggies. We had professional chefs, restaurant owners and even flight attendants come in and help. Rather than being stuck at home, they preferred to make a difference in someone else's life.
FOOD BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER
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We turned our synagogue into a community pantry, with boxes filled with fruits, vegetables, and basic staples. We had a list of who needed to receive boxes and asked people who were on the list to come and pick up their boxes and help deliver to others in need as well.
Our Big Kitchen is like a kitchen in a family home. It's a place of warmth, it brings people together at a communal level and stimulates conversations. I know I won't solve all the world's problems through food, but I know that when you walk into our kitchen and feel the love and you work hard, you'll leave feeling empowered that you've somehow made a difference in the world.
