Stumbling Block

Years ago, when TWA was still in business, I was visiting my parents taking the long flight from Israel to New York and then boarding a flight to St. Louis, and finally flying exhausted to my birthplace of Wichita, Kansas.  It was on the leg from New York to St. Louis that I became an interpreter for two Israeli families making yeridah together.

Yeridah is a Hebrew word meaning the opposite of Aliyah. The first means going down and the second means going up. In other words, these two families had left Israel to live in the United States. Once in St. Louis they’d be taking a flight to Seattle. They had big plans for their new life as Americans but in the meantime their English needed a lot of improvement. Sitting across the aisle from me they were happy to be able to speak with someone in their native tongue.

So when the stewardess came down the aisle with her beverage cart it was assumed I would translate for them and I did so happily, if not somewhat groggily. Later, though, when they began handing out the meals it wasn’t so simple.

Besides the kosher meal I’d pre-ordered there were two breakfast choices for the other travellers: French toast or eggs with pork sausages. Being a responsible interpreter, I thought I should interpret the words exactly right. And so I gave a literal translation of their options. To my shock, they all ordered the eggs with pork sausage. I was horrified. How could they not be embarrassed to do so in front of me?

There’s a commandment in the Torah portion, Kedoshim, that we should be reading in two weeks’ time, that states do not put a stumbling block before the blind, Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 14. Besides the literal meaning, we’re adjured not to do anything to make it easy for someone to sin. I had just put a stumbling block in front of these people. Why hadn’t I just told them only French toast was being served? By being so literal I was helping them to eat treyfe, not just a little non-kosher, but out-and-out pork. The deed was done. I couldn’t turn back the clock nor take back my words, but I’ve never forgotten the incident.

Maybe it haunts me because once-upon-a-time I was like those two Israeli families. Although my childhood home wasn’t kosher pork wasn’t allowed. I’d tasted bacon and in the contrariness of childhood decided I loved its flavor. My parents allowed me to order a bacon and tomato sandwich whenever we ate out and I often did so.

As a teenager, I began feeling sheepish about my desire for forbidden foods and dropped bacon from my diet. As my connection to Torah Judaism strengthened I stopped mixing meat and milk together. The next step was to kosher my kitchen. By the time I was married I was totally committed to keeping strictly kosher both within my home and without.

It wasn’t always easy, especially when I was living in America. The packaged kosher meals of airlines and hospitals left a lot to be desired. Picnics of hardboiled eggs or salami sandwiches when travelling were monotonous. And there were so many dinner invitations from friends and relatives I had to refuse.  Still, I was proud of my commitment.

In the Torah portion of this past week, Sh'mini, we learn the laws of kosher animals. There are many rationales for the kosher laws. In the sixties is was popular to say we are what we eat and it’s significant to note that none of the kosher animals are animals of prey. That always spoke to me, but the bottom line is that I keep kosher because it is what I was commanded to do. It’s an integral element of what has made the Jewish people who we are from the time of the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. Even in the concentration camps, on starvation diets, many struggled to avoid eating treyfe. 

Many years have passed since bacon touched my palate. I still regret my childhood obsession with it. At the same time, I haven’t stopped speculating about those Israeli families from the plane and the stumbling block  I put in front of them. I wonder if they chose the pork sausages out of rebellion, desire, or ignorance. I wonder if they’re still in Seattle. I wonder if they’re totally assimilated and intermarried. Maybe, however, somehow with time, they found some Jewish pride and decided to leave the pork alone. Maybe they’re back in Israel. Maybe their children are even my neighbors. I don’t think I’ll ever know but I can always imagine the best. 

My novel, Growing With My Cousin, is available  on line at  http://www.feldheim.com/growing-with-my-cousin.html or https://www.amazon.com/Growing-Cousin-Ester-Katz-Silvers/dp/194635113X