Passover’s Coming Soon And So Is Matzah. But What Is It Again, Exactly?

There’s an old joke: A man is sitting in the park eating some matzah and offers it to the guy next to him, who is blind. The blind man takes a piece of matzah and his fingers glide over the bumps and perforations until, frustrated, he complains, “Who wrote this s—t?”

As a Braille document, matzah probably makes terrible reading. But for Jews around the world, matzah is part of the Passover seder, a space where families sit and read from their Haggadahs — a collection of texts that explore the holiday themes and guide its rituals.

Passover starts Monday night. Observant Jews — as well as many non-observant Jews who just keep the traditions — will spend the entire week of Passover eating matzah pretty much at every meal, from matzah brei (scrambled with eggs) or matzah farfel (breaking it up into small pieces and eating it in a bowl like cereal). And yes, it can get boring by the end.

If you've ever been curious about matzah (or matza, or matzo, matzoh— the spellings are plentiful), we have your FAQ.

What are the basic ingredients of matzah? 

The ingredients are as basic as you can get — wheat flour and water — although online recipes will suggest adding salt, pepper and even olive oil. But how did it start?

The Biblical story goes like this: A long time ago, in an Egypt far far away, the Jewish people were slaves to Pharaoh, but — after a series of plagues — were asked to leave rather quickly: They didn’t even have time to complete their bread-making process before they left.

So they took the dough with them which, having not risen, and presumably baked in the desert sun, probably resembled tortillas, flatbread, or naan or what happens when you “bake” those Trader Joe’s pizza doughs by rolling out a piece and putting it in a frying pan. (No judgments.)

The rise of Manischewitz

Over the years, Ashkenazi Jews (who hail from Eastern Europe) gravitated toward something more resembling a flat cracker.

Then the industrial revolution came to Matzahland, with innovation by Cincinnati Rabbi Dov Behr Manischewitz — yes, the man behind the name — who, in 1888, invented a more efficient production method (machine!) and adopted a more effective shape (square!) and created the brand — and matzah — you know today.

There’s also more artisanal “shmurah matzah,” formed in unruly circle-ish shapes and nestled in threes into giant boxes separated by parchment paper or bubble wrap to prevent breakage. Shmurah means “watched,” because it's watched by local authorities from the time the wheat is harvested and throughout the grinding process, to ensure that it doesn’t become wet and start to rise early. While the basic matzah costs around $2.50 - $5 a box, this pampered version can run from $30 - $60 a box.

And there’s also soft matzah, a handmade version, with a soft and chewy texture more resembling a pita or a wrap.

Wait a minute: Did you say there’s soft matzah?

Yes! Many Middle Eastern and north African Jewish communities (Sephardic) eschew the uniformity of the flat cracker to make matzah according to their traditions. Take Aaron Asher, who is from a family of Egyptian Jews and ran an annual soft matzah bake at the Temple Beth Am in the Pico-Robertson neighborhood for several years.

He told LAist that he grinds his own flour from wheat berries, and then combines it with water to work up a dough. Is there anything special about the water? Of course there is! It has to be water that’s rested for a day so that it cools down and doesn’t prompt premature rising. (Ahem.) Then Asher shapes and cooks the matzah on a saj, which looks like an inverted wok; the matzahs must be finished — from mixing the ingredients to baked — within 18 minutes, as per Talmudic requirements.

Soft matzah, baking.

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Courtesy Aaron Asher

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Sarah Livingston, a Jewish studies instructor at Ohio University specializing in global Jewish foodways, makes Ethiopian matzah every year at home for her family and with her students in the university’s test kitchen, calling it “an experiential learning about the incredible diversity of the Jewish experience.”

Ethiopian matzah.

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Sarah Livingston

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Specifically, she uses a recipe for Yahfesca Kit’ta, a soft matzo from the Beta Israel (Ethiopian Jewish) community. (Here’s a sample recipe.) Making this matzah, Livingston said, her students experience a “sense of urgency” that echoes that of the Hebrews being told to leave Egypt.

What about celiac and gluten-sensitive people — is there a matzah for them?

Wheat matzah isn’t gluten-free: It’s still got wheat and water, therefore gluten. Other kosher for Passover grains like oats, rye, barley and spelt can sub in for wheat in matzah, and may be easier to digest or easier for your gut, although most of those also contain gluten.

A truly grain-free variety of flat unleavened bread is likely made of potato flour, and the label will read “matzo-style squares,” a passive-aggressive way to distinguish it from “real matzah.” But it may not be totally gluten-free, so if you’re seriously gluten-compromised, continue to read the labels or call the company to be certain.

The reason for calling it “matzo-style” is because some Jewish blessings can only be recited over bread; potato-based bread is not considered bread and therefore gets a different blessing. (Aren't you glad you asked?) Gluten-free versions can be two to four times more expensive than regular, with oat matzahs rumored to be the most expensive, and least resembling wheat matzah, and — again — not guaranteed to be gluten-free.

An employee serves matzah ball soup at Langer's Delicatessen.

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Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images

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Getty Images North America

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Matzah is flat and crunchy. Matzah balls are round and either fluffy or dense. Why?

Because matzah balls are made from matzah meal — matzahs that are ground into a lightly granular substance which is used instead of flour. Wasn’t matzah made of flour to begin with? Yes. Didn’t we make sure not to bake it too long so it wouldn’t become chametz? Yes. Now we’re grinding up matzah, but we still can’t use straight flour? That’s right.

Why? As the Haggadah says, “So the children will ask.” And so the adults will debate recipes — egg or vegan substitute? Baking soda or seltzer? — and the merits of fluffy — a.k.a. “floaters” — over dense — “sinkers” — and argue passionately until nothing has been decided, but they’ve all managed to hear and understand each other. This, too, is the purpose of Passover.