Matzo Ball Soup Wasn’t Supposed to Save Me—But It Did
Jewish Penicillin: What Matzo Ball Soup Really Healed
Jewish Penicillin
noun
A traditional Jewish chicken soup, typically with matzo balls, believed to provide comfort and healing properties—especially when someone is sick.
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It’s funny to think that a simple soup could hold so much meaning. But matzo ball soup?
It’s not just a dish. It’s a time machine. It’s protection. It’s therapy with a side of schmaltz.
According to Haaretz, matzo ball soup has been around since at least the 12th century. Maimonides—yes, that Maimonides—claimed in his book On the Cause of Symptoms that chicken soup could relieve colds, nourish pregnant women, and even cure asthma and leprosy.
(Now that’s a Yelp review.)
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The First Spoonful
Growing up in a Jewish household, matzo ball soup was our go-to when we weren’t feeling well. I was born in a time when boxed matzo ball mix wasn’t the norm. You made them. From scratch.
Let’s be real: there are two types of people in this world—those who love “floaters,” and those who are just plain wrong. Dense matzo balls? That’s stucco. Use them to patch a wall.
Most cultures have a cold remedy soup. But matzo ball chicken soup? That one hits different.
It’s sacred. It’s the warm hug that showed up when everything else felt unsafe.
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The Seder Food Orgy
Passover was a food orgy. Two nights. Two sides of the family. And yes—food orgy is the correct term.
“Chef, how many courses are in a traditional seder dinner?”
Answer: Too many. Your brain will explode.
Matzo ball soup was always the first real food—after wandering the symbolic desert for what felt like 40 years. It came with yelling across the house:
“Bernie, how many balls do you want?!”
Now read that in Fran Drescher’s voice. You’re welcome.
“I’ll have two with a carrot!”
“Are they floaters? If not, I don’t want any!”
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Memory, Trigger, and Truth
We always say “simpler times.” But typing those words triggered something.
Simpler for who?
I flashed back to my younger self—and saw the truth:
The abuse. The silence. The fear. Matzo ball soup wasn’t just food. It was a shield. It was protection.
My grandparents? Guardian angels. Their presence brought peace. When they were around, people behaved. That soup was peace. It was the hug that got you through the meal without breaking down.
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Time Travel with Schmaltz
Food is the only real time machine we have.
Ratatouille nailed it when Ego took that first bite and went straight back to childhood.
Not long ago, I made matzo ball soup for a close friend. He took a bite and said:
“I could follow your recipe to the T and it would never taste like this.”
That stopped me cold. Until then, it was just soup. Something both sides of my family made. But in that moment, I realized—it wasn’t just what I made.
It was why.
That soup came from memory. From scars. From love. From protection. It wasn’t just anti-inflammatory. It was a fucking emotional safety net.
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So, What Does It Represent?
Matzo ball soup is healing.
It’s memory.
It’s armor.
It’s me, learning who I’ve become—and honoring who I’ve always been.
And yes… I’ll still take two with a carrot
