This week's parashah/Torah portion establishes one of the cornerstones of Jewish tradition: there are two categories of animals, those that may be consumed and those that shall not be consumed by those who consider themselves to be part of the brit/covenant between God and Israel.
Not that long ago, "keeping kosher" was normative practice among Jews in the United States. Jews who today do not maintain kosher kitchens in their homes most probably recall the kosher homes of their parents or grandparents. Living in a state in which there are no kosher butchers (although Trader Joe's always carries fresh kosher meat and poultry!) and one kosher coffeeshop/bakery (Wildflour Bakery in Pawtucket, yum!), it is clear that a minority of Rhode Island Jews follow kosher guidelines when making decisions about food.
Last night I had occasion to write in an e-mail to a Torat Yisrael member that it is often the case in the Torah that a mitzvah / commandment is given and no reason is provided. Thus, Passover, according to the Torah, lasts seven days. and although we might come up with engaging and inspirational reasons for this number, the bottom line remains that Pesah lasts seven days for the simple reason that God said so.
Keeping kosher is largely about religious discipline. It is a statement: all the food God created is healthy, delicious, nourishing . . . but as an expression of the centrality of my Jewishness in my life, I am going to avoid eating pigs and lobsters and veal parmesan. Here is a place where we might very well expect "God said so" to be the only available reason in the Torah.
But Parashat Shemini not only provides criteria for kosher creatures (mammals with cloven hooves that chew their cuds, water creatures with both fins and scales) but we get a reason, too. Toward the end of the parasha we read:
(vayikra/leviticus 11:44-45) For I am the Lord your God, and you shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, because I am holy, and you shall not defile yourselves through any creeping creature that crawls on the ground. For i am the Lord Who brought you up from the Land of Egypt to be your God. Thus you shall be holy because I am holy.
Here we are given to understand that accepting the discipline of kashrut endows us with holiness. i find this to be an astounding and energizing concept: holiness is not exclusively a divine state, it is an attainable goal for human beings as well.
In traditional parlance, a Jewish congregation is referred to as a kehillah k'doshah, as a holy congregation. I believe that our Torat Yisrael community, on the verge of leaving our 60 year old building in Cranston and preparing to settle in East Greenwich is very much a kehillah k'doshah, a holy community. We express this in innumerable ways: we support the hungry in our state through our partnership with the Edgewood Food Pantry in the Church of the Transfiguration on Broad Street and our support of the Chester Kosher Food Closet; we support the homeless in our state through our annual Kosher Christmas Dinner for the Rhode Island Family Shelter; we are committed to the perpetuation of the covenant between God and Israel through our outstanding Torat Tots, Yeladon and Cohen Religious School; we deepen the Jewish spiritual and intellectual journeys of our members through our services and Torah study. We declare our commitment to striving for that exalted k'dushah / holiness that God offers us through our adherence to the system of Kashrut.
The insights of this week's parashah are a gift: by the simple, accessible means of choosing eggplant parmesan over veal parmesan we can take a step towards human holiness: a gift of an eternally accessible opportunity to us as individuals and to us as a kehillah k'doshah, a holy congregation.
Parashat Re'eh Torah Reading: Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17
God said to Moshe: You shall not seethe a kid in its mother's milk.
Moshe said to God: Oh! Ok. So we're going to have separate pots for foods with milk and foods with meat.
God said to Moshe: You shall not seethe a kid in its mother's milk.
Moshe said to God: Oh! Ok. So after we eat meat, we're going to wait three hours before we eat anything dairy.
God said to Moshe: You shall not seethe a kid in its mother's milk.
Moshe said to God: Oh! Ok. So we're going to wash our meat and dairy pots, dishes and utensils with separate sponges.
God said to Moshe: Oh, go do what you want!!
One of the three times in the Torah that the verse "You shall not seethe a kid in its mother's milk," appears in the Torah is in this week's parashah. Re'eh also contains a list of the criteria for determining whether an animal (split hooves and chews its cud) or sea creature (fins and scales) is kosher (proper) for consumption.
Ah, kashrut . . . the Jewish dietary laws. There is no element of Jewish tradition that is more iconic, more misunderstood, more cherished, feared, resisted and embraced.
Airline staff have informed me that kosher food is food that has been blessed by a rabbi. If you sign up for J-Date, you will be asked two questions about your Jewish life: how frequently you attend synagogues and whether you observe kashrut or not. Members of the various congregations I've served have: told me that kosher food is healthier; have stood defensively between me and their shopping carts when we've bumped into each other in a supermarket aisle; have changed the menu of their simchah to vegetarian and fish after thinking about the disconnect of celebrating a bar or bat mitzvah with treife (not kosher) food; have invited me to kasher their kitchens; have made persuasive arguments about why the rules of kashrut should be relaxed in synagogue so that they can bring in their famous cake/soup/salad/cookies that they've made at home.
As the joke at the top of the page suggests, the laws of kashrut have multiplied exponentially beyond the few simple guidelines in the Torah. The rabbis of the late antique period who shaped the fundamental laws of kashrut were motivated by the desire to create a system of rules on which everyone would rely, to anticipate questions over which people in their markets and kitchens might puzzle, turning the food Jews eat into a common language.
Somehow, we are bumping up against kashrut a lot.
Why? Here is my list of reasons for cherishing, embracing and committing to kashrut:
1. Kashrut compels us to be mindful of what we put into our mouths. Rather than grabbing what is handy, we train ourselves to elevate our choices, to infuse what nourishes our bodies with a spiritual dimension.
2. Kashrut is our quiet rebellion. History and fate have placed us in a culture focussed on consumption, on instant gratification, on latest fads . . . kashrut is an eternal, consistent core criteria, it does not change with the seasons. Kashrut is like a mast that holds steady in constantly changing winds.
3. Kashrut: our not-so-secret handshake. It's just so Jewish. Kashrut is a way to express, and to enhance, our sense of belonging to the Jewish world. It's the way Jews eat. It's never having to be apologetic because you can't invite someone Jewish to your home. It's a way to express the Jewishness of your home and family that links you to Jews all over the world and Jews throughout history.
It's also fun, by the way. I like to cook, and I've become a more creative cook by adapting recipes to my kosher kitchen and finding things to eat in restaurants around the world.
So, if you'd like to know more, be in touch. I'm delighted to answer any questions about keeping kosher any time!