Drashot for Vayechi

Jewish Connection Through Chinese Food

A Drash for Friday, 28 December 2012

There’s a stereotype that Jews love to eat Chinese food.  By extension, we tend to like all kinds of Asian food.  Here in Australia, this doesn’t make us stand out; it seems like everybody in the Land of Oz likes Asian food, and many Ozzies have travelled extensively in the countries from which these cuisines originate.  But those of us who have been around a while, know Chinese food as the ‘original’ Asian cuisine, popular around the world before Japanese, Korean, Malay, Vietnamese and Thai caught on.  There was a time when ‘Asian Fusion,’ had we used the phrase then, would have meant, a restaurant serving both Human and Cantonese.

US Supreme Court Justice Elena Kagan at her confirmation hearing.  Asked
if she remembered what she'd been doing last Christmas, she quipped:
"Well, almost certainly eating Chinese Food, Senator."

            There’s a saying, said only half in jest among Jews, that ‘treif’ foods – by this I mean pork and shellfish – are only permitted in Chinese food.  But of course that makes no sense; if treif is treif, it’s treif all the time.  So why the saying?  Perhaps it alludes to the fact that everything in Chinese cuisine is chopped up small and covered with sauces and other ingredients, and is therefore unrecognisable for what it originally was.  If it doesn’t look or taste like pork, how can you be held accountable for eating it, right?  Anyway, that’s how the logic works.  And the bad news?  Well, my friends…it’s still treif.

            So Jews like to eat Chinese any day of the year.  But among American Jews particularly, there’s a ‘tradition’ of eating it particularly on Christmas.  As I understand it, this particular tradition doesn’t especially translate into ‘Strine,’ so perhaps I should explain it as best I can.

            The USA is a much more religious country than Australia.  Here, for most Aussies, Christmas has nothing to do with Christianity.  It is an entirely secular holiday, an excuse for exchanging gifts, getting together with family and friends, eating too much, and going to the beach.  After all, Dude, it’s summer!  But in America, for most Americans, there is at least some religious element to their Christmas celebration.  Because of this, American Jews don’t feel quite as free as Aussie Jews, to participate in the Christmas celebrations going on around them.  But like here, it’s a national holiday; few people work on Christmas.  So American Jews find themselves with a free day, and they feel inhibited from participating in the spirit of the day.  So they had to develop their own traditions for the day.  As we remember, Jews particularly like Chinese food.  And few Chinese are Christians, so proprietors of Chinese restaurants tend to open their businesses on Christmas.  A bunch of Jews who like Chinese at large, a bunch of Chinese restaurants open:  Voila!  A new tradition is born!

            Several months ago, not long after my arrival here on the Gold Coast, we received an e-mail through the temple website.  It was from a Jewish woman in Boulder Colorado, who wrote that she would be in the area on Christmas Day while travelling extensively in this part of the world.  Do the Jews here eat Chinese on Christmas?  If so, could she join up with any of us to share such a meal on Christmas?  I responded that I had no idea as to whether eating Chinese on Christmas was something the Jews here do, but my family would be happy to meet her and go out for Chinese on Christmas.  And so, on Tuesday afternoon, we met up with the woman from Boulder, Colorado and ate Chinese food.

            Why do I mention this tonight for my Shabbat evening drash?  Apart from, that it’s a cute story to tell?

            I mention it, because of how delightfully telling it is of the way that Jews seem to automatically connect with one another, no matter where they find themselves.  Our common Jewishness, and our common taste for Chinese food, served as an immediate connection with this woman from Colorado who had the cheek to write and see if she could meet up with us.  And the connection will not disappear now that Christmas is over.  Some local friends went along with us, and it happens they are beginning to plan an extended tour of the USA.  So they took the Boulder woman’s contact information, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they work in a stop in that delightful Colorado town when they’re in the area.

            In the second century CE, after the disastrous Bar Kochba Rebellion against Rome, the Jews of the Land of Israel were dispersed to the very ends of the Roman Empire.  Because of the randomness of that dispersion, most Jews suddenly had family connections with Jews in any number of places.  When the Empire went from Pagan to Christian, the Church fathers decreed that Christians could not lend money at interest.  The burgeoning mercantile economy made possible by the Empire would have ground to a halt had it not been for Jewish moneylenders and bankers who financed trade and facilitated the exchange of large sums between far-flung cities.

            Most Jews do not work in moneylending of the international transfer of funds today.  But the idea of being automatically connected to Jews, no matter where, remains ingrained in our consciousness.  Most of us have experienced an automatic connection with other Jews, at one time or another, when travelling.  The good news is, that despite all the philosophical disputes that divide one Jew from another, this feeling of connectedness seems to transcend all that.  Sure, some Jews are more observant and others less.  But we all seem to like Chinese food.  And treif is still treif.  Shabbat shalom.

Happy Sylvester!

A Drash for Saturday, 29 December 2012

A few years back, before I retired from the military, we were living in Germany.  Because we lived on one air base and my office was on another a few kilometres away, I quickly found a radio station I liked for listening to music whilst driving back and forth.  When I drive relatively short distances, I tend to keep the radio on but not pay much attention to it; instead I’m usually deep in thought about my next tasks for the day or some knotty problem at work or home.  But one day shortly after settling in there, I was paying attention to the radio, because they were playing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.  I grew up on music like that; hearing it from my car radio while driving across the German countryside was an unexpected treat.  But then the announcer spoiled it for me when he made the station identification at the end of the song.  He said:

            Radio SWR-1 Rheinland Pfalz; alles ‘Oldies,’ alle zeit. (All ‘oldies,’ all the time.)

            Oldies?  I was listening to an Oldies station?  And thinking of it as a breath of fresh air?  Oh, no…

            I came of age in the 1970’s.  When I was in high school, I remember that those just older than me, the twenty and thirty-somethings, tended to listen to Oldies stations which played hits from the 1960’s.  And I remember thinking:  stuck in time; they don’t want to admit they’re getting older.  Of course, my parents were stuck in an even earlier era; they still liked the ‘Big Band’ music to which they’d danced during the Second World War.  And now here I was, years later, and I suddenly came to the realisation that I was enamoured of ‘Oldies’ music which, for me, meant music from the 1970’s.  And that made me feel…old.

            I was reminded of this yesterday morning while driving home from the gym.  We had the radio on in the car, and Clara and I were able to sing along with virtually every song played on the station to which we were tuned.  I didn’t have to hear the announcer say ‘All Oldies, all the time’ to understand that these were the songs which formed the soundtrack to our coming of age, to our teenage, high school years, and they were indelibly stamped on our brains.  Had our children been in the car, they doubtless would have been rolling their eyes and trying very hard to ignore our singing…

            Today we have read our weekly segment of Torah from the final portion in the Book of Genesis.  Next week we shall begin reading from Exodus, but more abolut that then.  In this week’s Torah reading, Jacob is getting on in years and is getting ready to ‘check out.’  He has had a turbulent life, a life of ups and downs, but he has found a degree of contentment in his old age.  He is eager to give his blessing to his sons and to the grandsons that Joseph gave him in Egypt.  The two grandsons are the ‘Ephraim’ and ‘Menashe’ to whom we refer when we give the blessing to our male children on Friday nights.

            Jacob has found contentment in his old age, but he has apparently not learned much from his experiences.  When his sons were young, he all but ignored the older ones to heap favour upon Joseph, because he happened to be the son of his beloved Rachel.  He still favours the Joseph, who after all saved the entire family by showing up at a critical moment inviting the family to live in Egypt.  So much so, that he tells Joseph in this morning’s reading, that he will consider the two boys, Epharaim and Menashe, as if they were his own sons.  And then, in conferring his blessing upon the boys, he mixes up the two:  placing his right hand, which should have gone to the older, on the younger and pronouncing the names out of order.

Or does Jacob really get mixed up?  When Joseph tried to correct his father, pointing out that Menashe is the older of the two, Jacob says, “I know, I know.”  So he apparently intended from the start to go against birth order in blessing them.  Because we know almost nothing at this point about the personalities of the two boys, we can’t know what Jacob may have known about which seems to be the more capable of the two.  But in going against birth order, Jacob is carrying on a tradition that began with his grandfather, Abraham and which is a theme running through the entire book of Genesis.  There is a convention, and sometimes one acts in contrast to the convention because it makes more sense.  In this case, the firstborn is due certain perks, along with which go certain responsibilities.  But sometimes, a child other than the firstborn is the one who is going to be one who leads the family on to great things.

There isn’t a direct lesson in this, for most of us.  After all, most of us are unconcerned about family legacies.  We only want our children to find their niche in life, and to pursue that which will make them successful and happy.  We don’t necessarily want our firstborn to take over the family business, or follow the profession we have practiced.  I have no particular desire for either of my children to become a rabbi, but if one felt called to become one I certainly wouldn’t object.  Likewise I wouldn’t pressure either of them to serve in the military although it appears that both of them are headed in that direction of their own accord.

My children, Eyal and Ma'ayan, when they were very young!

So the concerns of the biblical patriarchs with regard to which of their sons would carry on their legacy, has no direct parallel for me.  And, I’m guessing, for you, too.  But there nevertheless are important lessons to be learned from the pattern of choosing the ‘wrong’ son.  And that is, that birth order is not really an important measure of what a child is destined to achieve.  We need to cherish each child for the individual he or she is; we need to encourage all our children to chase their own dreams.

            I was thinking about this Thursday night, when my son Eyal went out with a friend for the evening and announced, on his way out the door, that he probably would not come home until Friday.  Not that I would have wanted to stop him, but that announcement reminded me that Eyal now 18 years old.  An adult.  Responsible for himself.  Able to stay out all night without my permission.  And responsible for the man that he is becoming.  It is, perhaps a little scary for Clara and me.  And exhilarating for Eyal.  Along with our penchant for listening to Oldies, it’s just another reminder of the passage of time.  And I hope I can say that we have taken to heart the lesson of Jacob’s life, even if it eluded Jacob himself.  Each of our children is unique.  And precious.  And it is up to us to wring our hands over them, or to celebrate their good qualities.

            When I lived in Israel, I noticed that as the end of the civil calendar year approached, people would greet one another with ‘Happy Sylvester!’  I wondered what that meant.  Then I noticed advertisements for ‘Sylvester Parties’ on the evening of 31 December.  So it became clear that ‘Sylvester’ is what Israelis call New Year’s Eve.  Why do they call it Sylvester?  I did a little digging and found that, on the calendar of the Roman Catholic Church, 31 December is St. Sylvester’s Day.  Who was this St. Sylvester?  He was Pope Sylvester the First, who served as the head of the Catholic Church from 31 January 314 until his death on 31 December 335.  When he was canonised by the Church, his yahrzeit day went onto the calendar as the day to celebrate him.

            So what does a fourth-century Pope have to do with a night out for young Israelis?  Absolutely nothing!  Well, except that they can’t call the occasion ‘New Year’s’ since that name – in Hebrew, Rosh Hashanah – is already taken.  And even if Israel is the Jewish State, it is also The Holy Land to two other historic faiths.  In certain parts of the land, but especially in Jerusalem, the Christian church is very visible; its feasts and occasions are noticed by Jewish Israelis even though the latter take no part in them.

            Of course, young Israelis couldn’t care less about a fourth-century Pope.  But they do care about the passage of time, about marking it with special times and gathering with friends.  And we care, too.  I therefore wish all of you today, a Happy Sylvester.  Even though we celebrated the Jewish New Year some weeks back, we can still take a little time out on Monday night, noting the passing of the civil year of 2012 and the arrival of 2013.  As with the sacred occasions from the Jewish tradition, may it be for us a marker of the passage of time.  May it be a reminder to not fritter our time away.  And may the year 2013 be for us, a year of happiness and blessing.  A year of success and peace.  A year in which all the desires of our hearts are granted…for the good.  Amen…Shabbat shalom.