Dear Editor,
After reading "A Kosher Yid" by Chava Dumas, I thought it was
interesting that in a previous article she suggested growing
"carrot trees" because they sprouted faster than avocado
pits. So why not teach children patience by waiting to see
how long it actually takes until an avocado sends forth its
first shoot? You can put a small sticker on the potš
designating when it was planted.
[Ed. It might be a good thing to teach children that
everything has its rate of growth -- including children. You
can plant things that grow overnight! Lentils, chick-peas,
beans. You can put sweet potatoes in water, which take a few
days to begin sprouting, making sure that there is room for
the roots to growš by sticking matches along the middle so it
will sit on the glass, in mid-water. And then, you have your
avocado. You can also make a decorative chart on `How We Have
Grown,' marking off the height of each child in centimeters
or inches, say once a week, or every Rosh Chodesh.]
Also, making challa with one's children seems to
fulfill all the right criteria for increasing awareness of
what it takes to make our food. There are so many steps
involved: sifting the flour, checking the eggs, measuring and
mixing the ingredients, watching the yeast and sugar-water
froth up, kneading, waiting for the dough to rise twice plus
the time it takes to bake. And everyone agrees that store-
bought bread is never the same as homemade! I sometimes think
it is worth it just for the heavenly smell that fills the
house!
And maybe it wouldn't be too far-fetched for every family to
learn and try at least once to kosher a chicken from start to
finish!
Kol tuv,
Yehudis Cohen
*
And along the same lines, another letter, from D.
Shain
Chava Dumas' article about the Kosher Yid took me back forty
years to when I had just arrived in Israel. A relative who
lived on a moshav up north paid us a visit and brought along,
a carton of oranges, from his grove, which we maasered
with a blessing, and a chicken that had been freshly
slaughtered that morning. By whom, we didn't know.
"You have three days still to kasher it," he noted. I duly
thanked him, but when he left, was in a quandary. What to do
with that chicken? I would almost have preferred it still
alive, as a pet. True to my good Bais Yaakov education, I
knew what to do -- theoretically, or could refresh my book
learning with a Kitzur Shulchon Oruch. But I certainly
did not have the utensils or the guts (and thankfully, the
chicken didn't have its, either) to do the job. And the
question of who had slaughtered it hung heavy in the air.
The days ticked by and I didn't do anything. I think the
numerous cats in our neighbor enjoyed their chicken dinner,
but at this point, I decided I couldn't remain such an
ignoramus. I'd have to have a practical lesson in kashering
my own chickens. There was really no big deal to it, I found
out, as a kind neighbor helped me buy a special pail and a
wooden slatted board for draining and I was in business.
Actually, it wasn't such a bad `business,' since it was much
more economical in those pre-frozen chicken days to kasher
your own than buy them already salted. I used to laugh at
seeing how anachronistic I had become when I went to the
butcher to buy my freshly slaughtered chicken and he would
ask me how I wanted it: wrapped up in old newspaper, with a
plastic bag (for free) for after the kashering, or in the
plastic bag right away, which I wouldn't be able to reuse. I
usually opted for the newspaper method.
There is a lot to be said for performing these homemaking
tasks that are so closely involved with mitzvos, like
challa-baking. It does something wonderful to you inside. It
makes you feel important, for one, providing for your family
in this special way. It connects you to all kinds of things.
I even had kabbalistic ideas floating around my head as I
considered this chicken as a three dimensional, six- sided
hunk of matter. My neighbor had taught me to think this way
when I salted the bird so as to make sure I got to every
surface on every side, top-bottom, side, side, side, side.
This led to transcendental thoughts of the fourth dimension,
or the seventh side, that is, the Shabbos sphere, in honor of
which the bird would be eaten.
*
The closest I ever felt to a real korbon was during
Aseres Yemei Tshuva when we began from scratch. (Halachic
authorities caution that one should be careful not to confuse
anything nowadays with a korbon and especially not to
say or hint that anything is.) Literally. We made
kapporos with live chickens, and many were the years
when I was expecting, and had to maneuver three chickens
above my head, two female and one male, since I didn't know
what I was carrying inside me.
We all went down to the Meah Shearim shuk, a block away from
our rented apartment. The noise was deafening, what with
chickens squawking, vendors hawking, children squealing,
women pinching and feeling, plucking machines whirring away
at very high decibels. And feathers flying everywhere. A
literal snowfall with kids jumping in the inches-high fluff
and having the time of their life. And today's children think
that a swimming pool of plastic balls is fun...
You bought your chicken live, watched as the vendor tied its
feet together, and then you held it, warm and fluttering,
trying to position it right before you swung it over your
head three times with the appropriate prayer. The chapter
recited before always made a tremendous impact on me. "Those
who sit... in the shadow of death, bound in affliction and
iron... They cried out to Hashem in their trouble... Their
soul abhorred all manner of food for they came near the gates
of death..." The chicken -- and me.
And then, as a final parting, we would release the chicken
and make sure it walked its four steps, after which we would
declare, as my husband had done, and his father and
grandfather before him, in Yiddish, "Dir tzum toit und ich
tzum leben -- You to death and myself to life."
We had just begun. We would then have to take the chicken to
be slaughtered, then to be plucked, then to the butcher to
have its lungs and stomach checked and be eviscerated. Only
afterwards could we take it home to kasher.
In those days and in Meah Shearim where everyone was poor,
you didn't insult people by giving them a kappora
chicken. Instead, you gave the equivalent in cost as
tzedoka and ate the chicken yourself. Let me tell you,
your Yom Kippur was very different after you'd eaten your own
proxy!
We moved out of Meah Shearim into our new apartment that had
been completed and I continued kashering my chickens,
sometimes four a week. Slowly, frozen chickens were
introduced to the consumer market and the government, wishing
to promote this more hygienic and far more efficient method,
subsidized them to such a degree that it was relatively
prohibitive to keep on buying fresh chickens. Besides, at
this point, the family had grown, along with my
responsibilities, and I really didn't have the time for
kashering.
For many years after, I retained the custom of doing
kapporos from start to finish and kashering the
chickens on my own, at least this once-a-year, so that the
children, who came along to the shuk, should be exposed to
the memorable experience and know what has to be done to a
chicken before it is eaten. But soon this phased out as well,
when Yad Eliezer stepped in and did the job for you. At least
you knew that people were enjoying a plump kappora to
let you fly into the New Year with white colors.
These years, whenever I come upon my kashering board in my
storage area, or when I swing that warm, pulsing Yad Eliezer
chicken over my head, I feel more than a twinge or two for
the good old days. But I can still look forward to the time
when we will be bringing our own, real korbonos, in
the rebuilt Beis Hamikdosh, may it be speedily and in our
time.
And another excellent letter:
I am forwarding some ideas, in the hope that they might be
beneficial, for your readers' reflection on
MAKING RESOLUTIONS THAT WILL STICK
At times of reflection and retrospection, either personal or
at national hours of distress, we may grab at new ideas and
try to add mitzvos to our account. Perhaps it might be
more productive to strengthen, improve and perfect those we
are doing!
For example: we recite scores of brochos and with
little effort, we can put more kavona into them.
We try to dress and act modestly, but a quick glance in the
mirror will reveal where we need to make greater effort: head
coverings slipping, collar buttons...
Clothing may meet the letter of the law and miss its spirit.
We are in constant motion, so our clothing and speech must be
evaluated in that light. Would the Imohos recognize us
as their descendants? If we carry along a brag-bag of our
good deeds, we are missing the point of modesty: Walking
humbly with Hashem.
Chessed abounds in our community. Perhaps we can refine it by
seasoning it with more warmth, patience and love, and
dropping judgmental stances. Do you love the recipient of
your goodwill; are you condescending, in general? Do your
friends feel like your `cases'? No one likes to feel like a
cause, to be discussed as one in need and targetted as your
latest mitzva.
How do we interact with non-religious or less- religious? Do
we embarrass them or missionize to cause them discomfort?
Whatever we do should be for the sake of Heaven, not for any
ulterior motives or for the fanfare.
If we can internalize our emuna that All is from
Heaven, for the best, we will be less prone to complain,
besmirch, envy or be less-than-perfectly- honest in all of
our dealings.
by Bas Yisroel
