“Holy Gluten: The Righteous Battle Over God’s Grain”

by Claire Pellegrino

 Pope Leo XIV, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the

Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, and Sovereign of the State of Vatican City

sits in his gilded chair and fingers his prayer beads. The watery eyes of 200 cardinals look back

at him, waiting. With the weight of the Catholic world on his shoulders, he licks his lips and,

after a breath, finally speaks. Three unsettling words ricochet against the damask walls, sending

chills through the thick weave of red woolen robes and capes alike, “Eucaristia…senza gluten?”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, on the other side of the world, it’s Passover. A

mensch sits down to his first family Seder since Doctor Lippman figured out the cause of all

those stomachaches. Looking around the table, all the usual suspects are in attendance. The bitter

herb, the animal bone, the egg, Great Uncle Marty. But there. Oh, no. Right there, to the left of

the Manischewitz. Covered by the cloth his bubbie, or his bubbie’s bubbie, or his bubbie’s

bubbie’s bubbie’s bubbie saved during that one pogrom. There it is, in all its unleavened glory.

The matzo.

The life of a devout celiac is a troubled one. Within the past few years, a steady resistance

has risen against the demand for gluten-free, sacrificial bread. While more people follow

gluten-free diets than ever before, Catholic leaders have dug in their papal heels: without wheat,

they say, the Eucharist cannot be transformed into the body of Christ. Likewise, many Jewish2

leaders argue that—oy vey!—gluten-less, oat-based matzo can never and will never be

considered kosher for Passover. And thus, gluten-free Catholics and Jews face a monumental

choice: Eat wheat and suffer, or avoid wheat and suffer. But look to the history books, or in this

case scrolls— as it turns out, agony and sorrow go together with bread, like peanut butter and

jelly go together…with bread. From the beginning, as in “in the beginning,” there was bread and

there was suffering. Of all the suffering breads, however, matzo is king. Consumed during

Passover, it is known as the “bread of affliction,” and yet, in the US, around $130 million worth

of matzo is sold every year. It's hard to imagine a product with so dour a moniker doing nearly so

well in the markets of the secular world. It’s doubtful a product dubbed “the cheese of

desperation” or “the fish of misfortune” would be able to compete.

Matzo was first baked sometime around 1200 BC, after the fall of the first temple, but

before the sourdough craze. The traditional story behind this bleak bread begins, where else, with

the enslavement of the ancient Hebrews by the ancient Egyptians. As the story goes, when the

ancient Hebrews decided to flee toward freedom, their escape was so hurried that there was no

time to let their bread dough rise (even though one would imagine the deserts of Egypt would be

a nice, warm place to let bread proof fast). Led by Moses and dressed from tip to tail in ancient

garb, the Hebrews took their unleavened bread and fled. Naturally, their unleavened bread was so

hard that they would have done well to use the loaves as little rafts, but Moses had other ideas,

namely, split the sea, save the bread.

And so, every Passover, to commemorate the suffering and perseverance of the ancient

Hebrews, matzo, that pale, unleavened bread, is eaten as an act of remembrance. Each participant

of the ceremonial Passover dinner, also known as a Seder, must be allotted three whole pieces of

matzo. Of those three pieces, they must only consume a kezayit of matzo, which is a unit of3

measurement based on the size of the average olive in the Talmudic-era Middle East. If only

more units of measurement were based on olives… The exact size of the kezayit can be hard to

grasp because many people nowadays simply weren’t around during the Talmudic period, 70-500

CE (looking at you Gen Z). The youngsters out there may be wondering, what exactly is a

landline, and just how big was the average olive in the Talmudic-era Middle East? Well, the

average, modern-day black olive, the kind one could put on one’s fingers if one were still

connected to the concept of “play,” is approximately two kezayits tall, by one kezayit wide.

(Idea for the reader: If you ever have a slow afternoon, try converting units of

measurement into kezayits. Measure your puny, overpriced bedroom in kezayits. How many

kezayits tall is your boyfriend? If you tell him, will that number make him feel inferior? Try

adding two more. Is that better?)

***

Among the Jewish Diaspora, where customs twist and turn around the globe, one thing is

certain, there will be rules! When it comes to what is Kosher for Passover, many Middle Eastern

and North African Jews, known as Mizrahi, and Sephardic Jews, those from Spain and Portugal,

allow a veritable who’s who of grains, seeds, and legumes on their Passover table, including, but

not limited to, that famous trio: corn, rice, and beans. The Central and Eastern European

Ashkenazi Passover, however, is strict. To most Ashkenazi, only five grains are considered

Kosher for Passover: wheat, rye, barley, spelt, and oats. Of those five sacred grains, the oat

stands alone as the only one of the five without gluten. Oat-based matzo, therefore, is the last

bastion of hope for a gluten-free Jew to participate in the Passover Seder fully.4

Unfortunately, grain fervor has overcome the religious leaders of the orthodox

Ashkenazi. These leaders boast a knowledge of ancient, whole grains so vast that it’s matched

only by hippies in the bulk section of their local co-ops. But whereas hippies just want to talk

about Einkorn, these orthodox rabbis are concerned with their sacred grains. They argue. They

debate. They kvetch. Which grains are kosher for Passover? Which grains are actually sacred?

This question, of course, is nothing new. When it comes to a consensus about the five

sacred grains and lengthy discussions about alternatives, there have always been dissenters. As

far back as the 1st or 2nd century, a Rabbi named Johanan ben Nuri enacted a valiant campaign

to add a sixth grain to the five sacred grains, namely millet, a warm-weather cereal crop, closely

related to corn. Despite his efforts, millet was ultimately not accepted as a sacred grain, reducing

the rabbi’s struggle to a mere footnote, hardly longer than the ripe head of the millet stalk itself.

Few things seem sadder than going out on a limb for millet and getting the cold shoulder from

your rabbinical peers. It's a cautionary tale, one that a few modern rabbis could learn from.

But will they learn?

***

As oat matzo has begun to grace more Passover tables, the inclusion of the oat itself in

the five sacred grains has begun to be questioned.

This anti-oat movement is led by another rabbi, Rabbi David Bar-Hayim. Like many

right-wing rabbis, he lives in Israel, although, in an eccentric turn, probably thought up by his

parents, he was born in Sidney, Australia. These days, he is heavily involved in conservative

politics. One of his many controversial opinions, however, centers around the oat. He believes

that what has been historically characterized as an oat in the list of sacred grains was, instead,

originally an ancient variety of barley (not gluten-free).5

On YouTube, home of “Crazy Train Crash Compilation #3,” as well as, apparently,

lengthy theological discourse, Rabbi Bar-Hayim stars in a grainy video. Behind him, books line

the wall. This, it seems, is a learned man. Or, at least, he knows someone with a lot of books.

Somewhere behind the camera is another rabbi, Rabbi Yair Hoffman, although we only ever hear

his voice. The two rabbis, in this great meeting of the minds, discuss the oat.

Rabbi Bar-Hayim launches into his argument. His point is not that oats didn’t grow in the

Levant at the time of the Talmud; that would be insane. But rather that what has been described

as “a grain which is like a keshura,” or like a ruler, cannot be an oat and can only be barley.

The rabbi holds up a drawing of a grain with a straight stalk. “It describes a grain that is

similar to a ruler,” Rabbi Bar-Hayim explains, referring to a Talmudic description of the five

sacred grains. “And that is exactly what we see here, in this picture here of two-row barley,

which does grow in Eretz-Israel. Always has and still does.” He flips the page to show a drawing

of an oat plant with a gently curved stalk. “Nothing points in the same direction!” His voice takes

on a higher pitch. “How can you describe that as keshura?”

“The problem is,” Rabbi Hoffman replies, “there are variations in the way things grow.”

This statement triggers Rabbi Bar-Hayim to throw speculative caution to the wind. He points

again to the drawing of oats. “Every type of oat on the planet looks roughly like that.”

So if Rabbi Bar-Hayim is right and oats do not grow like a ruler and are therefore not

described as one of the five sacred grains, then what does he say a celiac should do on Passover?

Have no fear, he covers all this and much more (much, much more) in another YouTube

video. In a nearly hour-and-a-half-long Q&A about what is and is not permitted on Passover, the

rabbi proves not only that he knows his Talmud but also that he has bought a new pair of glasses

since the debate with Rabbi Hoffman.6

Forty-six minutes and 13 seconds into the video, Rabbi Bar-Hayim answers the question,

“At what degree of severity of an allergic reaction is one exempt from eating foods during the

Seder? Should one take Benadryl before the Seder to eat the foods, if it allows them to?”

The rabbi makes his point as clear as the lenses of his new specs. On Passover, it is a

Jewish person’s sacred duty to consume matzo made from one of the five sacred grains. Because,

according to Bar-Hayim, the oat should not be considered one of the five sacred grains, eating

oat matzo, therefore, does not fulfill that duty. But he still has a recommendation for the

gluten-impaired. Eat matzo anyway! And if you need to take Benadryl to curb an allergic

reaction? Pop that pill! The rabbi says that a Jewish person only needs to consume a kezayit

worth of matzo. Which he describes as “the size of your average, smallish olive, okay?” He

continues, “If a person can eat that much matzo, without being seriously ill, without suffering

serious pain, then he has to do so. He is required to do so.” Ok, so the rabbi may have your back

if matzo with gluten could lead to hospitalization. If it only leads to discomfort. Tough luck.

In the rabbi’s defense, though, he has history to contend with. Jews have been celebrating

Passover by eating matzo for thousands of years. Now that many followers, even orthodox

followers, have developed a modern, secular concern for their health and well-being over their

duty to tradition and, in turn, godliness, what’s an Australian rabbi to do? It’s a tricky situation.

***

Lest the Christians among us think they’re getting off gluten-free, not so fast. The

tradition of the Passover Seder is also important to them. One of the most pivotal evenings in

Christian history, one of the most famous, most tragic, and most painted dinners in the Western

World involved eating matzo on Passover. That’s right, The Last Supper was a Seder.7

Knowing He had been betrayed by Judas and would soon be killed, and using the

trappings of a traditional Seder, Jesus created a new tradition. It was matzo which Jesus Christ

broke into pieces and gave to his disciples, and then sai,d “This is my body.” And it was the arba

kosot, the four cups of wine drunk during a Seder, over which Jesus said, “This is my blood.”

Christians are just lucky he didn’t reach for the horseradish or the salt water.

From this act of eating bread and drinking wine, this transformation of Jewish customs

into something new, communion was born. And from the small piece of matzo which each

disciple was given, so the eucharist came to be.

Of course, the belief system behind communion varies among Christian sects. While

Catholics believe in the transubstantiation or the physical transformation of bread and wine into

the physical flesh and blood of Jesus, many Protestant sects, such as Lutherans and Anglican,s

believe in the true presence of Christ in the consecrated bread and wine, a symbolic, spiritual

transformation but not a physical one.

When it comes to gluten-free eucharists, Protestant sects have been downright lenient. A

newsletter from The United Methodist Church website states, “Surely we do not intend to

exclude people with celiac disease or gluten intolerance from receiving both the bread and the

cup.” Overwhelmingly, Lutherans, Anglicans, Methodists, and other Christian sects that do not

believe in transubstantiation have accommodated those avoiding or allergic to gluten. You don’t

even need a doctor’s note.

Catholics, however, have gone a different way. In 2017, the Vatican took a strong stance

against the ceremonial use of gluten-free eucharists, stating, “Hosts that are completely

gluten-free are invalid matter for the celebration of the Eucharist.” And that “There must be a

sufficient amount of gluten to obtain the confection of bread.” Adding, however, that so-called8

“low-gluten hosts” are “valid.” The church argues that the quantity of gluten in this “low-gluten

host” is so low (maybe where they came up with the name “low-gluten host”?) that many

gluten-free followers will not experience a reaction to it. True for many, but for a serious celiac,

any amount of gluten can be “too much gluten.”

And though it involves the number ‘one million,’ which reasonable things rarely do, the

Vatican has been kind enough to officially explain what amount of gluten is deemed “sufficient”

to transform the slim, flavorless eucharist into the body of Christ Himself. 20 parts of gluten per

1 million parts of non-gluten, apparently (how many kezayits is that?).

So what happens if the gluten content in a consecrated host falls below the line? 18 parts

per one million, say. Perhaps upon ceremonial usage, the wafer doesn’t become the body of

Christ at all but, more modestly, one of his disciples. Body of Matthew?

And why did the Vatican feel the need to officially reiterate its position on the

consecrated host, anyway? It appears that in the past ten years or so, the gluten-free Eucharist

market has found a haven online, and in 2017, it was bustling. In light of this booming business,

and worried Catholic followers were being led astray by the serpent-like wheatless offerings

online, the Vatican spoke, once and for all. 19/one million or he’s no Son of mine.

***

A recent investigation into the still bustling gf wafer market on Amazon revealed several

promising options now geared toward less orthodox Catholics or non-Catholic, Christian

consumers. One brand, Broadman Church Supplies, selling “Communion Wafer, Gluten Free, 50

Count” (although a 1-star reviewer claimed they received just 41!) boasted 462 ratings on

Amazon and 4.2 stars. Not bad for something that can’t physically become the body of Christ.9

These wafers, made up of a proprietary AND godly blend of garbanzo, rice, sorghum (a

relative of millet), and tapioca starch, had largely positive reviews. Celiacs and more casual

gluten avoiders alike rejoiced at being able to participate, once more, in this holy and sacred act.

Overwhelmingly, the reviews revealed how important this practice was to the lives of many

Christians. In the words of reviewer Darien, on December 22, 2022, brimming with holiday

cheer,

“As someone with Celiac Disease, I love this product and being able to partake in taking

Communion.” And while descriptions of the wafer’s flavor ran the gamut from “decent,”

“non-existent,” and “so horrible,” most reviewers seemed to agree that the flavor was not the

most important part.

Two 1-star reviews, however, exposed a strange quality of the product, err, sacramental

host. On August 9, 2024, a reviewer named Dode (a good Christian name) posted a 1-star review

with the subject line, “Teeny Bites.” “The Wafers are the size of a nickel. These would be hard to

dip into wine without getting the priest’s fingers wet. I saw no dimensions listed in the product

description, and the photo was misleading.” Dode was correct; there were no photos comparing

the size of the host to the size of a coin, nickel, or otherwise.

Further down the page, a little before Dode’s review, on May 31, 2024, a reviewer named

Lauren DeMasi, posted another 1-star review with the subject line, “Tiny Box.” “Picture was

deceiving.” Lauren began. “It was so tiny. The wafers were the size of a dime. Not what the

picture showed. I wish I could return.”

Did the wafers grow in size between the two reviews, from the size of a dime to the size

of a nickel? And, more interesting, what happens if the priest’s fingers get wet?

Besides the outliers (heretics) who gave the wafers 1-star, there was a deep sense of

appreciation and gratitude in the largely positive reviews. Not to nickel and dime here, but it’s10

the rare $15 box of nickel and dime-sized crackers that tastes “so horrible” and is able to

maintain an above ⅘ star rating.

***

Suffice it to say, despite the pressure from the orthodoxy, for the majority of Jewish and

Christian followers, those who avoid gluten for medical reasons (or to make ordering

pizza…complicated), there are options. If they choose to do so, Ashkenazi Jews can make their

peace with the disapproval of the rabbinical oat dissenters. In the glow of a candlelit Seder,

around a table of friends, family, or, hey, even a chosen family, alternatingly laughing and

remembering the plight of the Jews, they can enjoy their olive-sized portions of oat matzo with

pleasure. Sure, their predecessors ate matzo made of wheat, but their predecessors didn’t know

about the scientific makeup of grains or gluten allergies or sensitivities. Now we do. So what if a

conservative rabbi in Israel disapproves, shaking his head to himself as he shops for glasses,

flitting from frame to frame? Who is this man to dictate how someone should or should not live?

For Christian and even some Catholic followers, the situation is similar. For non-Catholic

Christians and non-Orthodox Catholics, individuals can decide to find a church that supports

their dietary or medical needs. They can ask their priest for permission to use gluten-free

Eucharists at mass, and use wine into which the glutenous Eucharist has not been dipped. And

many priests will accommodate them. If the big guy at the top, not God, the Pope, doesn’t

approve? So what? Aren’t humans fallible? Isn’t the important thing to live in the way of Christ,

to the best of our abilities? To practice, and give, and devote, and pray? Even if chickpea flour

has to be involved?

***11

But to orthodox followers, Orthodox Catholics, and Orthodox Jews, following the rules

made by their religious leaders is the name of the game. There is no other option. And to the

religious leaders who make those rules, who have spent their lives devoted to reading and

interpreting the ancient tomes from which the rules are derived, there is nothing but the rules.

Nothing but the strict following of rules and adherence to tradition. Orthodox leaders are known

much more for their unusual hats than for their flexibility.

So in the face of modernity, of an increasingly secular world, with a stronger emphasis on

the individual—on health and wellness—than ever before, these religions, even the most

orthodox, are faced with a decision. Do they kneel to the gluten-free? Do they compromise their

tradition and their history in order to hold on to their fast-defecting followers? Can they be

malleable and bend to the changing world? Or, are they too brittle, too inflexible? Like matzo,

like the Eucharist, if there is too much pressure, will they break?

The story of gluten-free matzo and gluten-free Eucharists is the story of this question and

the orthodox leader’s awkward response. This is the story of two ancient religions and the

secular world, always encroaching. The complicated relationship between orthodox leaders and

their (relatively) modern followers. Their gluten-free followers ask, “Must we eat wheat?”

Overwhelmingly, the leaders respond, “Just a little. Just take a bite.”

By the way, Amazon suggests that if you like the sacramental wafer, you might also like a

9-oz box of “365 by Whole Foods Market, Organic Vanilla Wafers. $4.99” Try getting that one

past the Vatican…