by Hillary Powell (Brooklyn, NY)
We crowded into a small apartment in Brooklyn after my mother’s second cousin’s funeral. My maternal grandmother was one of six children and maternal grandfather one of five. In many ways this childhood memory blurred into others, of crowding into living rooms across the tri-state area for reunions and gatherings, often meeting cousins I never met before and never saw again.
But this shiva (circa 1980) stood out. The mood was somber and Rose, my widowed second cousin, looked wrung out, her face gray, her eyes rimmed red. Then cousin Susan brought out an unusually delicious golden, sweet noodle kugel. I recall Rose grieving, processing her loss openly, “I am just so sad Richard didn’t get here in time to say goodbye to his father.” Yet with each bite of kugel, her eyes lit up. “Have you tasted this noodle kugel?” she asked the mourners. We all began to try the kugel, to discuss how extraordinary it was, finding a bit of joy on that sad day.
Nearly half a century later, after the unimaginable events during the weekend of December 13th, 2025, it seemed necessary to bake and share the most comforting of Jewish comfort foods. Over this weekend, tragic events unfolded in less than 48 hours: shootings at Brown University and MIT; an antisemitic terrorist attack at a Chanukah celebration on Bondi Beach in Australia; and the murder of Rob and Michele Reiner, likely by their own son. All of these events rattled me, even as these acts of violence have become shockingly commonplace.
This time, one event was too close for the numbness to settle in quickly as it often does after the initial news flash. My niece is a sophomore at Brown and hid in her dorm closet during the shooting. My sister called me a few days later. After rushing to get my niece safely off campus and home, she finally broke down, her emotions bursting the dam she had built to stay strong for her daughter. I did my best to soothe, reassure, and focus on the unfathomable idea that my niece’s survival was some kind of good luck.
I couldn’t do much to ease all this pain, but I needed to do something. “I’m making kugel!” I announced. My children, accustomed to my mom’s fluffy but raisin-filled kugel, had a request, “No raisins, please.” I wanted the kugel to be light and fluffy the way my mother makes it. But I was also determined to capture the power of that legendary kugel from so many years ago.
What made the kugel from my second cousin’s shiva extra delicious? Those details were murky. Was it a streusel topping? Was it something else? In any event, I thought a streusel topping would be a good sweet substitute for raisins.
Searching online, I found a kugel recipe with a streusel topping, but the recipe called for cream cheese which I know my mom doesn’t use for her fluffy kugel, and it needed to be fluffy — a light-hearted, flexible, resilient kugel! I worried the cream cheese would make it too dense. I asked my mom for a recipe, but she said she bakes it from memory and changes it every time, which is exactly what a Jewish grandma would say.
I found a recipe with the ingredients my mother uses—many eggs, sour cream and cottage cheese. I combined the streusel topping recipe with the fluffy kugel recipe, baked a sample kugel and assessed. I took that first bite and determined it was not the Platonic noodle kugel I had imagined. It didn’t quite match the memory I had of that perfect kugel from years ago. But I also began to recognize that perhaps this quest was quixotic. I was attempting to recreate a feeling as much as a flavor, and I decided this kugel was pretty delicious and close enough.
In the end, I baked four noodle kugels for four holiday events over two days, coping with the tragedies of the week, of the year, of this era. The whisk of the mixer made yolks disappear into a rich custard that then coated bouncy noodles. My spirits were buoyed momentarily as the sweet “incense” rose like a prayer, as the casseroles stopped trembling and finally set, transformed by a warm oven into a delicate but steady soufflé. I stacked them in the refrigerator, leaving no room for regular, everyday groceries. It was time to share them.
At one friend’s party, an Italian woman who had never tasted kugel asked the host, “What is this crack casserole?” People hovered over the last piece, and it was eventually divided up. Introducing a tradition to those unfamiliar with Jewish culture felt especially gratifying in this challenging moment for Jews.
There were leftovers from the second party, and my friend brought them to her own cousin, who has a chronic illness and almost no appetite. But just as I recalled from years ago, the kugel was somehow restorative. It was the one food my friend’s cousin could enjoy and she requested the recipe so her caregiver could bake it the next day.
One kugel was for a Chanukah gathering with my sister’s family. I gave two servings each to my niece and my sister like it was medicine.
There are no comfort foods that can completely heal us all right now, that can bring back lives that have been lost and ease all our pain. A kugel is not magic; it cannot make cohesive what is fractured. But it is not nothing either to fill our homes with the scent of butter and cinnamon, watch brown sugar toppings caramelize and bubble, and share this decadent holiday treat with our loved ones, friends, and even strangers. Mixed together, eggs, soft cheese, butter, sour cream, sugar, salt, cinnamon, vanilla, and springy noodles bond gracefully and gently, becoming something better than each ingredient alone.
Hillary Powell works as a grant manager for Covenant House New Jersey, a nonprofit that serves youth experiencing homelessness. She is also a singer-songwriter. HIllary lives with her husband and two kids in Brooklyn, N.Y. Her website can be found at this link: https://www.hillarypowellmusic.com/.
The Jewish Writing Project 