LJ Idol, Season 9: Week 7 - "No True Scotsman"
Pork.
Bacon, ham, spare ribs, sausage...
It's one of the things that separates the Jew from the non-Jew, and those who were raised in the Reform temple from those who were raised in the stricter sects of Judaism.
For at least the last three generations, maybe longer, my family has been part of the Reform temple. This is the least conservative sect of Judaism. We have never kept Kashrut, or Kosher as many would call it. We eat pork and shellfish, we drink milk with our burgers or steak if we want to, and we aren't fussy how the animals were slaughtered as long as they are cooked to our individual liking.
But that niggling, nagging, shrill voice of Jewish Guilt can still get the better of us.
It was Christmas Day, 1991, but it was also the first night of Hanukkah. My husband Ted and I had only been dating for a little over six months at that time, but we were already serious. I had brought him down to Florida to meet my relatives for the first time. We had partaken of a light lunch and exchanged presents at my aunt and uncle's house. My uncle Bill, being rather stereotypical for a change, had made dinner reservations for the family at a local Chinese Food restaurant. My Aunt Phyllis, Uncle Bill, and Cousin Peter, my father Jay, and my elderly Great Aunt Harriet were all in attendance.
Around the table we sat, with Aunt Harriet to Ted's left, and me on his right. I don't remember exactly what I ordered, but if I had to guess it was probably Beef Lo Mein, since it is one of my favorites. What I do know is that my husband was enjoying a plate of Sweet & Sour Chicken and my Aunt Harriet had Mu Shu Pork on the table in front of her.
That was when the Rabbi entered the establishment.
When my Aunt Harriet - a zaftig woman in her late 80's who was legally blind - heard the Rabbi's familiar voice speaking to the maître d’, she panicked. No true Jew would want to be caught by the Rabbi eating pork, and on Hanukkah no less!
Thinking quickly, she reached over to Ted's plate of chicken and without even asking, switched it out for her plate of Mu Shu Pork.
It was a good thing that she did, because a few moments later Rabbi Maline stopped by our table and greeted my Uncle Bill, shaking his hand and wishing everyone a Happy Hanukkah.
"That was the Rabbi," Harriet stage whispered to Ted after the dark-suited man had left.
With a wink and a mischievous smile, Aunt Harriet took back her portion of pork, returned Ted's chicken, and resumed eating.
L'chayim!
Bacon, ham, spare ribs, sausage...
It's one of the things that separates the Jew from the non-Jew, and those who were raised in the Reform temple from those who were raised in the stricter sects of Judaism.
For at least the last three generations, maybe longer, my family has been part of the Reform temple. This is the least conservative sect of Judaism. We have never kept Kashrut, or Kosher as many would call it. We eat pork and shellfish, we drink milk with our burgers or steak if we want to, and we aren't fussy how the animals were slaughtered as long as they are cooked to our individual liking.
But that niggling, nagging, shrill voice of Jewish Guilt can still get the better of us.
It was Christmas Day, 1991, but it was also the first night of Hanukkah. My husband Ted and I had only been dating for a little over six months at that time, but we were already serious. I had brought him down to Florida to meet my relatives for the first time. We had partaken of a light lunch and exchanged presents at my aunt and uncle's house. My uncle Bill, being rather stereotypical for a change, had made dinner reservations for the family at a local Chinese Food restaurant. My Aunt Phyllis, Uncle Bill, and Cousin Peter, my father Jay, and my elderly Great Aunt Harriet were all in attendance.
Around the table we sat, with Aunt Harriet to Ted's left, and me on his right. I don't remember exactly what I ordered, but if I had to guess it was probably Beef Lo Mein, since it is one of my favorites. What I do know is that my husband was enjoying a plate of Sweet & Sour Chicken and my Aunt Harriet had Mu Shu Pork on the table in front of her.
That was when the Rabbi entered the establishment.
When my Aunt Harriet - a zaftig woman in her late 80's who was legally blind - heard the Rabbi's familiar voice speaking to the maître d’, she panicked. No true Jew would want to be caught by the Rabbi eating pork, and on Hanukkah no less!
Thinking quickly, she reached over to Ted's plate of chicken and without even asking, switched it out for her plate of Mu Shu Pork.
It was a good thing that she did, because a few moments later Rabbi Maline stopped by our table and greeted my Uncle Bill, shaking his hand and wishing everyone a Happy Hanukkah.
"That was the Rabbi," Harriet stage whispered to Ted after the dark-suited man had left.
With a wink and a mischievous smile, Aunt Harriet took back her portion of pork, returned Ted's chicken, and resumed eating.
L'chayim!