By Gerry Greber

CARLSBAD, Calif.—Question:  Where does an Orthodox Jew go when he or she needs an opinion or ruling concerning any deep religious issues.  The rabbi, of course. Wrong.  Not in our household or any other Orthodox home that I can image.  You go to your mother!  Especially on issues of dietary consequence.

I am very often reminded of the many “pronouncements” of my mother concerning articles of faith and especially the Jewish dietary laws.  She was born and raised in a “shtetl” in Eastern Europe near Krakow, Poland.  Her father, my grandfather whom I never had the privilege of knowing, was a respected “Rebbe” in the “old country."  The household that she was raised in was Orthodox Jewish, and therefore strictly kosher.  She carried these traditions with her and fervently followed them even after she arrived in America in 1912.

I came into the family, the last of three children and the only son, during the latter half of the twenties.  We had a matriarchal family and everyone, including my father, looked to her for advice and guidance in dealing with the problems of everyday life.  At the age of 8, I was sent to a Hebrew School after regular school every day, except Fridays, with the fervent hope that I would absorb the essence of Jewishness.  The   Hebrew Schools of the middle to late 30’s were the American form of the Talmud Torah of the “shtetl”.

 She was the core around which our family functioned especially from a religious point of view.  She set the tone for the celebration of all the Jewish holidays.  And she made all the explanations concerning the observance of all the Talmudic laws.  There was never a need to go to the synagogue to ask the rabbi to explain anything in the Talmud. This is the way it was and this is the way it was meant to be.  Even my father, a religious man in his own right, would follow her pronouncements to the letter.  “Azoy zucksed ir mama und azoy geht is” (so says your mother and that’s the way it is).  She would tell us the meanings and how they impact our daily lives.  My sisters and I believed and followed everything she said to the letter.  If a rabbi said something to the contrary I was almost tempted to tell him so and give my source as my mother.  I never did so however.

One of the things that she was most emphatic about was the consumption of “traef” (non-kosher) foods.  We would be consigned to some indescribable nasty place if we were to eat anything like that.  Needless to say one of the things that I used to wonder about was the taste of some of the “traef” foods like ham or bacon.  We lived in a highly Jewish area in the Bronx.  Many of my friend’s parents came from the same part of Eastern Europe. But many people, including some of my Jewish friends would eat this and think nothing about it.  At least the children did.  The old folks would never even consider this and, in fact, found it shocking and repulsive.  Once my father and I passed in front of a fish store while walking together and we saw some live lobsters from Maine in a glass case filled with water. They were moving around the case.  My father took one look and said “insects” in Yiddish of course, but by now I have forgotten the exact expression.

But some of the children of these former “shtetlites” did not have the same passion.  They would wax exquisitely about some of the flavors especially barbeque ribs.  However, I was too concerned about being consigned to some dark and horrible place for eternity to ever venture into the land of the “forbidden fruit.”   I asked my mother about this one day and she replied, “for every non-kosher food there is a kosher equivalent.”  However, I never ceased to wonder about these supposedly taste sensations I was denying myself.

I didn’t think much more about this until several years later.  I had returned to college after a tour of duty in the U.S. Army during World War II.  Needless to say I had by this time tasted some of the “forbidden fruits." I had gotten permission of the local rabbi who told me that according to Jewish law the first objective was to do whatever necessary to stay alive.  So I ate army cooking, if you could call that food.  I never asked what it was that they were feeding us.  Only if it was non toxic.

When I returned from the service I became a student at a local college so I was living at home.  I had suggested going to an out of state college since I now had access to the “GI Bill of Rights”.  However, my mother felt very bad about me leaving home so soon after I had returned from being away from home for some time, and told me so.  And being a good Jewish son I stayed home.

My folks had a two-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a typical old 5 story walk-up apartment building in the west Bronx.  My divorced sister and her son slept in one bedroom, my folks slept in the other, and I slept on a chair-bed (chair by day, bed at night) in the living room.  It was crowded to say the least, but we managed.  Fortunately my second sister had married and was now living several blocks away.  Otherwise, who knows where I would have been sleeping. 

The semester had ended and during one of my free moments my mother and I were talking and I suddenly remembered her comments about non-kosher foods.  She was emphatic about it saying once again that there was a kosher replacement for everything that was forbidden.  However, this time I challenged her by asking “what was the kosher equivalent of baby back pork ribs”.  Without a moment hesitation she emphatically replied “lamb ribs”.  I was surprised.  In those times nobody ate lamb ribs.  The butchers would practically give them away for twenty-five or fifty cents a pound.  I was determined to test this out.

The end of the semester came and I had some time on my hands.  Time enough to be a nasty skeptic.  I told my mother that I wanted to test out her “talmudic pronouncement”.  I was going to make lamb ribs for dinner.  Both my mother and my father said they would not eat it but go ahead and use the broiler in the oven.  We didn’t have barbecues like we have today.

 At that time I also told my living at home sister of my “talmudic test..  She also declined my gracious offer to try some of the ribs saying that she was expecting her fiancé any minute now and they were going out to dinner.

I went around the corner to the local kosher butcher to ask for some lamb ribs.  When I first entered the shop he looked at me suspiciously.   Everyone else in the shop was an elderly woman (old lady) and he probably never had a young person of any gender enter his shop looking for meat or chicken.  I moved to the rear of the shop and quietly waited my turn, which never really came.  The women were all pushing and shoving to get at the chickens to select the best one for them, or they had already made their selection and were busy plucking the feathers.  Everyone was making some sort of a sound, either talking or screaming at another woman to give them more room to pluck their chicken.  There were some discussions concerning who had whose chicken.  I tried to stay away from all of that and waited patiently at the rear. 

Finally the butcher decided that I had stood there long enough and he interrupted the screaming women and nodded toward me.   I told him that I wanted some lamb ribs. He was surprised at first and asked if I was sure that’s what I meant.  I assured him that I wanted the lamb ribs. The women stopped their screaming and shoving and all turned and looked at me.  That’s when I found out that they, the butchers, were glad to get rid of them for fifty cents a pound.  He walked into the back and came out with the ribs.  I only wanted about 2-3 pounds but he gave me his entire stock, about 9 pounds at a cost of $1.50.  About $0.17 per lb.  A real bargain.  It was late in the day and he didn’t want to get stuck with them, I suppose.

I went to the grocery store and bought some BBQ sauce (I don’t remember which brand) and returned home. At the insistence of my mother I first had to “kosher” the meat.  I went through the procedure, with my mother assistance of course, of soaking, salting, rinsing, etc.  Finally, they were ready for broiling and I was allowed to put them in the oven. 

I then coated the ribs with the sauce, let them marinate for about 45 minutes and then laid them out on the broiler pan in the lower part of the oven and began cooking.  I was very careful and turned them and continuously put more sauce on them.   A beautiful aroma filled the air of this small kitchen in the apartment.   No one remarked about the aroma.  Since my sister and my folks were busy watching television in the living room I thought I was the only one who noticed it.  At least I thought it was noticed only by me.   

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted my aroma ecstasy.  It was my future brother-in-law who had come to pick up my sister.  He looked surprised.  I asked him why he looked that way.  He said, “when I came in the building I became aware of this great aroma and I thought someone was barbecuing spare ribs.  I was surprised to find that the aroma was coming from this place.  I thought you guys were strictly kosher.  What are you guys doing cooking ribs”.

Before I could say a word about it being lamb and not pork my mother said Aha! and not another word.  She knew she had made her point.  Without even tasting them I knew that some neutral party who did not realize what he had done had vindicated her.  He was the instrument through whom my mother had solidified her position as the final word on Talmudic law.

 This incident has had a major impact in my life.  I believe that because of this I have never found it necessary to taste some of the strange and exotic foods available today such as alligator, squirrel, aardvark etcetera.  The list goes on and on.  I have spoken to people who have eaten some of these strange creatures and when questioned by me about the taste they have all replied, “tastes like chicken”. 

Only one time when I was invited to dinner I was asked, in advance, by the host and hostess what not to serve.  I naively replied, “please no pork.".  They did indeed not serve pork.  They served rabbit (also not kosher).  My mother also taught me never to embarrass the hosts so I tasted one piece.  Yes it did indeed taste like chicken, I think.  Therefore I believe all those other exotic creatures may well and probably do “taste like chicken” and consequently, I see no reason to check it out.   From here on out I’m “stickin’ with chickin."