I hate onions. I really do.
They sit on my tongue like coarse gravel, and biting down on them irks my teeth. Even handling them, with their crunchy brown shells on top of slimy white layers, gives me a teeny case of the shivers.
That’s why I couldn’t help but let out a groan when, on the first Tuesday of Year Course, our bus came to a stop at an onion farm. The volunteer coordinator got on the bus and then told us that we would spend our day picking onions for the underprivileged, so that they could have food for Rosh Hashana.
Charitable, but gross.
The coordinator from M’Shulchan L’Shulchan (Table to Table) told us that there were two things of utmost...