Give a listen ... Meat? Diary? Wait!

“You are invited! We’re having an all-you-can-eat all night study and gabfest.” The email goes on to say that the occasion is Shavuot. The holiday menu will be dairy including blintzes, various cheeses, and puddings, and pastries. They’re serving pizza, too, with dozens of choices of toppings such as mushrooms, spinach, green peppers, and pineapples. No pepperoni or ham because this is an official Jewish gathering. But neither will there be meatballs or hamburger.

In fact, no meat dishes will be served! In keeping with kosher laws there will be no mixing of meat and dairy. This is in accordance with a pronouncement in the Bible: “You shall not see the ( boil ) a kid (calf) in its mother’s milk.” What? Who interpreted this passage? Well, according to one story, Moses asked what God meant. He repeatedly pestered God for an explanation.

“We shouldn’t eat meat and dairy together?” “Don’t boil a calf in its mother’s milk.”

“We should have two sets of utensils and dishes: meat, dairy…?” “Don’t boil a calf in its mother’s milk.”

“We should wait six hours after eating meat before eating dairy?”

“Whatever, Moses. Have it your way.”

Therefore, observers of all the rules of Kashruth (Jewish dietary laws) keep different sets of dishes and don’t eat cheeseburgers.

Growing up in an assimilated family I didn’t know about all the stringencies and prohibitions.

The meat did come from a kosher butcher and I loved the lamb chops, and brisket, and kekleten (homemade hamburgers). There was neither ham nor pork chops. And until my siblings experienced steamed clams on a trip to Atlantic City there was no shellfish — a forbidden food. As the first-born I was the first to attend Hebrew school. We were taught about Kashruth and I became resistant to trying trefe (non-kosher) foods. My education occurred not only in the classroom but also on a trip to Washington, D.C.

First was a planned tour. Then we all went to a cafeteria for a roast beef lunch. Afterwards we were permitted to explore. On the sidewalk en route to a museum was an ice cream vendor. A few of us walked over to place our orders. In a preview of what was to come in a “Seinfeld” episode, one of the teachers stopped us. “No scoop for you! You have to wait six hours!” We were shocked, embarrassed, and disappointed.

Two years later I did a research paper for high school. Those who knew me well would have expected the subject to be baseball or music. But I instead chose to write about Kashruth — for a public school project. In doing the research I learned there were differing customs from one Jewish community to another. Ashkenazi Jews didn’t eat rice on Passover; but it was okay for Sephardis. A six hour pause for any dairy drink or food (ice cream!) after meat was not universal. Waits could be five, three and, among the Dutch, just one hour. I recall a community where one only had to postpone for 15 minutes. What a variation! Learning that different rabbis came up with different interpretations and discrepant rulings stuck with me. I did go through a phase where I “kept kosher” strictly. So, at a bar mitzvah, when the cantor inquired about me, my father’s reply — now a longstanding punchline was: “He’s worse than a rabbi.”

But my degree of observance has changed. Decades later, I’m being interviewed to replace the former rabbi at an unaffiliated synagogue. They are serving a diverse congregation ranging from highly traditional to very modern and looking to be more progressive. It’s a lovely group of people who are warm and open-minded. My audition includes the leading of one Friday night service and then one on Shabbat morning. They like my singing voice and my sermons. They’re pleased that I know about raising children, comforting the ill, grieving, and other important life experiences. And they’re intrigued about my spiritual take on what comes after death. But there seems to be a sense of concern at the conclusion of the second interview. Board members inquisitively look at each other and then one is given a nod to pop the big question. “Where do you stand on Kashruth?” I sense that they are hoping for someone who will not impose strict rules on them. “Let’s put it this way,” I reply. “I come from Philadelphia, the home of the cheesesteak.” Smiles, laughter, and sighs of relief. I got the job.

Steven Cardonick, aka Rabbi Steve, shares his thoughts and music to entertain, enlighten, and enhance our lives. He and his wife have lived in Central Florida since 2007.