How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household

by Blu Greenberg

  After shaleshudos, the congregants return to the sanctuary for Maariv. Maariv is very brief (the Rabbis understood it’s enough of shul already); its theme is one of separation of night and day, holy and mundane time.

  Shabbat closes with the ceremony of Havdalah (literally, separation). Immediately after Maariv, Havdalah is recited by the rabbi (or cantor, or sexton) for those assembled. Essentially a home ceremony, it is recited again when all the family members have returned home from shul. Although Havdalah is one of the most ancient blessings—over twenty-five centuries old—some of its attendant customs grew throughout history. The custom of reciting Havdalah in shul has a history that itself could fill a book. One piece of the story is this: Havdalah, like Kiddush, is optimally recited over wine. But some Jews could not afford a third cup of wine. So the custom arose to recite Havdalah, over wine, in shul, where all could hear it. Then they could return home and substitute juice or some other liquid, as many do today.

  A brimming cup of wine (or other liquid), a multiwick candle, and aromatic spices are essential to the ceremony. The Havdalah candle is unique. It is made of at least two separate wicks, intertwined into one candle. (One can also use two candles, with the wicks held together in one flame.) A child is usually given the candle to hold; girls were supposed to hold it as high as they wanted their future husbands to be tall. (I used to hold it very high; and it worked!)

  Kindling the fire, that which was forbidden on Shabbat, is a most logical way to distinguish between Shabbat and weekday. Fire is also a symbol of all the things we do all week long.

  The spices are usually cloves, cinnamon, bay leaves, or others that have a sweetness to them. In the Havdalah ceremony, we thank God for creating such a great variety of spices; immediately we take a sniff of whatever spices we are using. Tradition tells us that the spices are to remind us of the fragrance of Shabbat that is now departing; also that the spices are compensation for the special soul of Shabbat that is leaving us. To me, the whiff of besamim suggests the full use of all our senses we now put to work for the coming week.

  The spices—besamim—have given rise to an art form called the besamim box. Of silver, and other materials, all kinds of unusual and decorative spice holders have been fashioned by craftsmen throughout the ages, and many museums have exquisite besamim box collections. In our house, we use a variety of besamim boxes, including some small Israeli and Italian pillboxes.

  Our favorite besamim is a pomander etrog (citron) whose scent is divine. We have several of these, mostly homemade. To make an etrog besamim: Save the etrog after Sukkot has ended. With a nail or compass point puncture the etrog with holes, filling each hole as you go with a clove. (Pinch off the head and four leaves of each clove before inserting.) Make the holes close to each other so the etrog skin will be completely covered with cloves and will not shrink. This etrog besamim will last a long time. We have one that is three years old and is still magnificent. (It is also a great weekday dietary aid. Just fill your plate with cloves and work quietly at the dinner table with compass and etrog while everyone else is consuming calories. It takes about eight weekday family dinners to complete one.)

  So much for the Havdalah props; now the service. In an Orthodox home the service is recited by the husband-father, with all the members of the household present. In our home, we turn off the lights so that only the candle glows as everyone stands close by. How beautiful are the faces by the light of the Havdalah candle!

  The Havdalah service begins with eight brief verses culled from Isaiah, Psalms, and the Book of Esther:

  Hinei eil yeshuati evtach velo efchad.

  Ki azi vezimrat Ya Adonai, vayehi li lishuah.

  Behold, God is my deliverer: I trust in Him and am not afraid For God is my strength and my stronghold, the source of my deliverance.

  Ushavtem mayim besason mima’ainei hayeshuah.

  La-Adonai hayeshuah al amcha birchatecha selah.

  With joy shall you draw water from the wells of salvation.

  In God there is salvation; Your blessing is on Your people.

  Adonai tzeva’ot imanu misgav lanu elohei ya’akov selah.

  Adonai tzeva’ot ashrei adam botei’ach bach.

  The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our stronghold. Lord of all the universe, happy is the one who trusts in You.

  Adonai hoshiah hamelech ya’aneinu veyom kareinu.

  Layehudim hie ta ora vesimcha vesason vee’y’kar; kein tiyeh lanu.

  Kos yeshu’ot esa, uvesheim Adonai ekra.

  Save us, O Lord; Let the King answer us in the day we call upon Him.

  The Jews [in the deliverance of Purim] had lightness and joy, happiness and honor; let it be so for us.

  I shall lift the cup of salvation and I shall call in the name of the Lord.

  The heart of the Havdalah service is its four blessings:

  Over wine:

  (over other liquid)

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam borai pri hagafen (she-hakol nee-yeh bidvaro).

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who creates the fruit of the vine (by whose Will all things exist).

  Over spices which are held in hand while reciting the blessing:

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam borai minai b’samim.

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who creates diverse spices.

  After this blessing is recited, the besamim are passed around for each person to smell.

  Over the candle:

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha-olam borai m’orai ha-esh.

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who creates the light of the fire.

  As this blessing is recited, all extend their fingers toward the flame, straight out or cupping them with the palms facing up, so that the light of the candle is reflected in the fingernails and in the shadows cast by the bent fingers over the palms.

  Finally, the fourth blessing, over divine acts of separation, of distinguishing one thing from another. The Havdalah leader holds the cup as he recites this blessing:

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam, hamavdil bayn ko-desh I’chol, bayn or I’choshech, bayn Yisrael l’amim, bayn yom hashvi-i leshaishet y’may hamaaseh. Baruch ata Adonai, hamavdil bayn kodesh I’chol.

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who distinguishes holy time from weekday, light from dark, Israel from the nations, the seventh day from six days of labor.

  After all the blessings are completed, the leader drinks the wine. The candle is blown out directly, or some people pour a few drops of wine into a saucer and extinguish the candle in the wine. I remember my grandfather would dip his two pinkie fingers into the wine in which the candle had just been extinguished. Then he would dab his eyes, ears, and nostrils. Come to think of it, perhaps that is why sniffing the spices suggests to me the full-blooded use of all the senses.

  Many families linger a moment longer before extinguishing the candle to sing several Havdalah songs. The three classics are:

  “Eliyahu Hanavi” (“Elijah the Prophet”)

  Eliyahu hanavi

  Eliyahu hatishbi

  Eliyahu hagiladi

  Bimhera yavo eileinu

  Im mashiach ben daveed.

  This is a song about Elijah who will herald the Messiah. What’s the connection between Elijah, the Messiah, and Havdalah? The answer is percentages. We learn from tradition that the Messiah won’t come on Shabbat—the world is perfect on Shabbat; besides, the Messiah wouldn’t ride on the Sabbath. Being thus detained on one day, the odds of his arriving on the next day increase from one in seven to two in seven. In recognition of that fact, and to help the odds along, we sing a song reminding ourselves that Elijah will come and bring the Messiah with him, “speedily and in our day.”

  “Shavua tov” (“A Good Week”)

  Shavua tov is repeated eight times.

  It is a simple song in which we wish everyone a good week. Some
families sing this song in several languages, such as the Yiddish “A Guteh Voch,” or “A Good Week.”

  “Hamavdil” (“He Who Makes Distinctions”)

  Hamavdil beyn kodesh lechol

  Chatoteinu hu yimchol

  Zareinu vechaspeinu yarbeh kachol

  Vecha’kochavim balielah.

  “Hamavdil” is an earthy rhymed verse whose very first stanza gets right to the heart of the matter:

  May He Who separates holy from mundane

  Forgive us our sins

  And multiply our children

  And our wealth

  Like the sands of the sea

  And the stars of the sky.

  Who could ask for anything more!

  The holiness of Shabbat has ended. Some Jews, however, particularly Chasidim, extend its spirit a bit longer through the Me-laveh Malkah (accompanying the Queen). They make a small feast, like a farewell banquet, honoring the departure of the Shabbat Queen. In some Chasidic communities, this Melaveh Malkah lasts until midnight.

  Shabbat is now over. Much as I love the Shabbat and could not live without it, I am happy to see it go. I feel rested, relaxed, and raring to go. Perhaps I shall keep a bit of the Shabbat serenity with me during the week. But I doubt it. If not, I shall rely on the coming Shabbat to restore an added measure of dignity and peace to my life.

  Shabbat is over, and that is good. I have gone on much too long. I chose to do so for two reasons: Shabbat in a traditional Jewish household is distinctive from Shabbat in any other setting. And second, it comes fifty-two times more often than any other special day in a Jew’s life. As such, it occupies, preoccupies, and marks our lives in ways more pervasive and more encompassing than one would ever imagine. Although we are often not conscious of it ourselves, our very lives revolve around Shabbat, even as we throw ourselves with full energy into the weekday world.

  CHAPTER · 2

  KASHRUT

  You are what you eat.

  You are also

  What you cook

  How you shop

  Where you dine

  How you crack an egg

  What you burn up

  How long you wait between meals

  And the way you slaughter a calf.

  Kashrut is not simply a set of rules about permitted and forbidden foods; kashrut is a way of life. As with any life-style we adopt, we know we are successful at it when it becomes second nature to us.

  The basic laws of kashrut are given in the Bible, and are further expanded in the Talmud. The laws fall into two categories:

  1. Food prohibited under any circumstances

  2. Foods that are not categorically prohibited but which may be eaten only if prepared in a certain way

  The laws of kashrut fall into the category of statutes, chukkim, Biblical laws for which no reason is given. In other words, we don’t know why this food is forbidden and that one not.

  It is obvious, however, that what is involved is the holiness quotient. Most of the laws of kashrut are given in the context of the holiness code. For example, immediately following the laws of forbidden kinds, we read: “For I am the Lord your God, sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I am holy” (LEV. 11:44).

  What does it mean for a human being to be holy? Several things come to mind: special, set aside, more pure, on a special plane of existence. These are not mere words; they have resonance in the daily life of a Jew. Holiness has something to do with the way we consume food, the profound implications of killing for food, and the nature of the community with whom we share this same value system.

  By extension, one who keeps kosher should not eat with crude table manners, gobble food down, or talk while chewing. There should be an aura of dignity, a component of holiness in the act of appeasing appetite and satisfying hunger. The theme of table-as-altar is expressed in other practices as well: ritually washing the hands before eating bread; reciting a blessing over bread, which symbolizes a meal; salting the bread, symbolic of the salting of Temple offerings; and reciting Grace after the meal.

  Second, when we buy food, prepare it, and eat it, we are reminded that we live not by laws of human beings but by the law of the One Who creates life and gives food. Moreover, it is only by divine sanction that we are given the right to take the life of an animal for food.

  Third, the Rabbis tell us, the laws of kashrut come to teach us compassion. This is true of laws regarding ritual slaughter, draining of blood, and separation of meat and milk. Even as we eat that which comes of another life, we must do it with a sensitivity to what life means. We may not callously take the life of an animal nor become inured to the pain of a beast. We may not take the bird from its nest with its mother hovering nearby, nor seethe a kid in its mother’s milk. These would be acts of cruelty and uncaring. The laws of kashrut are often pointed to as examples of pure ritual. Truly, however, they should be considered as prime examples of the ethical sensitivity of Jewish law. It does not surprise me in the least to come across a tradition that suggests we will all be vegetarians when the Messiah comes, just as Adam and Eve once were in the Garden of Eden.

  But all of those things are more elusive and harder to keep continuously in mind than a fourth meaning of kashrut—community. Somehow, an awareness of others who operate within identical and very specific parameters creates a strong bond of kinship. Just as Shabbat and holiday celebration foster a sense of “community,” so does personal observance of kashrut become a tie that binds us to each other. Nowhere do I feel more connected to my community than on those rare occasions when I find myself in a non-kosher restaurant, eating half a cantaloupe while my companions dab at their shrimp cocktails or paté de foie gras.

  FORBIDDEN FOODS

  All four-footed animals that do not chew their cud and/or do not have a split hoof. Thus, for example, pigs (which have split hooves but don’t chew cud), horses (chew cud but no split hooves), and dogs (neither), are forbidden.

  All animals which are not ritually slaughtered. This includes animals that died a natural death and animals that died an unnatural death, such as from attack by other animals.

  All wild beasts that attack.

  All animals that are found to be diseased after they have been ritually slaughtered.

  All fish that do not have fins and scales (including all shellfish).

  All birds of prey.

  All creeping animals.

  All products derived from these forbidden animals such as bone meal, animal gelatin, and so forth.

  All blood of an animal.

  Certain kinds of fat and sinews from animals which are otherwise permitted.

  What is permitted, then, is meat of the most common domesticated herbivores, such as beef or lamb; the most common fowl, such as chicken, duck, and turkey; also, the most common type of fish, except for shellfish. All fruits and vegetables are permitted, as are all nuts and grains. Basic dairy products that are derived from kosher animals are also permitted.

  PREPARATION AND EATING

  Kosher (permitted) animals must be slaughtered in a prescribed manner and prepared in a way that removes the blood. Obviously, one cannot drain all the blood from the meat without completely dehydrating it, and that is not required. But all of the arterial blood and at least some of the capillary blood is removed.

  Meat and milk products may not be prepared or eaten together.

  Permissible foods may be prepared only in utensils that are themselves kosher; in other words, utensils that are used exclusively to cook or serve kosher foods.

  RITUAL SLAUGHTER

  Judaism is an earthy religion and not an ascetic one. But great care is taken to prevent this earthiness from spilling over into torpor, butchery, brutality. Ritual slaughter is a superb example of this process of restraint.

  First and foremost, meat must be slaughtered by a shochet, one who is an expert at shechitta (ritual slaughter), who understands the laws of kashrut in fine detail, one who is personally a pious Jew.

  A shochet knows his k
nife must be razor-sharp and absolutely free of nicks or dents. It must be twice as long as the throat of the animal, so that it can be drawn through only once. He must examine the knife both before and after each shechitta, and if it fails inspection, the shechitta is not kosher. Before each act of shechitta, he must recite a benediction which reminds him that his act is both sanctioned and sanctified in a special way.

  The shochet knows how to sever the carotid artery and jugular vein in the neck with one deft stroke so that the chicken or calf loses consciousness instantaneously and dies a swift and painless death. I wonder whether the requirement that the animal be conscious before shechitta is to prevent the shochet—and by extension the community he serves—from losing sight of the fact that animal life is also life.

  My father-in-law, of blessed memory, was a shochet. He came from Europe, an ilui, a genius at Talmudic studies; but immediately he had to start saving money to bring over his wife and three young children. The only secure job he could find was as a shochet. He qualified because, although he had no prior experience in Europe, he was a man of piety, of morality, and he knew the intricate and multifaceted laws of shechitta as he knew the Shema Yisrael—backward, forward, blindfolded. Every morning he would leave for the slaughterhouse at 5:30 A.M. By early afternoon he had completed his shechitta. He would return home to wash, eat, and then go off in a fresh white shirt to the synagogue’s beis medrash (study hall) where he would pray with a minyan. Then, seated at a long oak table, exquisitely buffed and scarred by the heavy black tomes, he would teach a daily Talmud class to a dozen or so men who were transported into another world for an hour each day by this brilliant scholar-shochet. This is what he did every day for forty years, and in all those years his sense of the inviolability of life and of reverence for life were never blunted.