delray beach orthodox rabbi

                                             
                                                                                            B"H
Eating Our Way Through The Holidays
 
I recently read an article about the demise of the New York Kosher deli scene. In its heyday there were thousands of delicatessens serving a variety of “Jewish delicacies.” Their menus all served food that my soul yearns for but my wife adamantly refuses to allow in our house. From sumptuous overstuffed sandwiches of corned beef and pastrami to cholesterol laden kishke, shmaltz, and of course good old fashioned gribenes. For those who never experienced “Gan-eden,” (ultimate pleasure) gribenes is deep fried chicken fat that crackles and makes all foods in its proximity collateral damage. And if your arteries weren’t clogged yet, then you could order fried potato perogen and chopped liver.
 
My favorite was always a grilled hotdog on a bun with mustard and sauerkraut. God forbid if anyone contemplated adding ketchup, onions, or chili. We knew the rules for what food combinations were gastronomically appropriate. Latkes had sour cream (no applesauce), gefilte fish had red “chrain” (horseradish) and absolutely no white horseradish or mayo, and rye bread had those awful caraway seeds. I believed upholding tradition entailed certain sacrifices until I learned that you can actually get rye without seeds. Of course, the rye bread had to have a crispy crust yet soft inside and although “you didn’t have be Jewish to eat Levi’s real Jewish rye,” commercially made rye bread was an oxymoron.
 
All was going well until I moved to Toronto. To my utter dismay, people were eating french fries dipped in vinegar. It was sacrilegious at best and in my humble estimation a lack of proper upbringing and culture. It was almost as bad as seeing people in a Canadian pizza shop eating their pizza with a fork and knife. They were unaware that the culturally correct way to eat pizza is by folding it and allowing the oil to drip. Gradually, I started to appreciate that someone else’s idea of what makes something a delicacy may not match my own. However, this understanding was pushed to the limit when I visited a friend in South Africa and we were served hot tea with milk. Let’s just say that friendship didn’t last very long. I felt violated. Number one, why did they assume I wasn’t feeling well and had to be served tea? And secondly, to add insult to injury, they chose to render the tea unpalatable by adding milk. The thought still haunts me. Perhaps a bissele schnapps or Peter (Cherry) Heering, clandestinely added, but that too, was medicinal as it aided in sleep and digestion.
 
For those who think this article written a few days before Rosh Hashanah should be a little less flip and focus on deeper spiritual matters, I assure you that I couldn’t agree more. Sometimes we are so focused on doing what is correct or expected that we lose sight of the essence of the holiday. Some of us would rather not eat the head of a fish, even when reciting the prayer stating, “may it be God’s will that I should be like a head and not a tail.” If I had to eat the head of a fish or a sheep, I probably wouldn’t make it to services in the morning. To be honest, I’m also not a big fan of honey and don’t believe that refraining from eating honey will negatively affect my happiness next year. It’s not that I’m against eating foods that have a relationship to Rosh Hashanah. I am against ignoring the spiritual meaning of our holidays and replacing them with eating symbolic foods.
 
Food plays an important and yet, I dare say, a minor role in our holidays. Delicacies are a means and not an end. We eat so we can celebrate the anniversary of the creation of the world. We eat so we can recognize the kingship of the Almighty. We eat typically Jewish food because we want to recognize and be proud of what we as a people accomplished. Our accomplishments are not measured by our cuisine, but our food reminds us of our accomplishments. When in Israel I eat pita, falafel, and hummus. I don't choose these foods because it’s gourmet dining, I do so because it reminds me of who we are as a people and gives me a greater understanding of our humble beginnings.
 
This Rosh Hashanah may be our last. Don’t worry, I’m not a doom and gloom conspiracy theorist, but I do think the world we live in is slowly changing, as it always has. Much of what was previously acceptable is no longer acceptable. But alas, I’m optimistic that the future is brighter than the past. I believe that Orthodox Judaism is not threatened by progress but rather its growth is dependent on it. Some of what was inspiring to my great grandfather would probably leave me uninspired. What I find stimulating and exciting today would have been unthinkable a hundred years ago. I think there is a lesson to be learned from the demise of the deli. The deli was once universally beloved, but ultimately its failure was its inability to look to the future. Our Jewish past can never be forgotten, but it’s our Jewish future that will allow us to reach unimaginable heights.
 
We greet each other on Rosh Hashana with a wish to be inscribed in the Book of Life. A book that may reflect on the past but promises the future. Hayom harat olam - today is the anniversary of creation. On Rosh Hashanah we marvel at God’s creative genius. Yet, we remember that during the time of creation life was not particularly pleasant. Adam and Eve lost the plot and their son Kain killed his brother. Of course it’s imperative to acknowledge all the good that God did, but it also benefits us to understand that God created the world with pitfalls so that generations can learn from the past to improve the future. In my childhood I longed for a hotdog with mustard and sauerkraut, but my more sophisticated palate (and my wife) guarantee that I never order hotdogs when I eat out.
 
Shana tova and have a healthy and happy New Year.
 
Rabbi Jack Engel
 
 
PS: This article is dedicated to the memory of Carole Marder; a true Eshet Chayil - a woman of valor who exemplified Judaism.