Nowadays, if we want to buy a kosher chicken, we just go into
the supermarket or butcher shop and pick one out, either
packaged or fresh, with an assortment of supervisions from
which to choose. We so rely on others to provide us with
certain staples that I wonder how many children today
actually understand what consitutes the kashrus we all
take for granted.
A visiting non-religious Israeli relative was once staying
with my parents in New York. My mother explained to him
straightaway the rudiments of running a kosher kitchen, which
cupboards and drawers were meat and dairy, the different
sponges and sinks. Our cousin, who grew up in a totally
secular home in Haifa, politely nodded his head, seemingly in
understanding. However, a few days later, my mother
discovered a package of pork sausages in the refrigerator!
When questioned, Ofir apologized profusely. Mom then
clarified for him the kinds of animals that are kosher.
Soon after that incident, my Dad detected an uncertified
frozen chicken in the freezer. Mom made inquiries and Ofir
shook his head in confusion and confessed, "...but I checked
the whole thing, and there weren't any unkosher
ingredients."
It was at this point that a much stricter surveillance was
kept over Ofir, who, anyway, didn't stay much longer...
If we ask our own children what renders a fine fowl fit to be
eaten by Jews, they will probably answer, "It has to bought
at Hacker's [Jerusalem certified butcher, an apt name, no?]!"
or "It has to have a good hechsher."
Well, there's a lot more to it than that. Since the entire
kashering process has been removed from most homes today, not
only are our children usually ignorant of the steps involved,
but they are missing the opportunity to learn valuable
lessons that once prepared them for life.
There could be a connection between this lack of "home-
schooled" learning and the rising rates of marital problems
that plague even religious circles. I am not suggesting that
if you want to improve your marriage, you should get chickens
instead of counseling, but we have to realize that our deeds
affect our thoughts and our actions infuence our outlook.
Everyone jokes about the hazards of living in a fast-paced,
`throw away' society with its disposable mentality. But it's
true. If things that break just get replaced ("Lady, it'll
cost you more to fix it than to buy a new one!"), and
everyone and everything has to be fast, efficient and
instantly ready, where do we learn about eternal values,
patience, making an effort to work things out?
A generation ago, when people had live poultry roaming around
in their yards [we remind you of Chava's article "Life Among
the Chickens" from Parshas Ki Sissa], pecking and squawking,
young people had a chance to help care for animals. Families
made sure the livestock had proper food and plenty of fresh
air and sunshine to ensure good health and development --
just as the children themselves needed [lehavdil], and
every week they were part of the most commonplace event in
Jewish lives around the world -- bringing a chicken to the
shochet. A privileged youngster had his turn to take
the selected specimen for slaughter. Returning home later,
there was still much preparation to do before their bird was
anywhere near ready to eat, and everyone understood how much
was involved in making their main Shabbos meal. Each step
along the way had its own subliminal message for the
participants to internalize:
Firstly, it was clear that good things take considerable time
and effort.
The duration of time that it took to pull out the feathers,
pluck by pluck, gave a person a chance to think, almost
meditatively, of how one must work to remove what is
secondary to reach the hidden essence underneath, pushing
aside the outer fluff to see the core. And nothing was ever
wasted. The feathers would become stuffing for pillows and
blankets. Every little bit has value.
Opening up and examining the internal organs for any signs of
unfitness is like self-introspection -- our own internal
check to determine if our behavior is acceptable for a
"kosher" Yid. Salting to wrest the blood from the flesh:
shouldn't we be doing just that with our bad character traits
-- extracting them from our own personalities lest they
render our actions treif? If we find something
questionable inside our bird, within ourselves, mustn't we
seek the wisdom of the Rav to help clarify the matter? In
addition, there are blessings for the shochet to
enunciate in accompaniment with his holy work. The practice
of kashering is a parable for life's methods of giving
us chances to grow, self examine and bless.
If you are wondering what inspired these thoughts, well,
about four years ago, one of our future egg- layers turned
out to be a very loud rooster that made a maddening ruckus at
all hours of the night, not just at the crack of dawn. Though
our neighbors were quite tolerant, we knew some sort of
solution was needed immediately. Our children had a very
practical approach that stood in sharp contrast to the
American-born sentimentality towards pets that my husband and
I both shared. They enthusiastically suggested that we eat
him for Shabbos! Not wanting to interfere with their
realistic view of the world (did we really want them to have
that Western attachment to animals that prompted some people
to say kaddish for a deceased dog?), my husband and I
discussed our options.
We'd raised a healthy, free-range `organic' chicken; it
seemed like a reasonable thing to do, all queasiness
aside.
So I called the Rov of our community to inquire about a
reliable shochet. I was told that one lived just up
the street in our neighborhood. I called the shochet's
wife and she said her husband would be available in the
afternoon. And so it was that we placed our fat, unsuspecting
rooster in a cardboard box, put him in a carriage with our
toddler, and headed up the block to witness the making of our
dinner.
I will spare you all the (gory) details that our children
took in stride, while I cringed on the side. Seeing my pale
face and slightly moist eyes, our honorable neighbor
explained how the act of being slaughtered according to
Jewish Law consitituted a great rectification for our
feathered fowl. It was its privilege to be eaten by Jews who
would use the energy of the food to do mitzvos... in
fact, there was nothing better than this in the world for our
rooster. He spoke with such sincerity that I felt
comforted.
The deed done and the innards [lungs, etc., a great lesson in
anatomy] duly inspected, we returned home to finish the
process we had undertaken. Our children watched with wide-
eyed wonder while we worked to prepare our bird: plucking,
washing, salting, rinsing the raw flesh. Each step consumed
more time before we were finally able to place our kosher
chicken in a pan to simmer beside the potatoes, squash,
onions and carrots. Yes, it certainly was easier to buy our
meat read-to-cook -- one-two-three presto! But the sense of
awe and appreciation we had that Friday night when we sat
down to eat cannot be duplicated -- unless we are at least
familiar with the process and remind ourselves that someone,
somewhere, went through all that work for us, and we send
them a little heartfelt thank-you as well.
Now you know that we were privy to all those details
described above, and I can understand if no one runs off to
start koshering their own chickens! ("Hey, honey, I read an
article in Yated that advocated we do this ourselves!)
But there are those who do so, with fear of Heaven their
motivation, completely aware of where their food comes from,
their efforts actually teaching the members of their
household core values by osmosis.
Maybe we can look around in our fast-paced, `modern' lives,
to find hands-on opportunities for our children to absorb
these concepts of deliberation and self- examination of our
actions, and patience and acceptance of the time it takes to
make something work out well -- all lessons that are vital in
forming a constructive, positive attitude towards building a
strong, enduring relationship with their future spouse.
Any suggestions?
