When I was a kid, I used to be hypnotized by my mother and grandmother’s moves when they kneaded the dough for Shabbat bread. I couldn’t take my eyes off them—the way they stretched and punched as if it was a punching bag. My mother used to give me a small piece of the dough to play with to keep me busy and quiet. But she never let me handle the whole dough myself, even when I was a young adult. It was as if she needed this ritual to release her anger.

For years, I assumed making bread was too complicated. Only when I became a mother myself did I get the courage to try. I was shocked by how easy it was. Easy and meditative. Bread dough is pretty forgiving. Almost nothing can go wrong, as long as your yeast is alive and well.

I buy a large pack of yeast and keep it in a jar in the fridge. It lasts for a year or even more. If you think your yeast might have expired and want to test it: Put half a teaspoon in ¼ cup lukewarm water with ½ teaspoon honey or something sweet and let it sit for 10 minutes. If it gets frothy and bubbly, it’s alive. If nothing happens, I’m sorry to inform you, your yeast is dead.

Now I make bread every week. Usually I make simple yeasted bread, lechem ba’it (literally “house bread” in Hebrew), and challahs, and occasionally sourdough bread. I have a theory that the smell and taste of homemade bread is healing. Well, you try and let me know if the whole experience doesn’t make you feel better.

If you’re gluten-free check out my gluten-free yeasted bread and my gluten-free sourdough bread recipes.