I was in the local grocery store when they were unpacking a
new shipment of cookies. The box on top of the pile caught
my eye. In English it said, "Butter Cookies." "Butter" was
in very large letters, "Cookies" was smaller.
"That would be a nice treat for the grandchildren," I
thought, "They often have dairy meals during the week. Let
me see if they are Chalov Yisroel." I picked up the box and
read the small print: "Kosher Parve."
Not so long ago, the medium size English text would have said
something to the effect that the cookies were artificially
butter flavored. (The Hebrew side of the box did allude to
that.) Today, it does not seem to be the case.
I am old enough to remember when kosher parve margarine was
first introduced in America, and caterers wanted to put bars
of the new margarine next to the bread baskets at
simchas where the main course was going to be
fleishig. The problem was that the margarine looked
exactly like butter and the rabbis were greatly concerned
that someone would think that butter was being served with
meat.
After much discussion, the caterers were finally allowed to
place the parve margarine on the tables only if they left the
foil wrapper underneath each bar, partly attached to at least
one of the sides so one could read the label.
This went on for years. At every wedding and fundraising
dinner, everything was elegantly presented on the tables in
silver or crystal serving ware except for the parve margarine
which remained in its distinctive foil wrapper.
Then non-dairy creamer came out, and that was also eventually
served by kosher restaurants and caterers, but only in the
original small cardboard carton. If it had been poured into
a pitcher, it would have appeared that milk or cream was
being served with meat.
Today, that line seems to be blurred. I don't know how
things are in the States at this point, but let me tell you
about an experience we had recently here in Israel.
We were helping one of our sons with his older children after
my daughter-in-law gave birth to a son. The caterer was
telling the new father the standard menu that is served in
that hall for each bris. It consists of salads, an
appetizer choice of bourekas or potato blinzes, a main course
choice of baked chicken legs or fried chicken shnitzel, rice,
a vegetable and beverages.
Then he concluded, "And of course ice cream for dessert."
The caterer did not use the modifier "parve" to describe the
ice cream. That was a given. And sure enough, on the
morning of the bris, following the chicken, without
labels or announcements about the parve status, out came
scoops of what looked for all the world like the world's
favorite dairy dessert.
What kind of chinuch is that for our children? Of
course we have ice cream after meat. Naturally we nibble on
butter cookies after the cholent. Then in addition to
the boser v'cholov issue, we also have kosher
artificial "bacon," "crabmeat" and other forbidden
foodstuffs.
And phoney food is not the only problem. Someone showed me a
machzor, with a fancy beaded fabric
cover—complete with handle—that looks like an
evening bag, designed for elegantly dressed women to carry to
shul on Rosh HaShanah.
Okay, you are asking, what is so terrible about not
constantly explaining to the children that we don't really
eat milk and meat in the same meal, that the tiny soy salad
chips are not made of chazir and that we don't carry
purses on Yom Tov?
The problem is that we get in the habit of thinking the
children will understand these things all by themselves. The
issues I have already mentioned are not earth-shattering, but
there is another look-alike situation that is extremely
serious.
Recently I heard that there was a Shabbaton held at a hotel
somewhere here in Israel that had spacious grounds with no
surrounding fence. Guests were walking out of the building
on Shabbos afternoon and carrying things out to the lawn:
sefarim, snacks, drinks and anything else that might
enhance their Shabbos.
There was a major problem, though. No one had constructed an
eiruv around the hotel grounds and each person who
carried something outside the building was transgressing the
laws of Shabbos!
When we lived in the States, we did not have an eiruv
around our neighborhood. Every time members of our family
left the house on Shabbos, we would pause in the front hall
and check all of our pockets.
The children's guests would do the same. Maybe someone had
put a handkerchief into a pocket while playing a game. They
had to find it and remove it before venturing outside. If we
were escorting a guest out of the house, I had to remember to
take off my reading glasses and leave them in the front
hall.
If we had a new baby in the house, it meant I would be in the
house every Shabbos for at least a year. I couldn't use a
carriage or stroller. That would be carrying. All of the
children who were old enough to walk and talk learned about
not carrying anything outside the front door on Shabbos.
Here in Israel, most neighborhoods have an eiruv and
many, if not most, Observant people rely on the eiruv.
If you are in B'nei Brak or any other Chareidi neighborhood
where traffic stops for Shabbos, you will see a parade of
baby carriages on the streets throughout the Shabbos.
In most places, on Shabbos afternoons the children take their
goodie bags, their tricycles and their jump ropes and go out
to the street to play with their friends. How often do the
parents remember to say, "Children, we are very fortunate to
have an eiruv in our neighborhood so we can carry into
the public domain."
By not making that announcement every Shabbos, we can end up
with a situation where our children grow up thinking, as the
guests at the Shabbaton did, that wherever they are, they can
carry on Shabbos.
Maybe parents here should try following the "no-eiruv"
mode for at least one Shabbos each year just to introduce
their children to the concept of not carrying outside.
As, I mentioned, that is how my children grew up in the
States. My boys knew that Jews were indoors or in their
backyards all Shabbos afternoon. When they walked to shul
for mincha, they would pass non-Jewish neighbors
playing ball in the street.
We came to Israel as tourists in the late 1970's with our
oldest sons. We were spending Shabbos in the center of
Jerusalem, and the windows of our hotel room looked out on
the street below. "Look, Mommy, look!" called one of my
little boys excitedly from the window, "Even the goyim
here wear yarmulkes!"
I walked over to where my son stood and looked out. There in
the middle of the street we could see boys in Shabbos
outfits, tossing a ball from one to the other. In school, my
sons had learned about the concept of an eiruv but had
never experienced one. They were amazed to see people who
looked like Jews carrying outside on Shabbos and assumed
that, of course, they must be non-Jews wearing
yarmulkes.
Looking back on it, I think that of all of the confusing look-
alike situations, my young son's error on that Shabbos
afternoon twenty-five years ago was definitely among the most
benign.
