Passover's legume dilemma

Reality of Ashkenazi-Sephardic marriage stronger than decrees

Dovi Harel|Published: 04.13.06 , 19:34

Every Orthodox Jew knows this trick and perfects it: The ability to sneak a peek at whether a certain product has kashrut certification without a secular person noticing.

It’s most ubiquitous in the army. A friend comes back from vacation abroad with gourmet chocolates and offers them around. When the box reaches you, you don’t want to check if the chocolates are kosher because you don’t want to offend him (“What’s not kosher about chocolates? You think I put pork in them or something?”), but you also don’t want to pass up the chocolaty goodness so easily.

Politely, you explain that you’re allergic to nuts and you need to check the ingredients, meanwhile scanning quickly for the U or K or the rabbinical stamp of approval. If you’ve never tried the sly nut-allergy move, maybe you’ve said you just ate meat and you want to check if the chocolate has dairy in it. The average secular person – and may the secular community forgive me – won’t ask himself how in the world you could have eaten meat if you just woke up 10 minutes ago.

But these methods don’t do any good against Orthodox. They know all the tricks and they’ll be onto you. Now generally you won’t have any problem eating in a kosher home – until that one week per year: Passover. Your loyal narrator happens to be an Ashkenazi Jew, married to a lovely Sephardic woman. Her parents, traditionally, eat rice, fava beans, canola oil and all sorts of legumes during the Passover holiday, may the All-merciful protect us.

So What does her Ashkenazi husband do at her parents' house when Passover rolls around? Should I try to slyly turn over the cookie package, looking for the fine print: “Also for those who don’t eat legumes”?

To my dismay, my in-laws know the trick. It’s certainly awkward to start checking whether the food they bring into their home meets my kashrut criteria. Of course I would never dream of asking them to alter their lifestyle, to refrain from buying certain products just because I decided to marry into their family. And what to say to the children? “At one grandma’s house you can eat the Bamba, but at the other’s you can’t”? Or maybe, “Mom is allowed to eat rice at her parents house, but you kids can’t”? I can lie to myself and pretend it makes sense. But to the kids? And how am I supposed to answer the question, “So grandma and grandpa don’t keep kosher”?

Passover, our ancestors have taught us, is the holiday of redemption. If so, why, every year, is this the week I feel the most exiled? Why suddenly on this holiday does the Diaspora from which my parents returned from and Diaspora from which my wife’s parents returned from suddenly become relevant? Why can’t one Mitzvah-keeping Jew eat at another’s home? From all directions we hear such sayings as, “The rabbis aren’t brave enough.” The truth is I wouldn’t have expected anything from the Orthodox rabbis – the problem hardly existed among them. The problem started when Ashkenazim and Sephardim began intermarrying. So where are the Zionist rabbis?

A people’s revolution

So here’s the deal, plain and simple. I understand that you, most respectable rabbis, aren’t going to solve the legumes conundrum. What rabbi needs the headache? The first to offer a solution will be written off as “reform” or “national religious.” I truly understand you.

The bible forbade hametz (leavened bread) on Passover. The edict against legumes was added later out of concern that hametz could get mixed into the tiny spaces between the beans or grains (though the truth is, no one really knows exactly where the ruling came from).

In modern times, when things are packaged in sophisticated methods, when everything undergoes careful sorting, if Rabbi Ovadia Yosef isn’t worried that a bag of rice has traces of flour in it – then I’m not worried either. I understand that you don’t have the power to lift the ban that has become traditional among the people, or at least among some of the people. I understand, and therefore I’ll help you out. The much-needed revolution won’t be brought about by you, the rabbinate. The revolution will come from the lower rungs – from the people.

We’ll start eating legumes on Passover. It’ll spread, because people will have no choice; because the reality of Ashkenazi grooms and Sephardic brides is stronger than edicts and traditions; because between celebrating the festival of liberation and emphasizing exile – I choose the path of life, the path of redemption.

And in 10-20 years, or maybe in one to two generations, when we no longer remember who made Aliyah from where, then you the rabbis will also settle the score, because the ban on legumes will be “a decree the public cannot uphold,” or simply, a decree the public didn’t accept. You’ll have to accept the people’s choice, because otherwise, you will lose your relevance.

I suppose my father, G-d rest his soul, is looking down at me from up above in astonishment. I’m afraid my mother will read this article and will scold me for not having enough pride or respect for family tradition.

My dearest mother and father, I am not taking this step to disconnect from the home I grew up in, nor out of disrespect or rebellion against my heritage. I am making this choice out of great respect and love for the home I grew up in and the parents that raised me.

When you moved to Israel, you decided to leave the Diaspora behind. You decided that a Jew’s place was in the Israeli homeland. Something much stronger than Diaspora brought you here, cut you off from there. This present decision of mine is a vote for unity among the people of Israel, for raising children with the truth of our whole Israeli nation rather than of one particular ethnic group. With this decision, I am continuing on in your wise path.