The Kosher Dilemma

I interrupt the Northern Travels Saga for the following commentary.

Growing up in a small town, I was used to having to work to maintain a Jewish identity and lifestyle.  I took for granted that my family kept Kosher and celebrated all the holidays while our minuscule Jewish community remained dedicated to our old synagogue.  As the only Jewish student in my class in my city and perhaps in a 20-mile radius, I was used to being the representative Jew.  In fact I relished the opportunity to be the example for my heritage and answer the questions of classmates and teachers.  Plus I'll admit, I liked the bragging rights that went with taking days off for all the major Jewish holidays.

As I grew older and began comparing my Jewish experiences to those of friends in larger cities I become increasingly aware of the challenges we faced and had been overcoming for years.  The sheer fact that my parents drove more than an hour just to buy Kosher meat (and sometimes three hours for Pesach shopping) - while normal in my reality - was beyond comprehension to friends who lived in the very cities to which we traveled.  Without Jewish classmates to commiserate about the challenges of Kashrut, I taught all my non-Jewish friends about the Kosher symbols on food packages, the rules of separation, the answers to their many "what if" questions.  "What happens if you accidentally eat something that isn't Kosher?"  Answer:  "I get struck by lightening."

Just kidding.

(I think.)

Though I never considered my experience more difficult than for other Jews, it's true that it can be hard to be an observant Jew, and the ordinarily basal act of eating is one of the greatest challenges.  Every single packaged product I buy in a grocery store must have a hechsher, Kosher symbol, stamped on it.  When I cook, making an entirely dairy meal devoid of any trace of meat (or vice versa) is habit.  And though I will eat at non-Kosher restaurants, I'll never order anything with meat, and I've learned to ask about even the tiniest details like what kind of stock is used for the soup.  But instead of complaining about these seemingly trivial matters, I take pride in living my life this way, continuing the traditions that have been passed to me through my mother, from her mother, through endless generations of Jewish women and families.

Still, it's not easy.  So you can imagine my excitement about being in Israel where Kashrut is taken for granted because unlike anywhere else in the world, it is the norm.

Most restaurants are Kosher, and even those that aren't certified as such are almost guaranteed to be using Kosher meat.  Almost all the meat found in standard grocery stores is likely to be Kosher (although pork is sold, too), as are the dry foods, candy, canned goods, and other packaged products.  And whether or not Israelis intend to eat Kosher, many of them do by default.  In a sense, Israel makes it easy to be nonobservantly observant.

I have noticed, however, that in some ways keeping Kosher in Israel is harder than I thought.  It's easy to forget to look and just assume.  But even then, it's a much easier task than in the Diaspora, and especially in comparison to a small town in the Midwest.

What I never would have expected, though, is how hard it is to keep Kosher during Pesach.

As if the rules weren't strict enough, during Pesach we up the ante and proclaim that what was Kosher the rest of the year isn't quite Kosher enough for this week-long holiday.  In order to fully remember our slavery in Egypt and our freedom today, we do not eat anything that is chametz including (but not limited to) leavened foods that are explicitly forbidden on Pesach.  While this includes standard carbohydrate items such as bread, pastries, pasta, cereal, granola, crackers, and others, it is also expanded to include any foods that were eaten during the rest of the year.  As a result, people who keep Kosher lePesach (Kosher for Passover) do not use anything that was opened or used before Pesach, they buy all new food, and even use different dishes, utensils, and kitchen appliances (blenders, mixers, etc.).  By being so stringent, one can be certain not to accidentally consume chametz on Pesach.

My entire life I have observed Pesach in the traditional manner of my family.  In the weeks preceding Pesach we clean the entire house - Spring Cleaning with a deadline, as my Mom has always called it.  She is particularly careful about cleaning the kitchen, including inside the cupboards and drawers and on all the top shelves that we can't reach anyway.  Two or three weeks before Pesach my mom starts doing her Pesach shopping which includes about 20 boxes of matza plus all derivations of the square tasteless cracker (matza meal and matza flour), pounds of chicken or turkey to serve at the seder, baking necessities (oil, butter, margarine, etc.), and every other staple kitchen food.  Oh, and eggs.  Lots of eggs.  A veritable gross of eggs.  (No exaggeration.)

And a couple before Pesach, the kitchen gets the final touches, the counter tops are covered, the chametz dishes and food is packed up and moved to the basement only to be replaced by the full set of Pesach dishes, most of which spend more time out of the cabinets than in as my Mom doesn't seem to stop cooking the entire week.  By the time we sit down for the seder, nearly everything in the kitchen has been replaced.  Let the matza-eating begin!

In my small room on the Ulpan at a non-religious kibbutz I did my best to reenact the ceremonial Spring Cleaning.  I wiped down every surface and cupboard, went on a search and destroy mission to capture the dust bunnies under my bed, and washed the floor with a full bucket of water.  Our Ulpan mom was kind enough to clean one of the floor's refrigerators for me and the one other girl who keeps Pesach, and I, too, went on a Pesach shopping spree the day before the holiday began, re-buying some basic items such as olive oil, salt, and strawberry jelly, and of course the requisite box of matza.  I added that to the plasticware I bought earlier, stashed my chametz in a cabinet, and felt ready for Pesach to begin as I sat down for the seder last Monday night.

I had hoped that even though the majority of the Jewish population in Israel is secular or non-observant, Pesach might be a little different.  I know a number of American Jews who don't keep Kosher the rest of the year but are zealously careful about their food and kitchens for Pesach.  And since Kashrut is easier in Israel, I thought certainly there would be a good number of people keeping Kosher lePesach.

Wrong.

Here I am, a Jew in Israel, and I'm still the minority.  It's an interesting sensation, to say the least.

My colleagues on the Ulpan have mostly been raised as secular Jews and as such, most of them are entirely unaware of the rules of Kashrut on Pesach, so it shouldn't surprise me to find them all eating cereal, pasta, and other foods that are distinctly chametz.  But I was a little more shocked at some Israelis' reactions when I told them I couldn't eat with them because I keep Kosher lePesach.  Some made light of it, some seemed not to understand it at all.  When conversing with those that don't keep Kosher for the holiday, I could read the ever-present question behind their eyes: "Why do you do that?"  And deeper down, I speculate that perhaps they were wondering, "What's the point?"

That's a good question.  What is the point?  Why put myself through this every year?  And in Israel, why bother?  What's so special about maintaining a unique Jewish identity in a Jewish country?  Besides, it would be easy enough to not eat bread, but worrying about the dishes, too?  Is it really so big of a deal?

Regardless of whether it's Jews or Christians asking, Israelis or Americans, friends or acquaintances or strangers, my answer will be the same.  To me, it is absolutely important, no matter where I am or how hard it is.  To me, observing these rules and traditions is what makes me Jewish and connects me to the broader global Jewish community.  When I eat matza instead of bread, I am acting upon a cultural memory of slavery and simultaneously rejoicing in my freedom.  I am so free I can choose to eat this crumbly, uninteresting sheet of burnt flour!

Nobody ever said being Jewish was easy, but I'm glad for the challenge.

חג שמח לכולם