Over the summer, I got to celebrate many big smahot – occasions; I was invited to a pizza party that friends of mine hosted.

It was incredibly well done.

They had an outdoor pizza oven going, with cutting boards where you could roll out pre-made dough and add whatever toppings you wanted. They even had vegan cheese, which I appreciated. 

The cheese did smell pretty bad, but once it melted, it was actually pretty good.

The whole operation ran like an assembly line.

You made your pizza. 

Our host slid it onto one of those long pizza paddles, which I learned is called a pizza peel, and put it into the oven. 

A few minutes later it came out, and you sliced it with this enormous curved blade, a pizza rocker, basically a giant mezzaluna.

Yes, I did have to look that word up.

And then, suddenly, the skies opened up.

I mean pouring. A summer monsoon.

Everyone ran for cover.

Everyone except our host.

There he was, getting soaked, standing at this blazing-hot outdoor oven, putting in pizzas, pulling them out, and taking the next one. 

He had hungry mouths to feed, and he did not miss a beat.

Eventually the skies cleared, everyone came back out, and the pizza assembly line started up again.

And I suddenly realized: our host had not made a pizza for himself.

So I went over to him.

“Can I make you one? Aren’t you hungry?”

He said, “No, I’m good. I take tax.”

“For every pizza I bake, I take a slice. I’ve already eaten about two pizzas.”

It was a pretty good system.

Parashat Ki Tavo opens with almost the exact same story.

Not........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)