Hey? What's cookin' by P. Chovav!
The world, we know, is divided into two types of people:
those who love squash (zucchini) and those who don't.
One of a housewife's favorite hobbies is to conceal squash
in the food of even the most die-hard, stubborn enemies of
squash. That's the way it is. After Gershon or whatever-his-
name finishes his meal and heaps accolades upon its chef,
his loyal helpmate will cheerfully announce: "Oh, really?
That's great. I'm very happy to hear that. Tell me, how did
you like the potato kugel?"
"Fantastic. Something special." Then comes the bombshell,
ejected with a teeny bit of a smile on the face of the
distaff, "D'you know?" she reveals, "I also put one squash
into it. Not a big one, really, just medium-sized. But it
adds so-o much, don't you think? Even though you can't
actually detect it..."
There's nothing you can do about it. Experts in sholom
bayis are at a loss to explain why this happens to the
wives, but it remains an immutable reality of life.
Primarily in those families where there are squash-haters --
and what family doesn't have at least one? The challenge of
sneaking in a zucchini or two is almost incontrollable.
Psychologists claim that even if there is a measure of
pleasure in the very ability of controlling the tastes of
the family, the true satisfaction is derived only
afterwards, at the long awaited moment when the housewife
can declare on the phone, "Listen to this! You won't believe
it, but I grated a squash into the apple compote and it
added such a delectable flavor. I'm telling you, you
couldn't pinpoint it, but it enhanced the dessert
immeasurably. Even Gershon conceded that you couldn't taste
it."
An achievement like this can reassure the average
baalebusta and keep her coasting along on her laurels
for weeks and months -- except for the fact that somewhere
along the line the squash-cart will be upset and she will
hear of a one- upwomanship victory of hiding a squash in an
angel cake or ice cream. This will arouse within her a new
urge that will afford no respite until she can again grasp
the receiver with confidence and in a stage whisper,
announce emotionally, "Yes, yes! Exactly what you heard! A
squash inside a cup of tea-and- lemon! Not a big one, I must
admit, but it added so much. You can ask Gershon! That's
right! Even Gershon!"
There's hardly a home without a zucchini. Except, of course,
for those roosts ruled by women who hate them, themselves.
There you wouldn't find as much as a zucchini seed. There
you need have no qualms as to where the squash could have
been finagled. There, even if some of the members of the
family do happen to like squash, the chance of their
enjoying a delectable homemade squash casserole is equal to
the chance of finding a squash capable of singing
"Layehudim..."
Not only squash. The same applies to Palestinians. There are
some who like them and some who don't. Interestingly enough,
those who love them try to push them on us with all their
might. They know that a direct method won't work, so they
try to hide them, like squash.
Just the other day, the government ministers were sitting
around, and they found an original way of serving up the
Palestinians on our plates. Jerusalem, they postulated,
would become a city of sectors: Jewish and Palestinian. The
Jewish sectors would belong to the Jews and the Palestinian
ones to the Palestinians. Ramot - - for us. Sheikh Jerakh --
for them. Gilo -- for us. Silwan - - for them. All of the
eateries in Geula -- for us. The garages and junk yards in
Wadi Joz -- for them.
That's how they apportioned Jerusalem to everyone's complete
satisfaction, and as far as they are concerned, the
Palestinian problem is settled once-and-for-all. This side
of the Kosel -- for us. The reverse side -- for them. The
second incline to the right, leading towards the Jewish
quarter -- ours; the other one, theirs. The road that splits
off by the glazier until the fourth step -- theirs. Just
great! Why shouldn't everyone be pleased with this simple
arrangement?
And in order not to upset the ancient custom that requires
the kalla's side to give more than half, it was
agreed to transfer to the Palestinians some hundreds of
square kilometers south of Netivot. Why not?
This arrangement, as far as the Left is concerned, should
satisfy the demands of both sides. You can't force Israelis
to love Palestinians, but you can insert a few here and
there without anyone noticing. Big deal! So you want to go
to the Kosel? Bevakasha! Line up, double yourselves
over, raise your hands to your head and dash across to the
other side of the road. Everyone's made it? Fine! Now hug
the wall and wait until the Palestinian with his machine gun
on the rooftop goes in for a drink. Then you can run for
it.
According to Yossi Sarid, these are concessions that can and
must be made. He draws the line, however, at the Right of
Return. This, he declares, would be the end of Zionism. But
what's so terrible if they are willing to settle for any
alternate territory in central Israel instead of the lands
and homes they occupied before 1948?
Yeah, what's so bad about that? A nice Palestinian
shikun near Ramat Aviv? Or a new town sandwiched
between Herzliya and Netanya? The Americans would pay for
it. Who cares, as long as this strife is settled. What --
peace is not worth half a million Arabs near Ranaana?
If you can ask the Jerusalemites to have armed Palestinians
living a stone's throw from their homes, why shouldn't we
expect the same from the residents of Kfar Shemaryahu?
All of the concessions which the Left are ready to suggest
stop at the territorial borders of greater Tel Aviv. At
close range -- it seems -- they love the Palestinians as
much as the Jerusalemites love them.
And whoever doesn't like squash -- please, don't hide them
in someone else's plate.
