Being Jewish is not all about the food. But it’s a lot about the food. And during my 17 years as a convert, I’ve had my share of food-related faux pas. At the first Passover Seder I hosted, we noticed a foul odor emanating from the center of the table. To my horror, I realized I had forgotten to roast the lamb shank so there was a hunk of smelly, raw meat on our Seder plate. At a Rosh Hashanah lunch, which is traditionally supposed to be all dairy, I put out a plate of cold cuts. And my friends will never let me forget the time I asked for a “side of mayonnaise” with my pastrami sandwich at the famous Canter’s Deli in LA. "You're such a Shiksa!" they said laughing. "Goy alert!"
Old habits die hard. And I'm the first to admit that I’ll probably always feel more comfortable at a burrito bar than a bagel store; that my idea of a perfect schmear is guacamole and sour cream. Yes, I’ve warmed to gefilte fish, but I will never, ever eat herring (especially right out of the container at Fairway the way my husband does!) And I love pork - pulled, roasted, moo shu, dumplings, hot dogs, tenderloin and bacon. Especially bacon.
So last Sunday, several classmates from my adult b’nai mitzvah class and I went on a “field trip” to Congregation Ansche Chesed. We are currently studying Shacharit, the daily morning prayer service, and our instructor, a rabbinical student, thought it would be helpful for us to read and recite the prayers in context. After the service, we went to a diner to have breakfast before our bi-weekly Hebrew lesson. In keeping with the Jewish theme of the morning, I ordered the Challah French Toast. Then, without thinking,I asked the waitress for a side of bacon.
Bacon.
As soon as the word came out of my mouth, I wanted to push pause, rewind and start the scene over. But it was too late. I had ordered bacon while sitting next to my bat mitzvah instructor who is also a rabbi-in-training. Ugh. I'm definitely going to Hell, I thought. But then I remembered Jews don't think that way.
The instructor just looked at me, her big brown eyes open wide. She didn’t look angry or judgemental - she just looked sort of panic-stricken, as if she had a peanut allergy and found herself sitting next to someone who’d ordered a great big PB&J.
“No bacon, please, no bacon,” she said with a gentle urgency.
“Oh of course,” I said, as I quickly asked the waitress to remove the forbidden food from my order. "I'm so sorry."
I took a big swig of coffee and replayed the incident in my head.
“Is this two steps forward, one step back,” I wondered. I am making such big strides lately - the Hebrew class, the Torah study, the morning prayers. Maybe I can only go so far as a Jew without boomeranging back to the old me?
Or is this just self-sabotage. Perhaps all this serious study is making me want to act out in some way.
“Or was I trying to prove a point?” I pondered. Except for fasting, which I find extremely spiritual and meaningful, I've never fully connected with food restrictions. As a Catholic, I always ate meat on Fridays and I tend to eat bread during Passover as well. Right now, I don’t feel that keeping Kosher would enhance my Jewish practice, but I haven’t put a lot of time into studying the laws of kashrut so I may decide later that I will keep Kosher. Never say never, I guess.
But for now, I think the answer is pretty straightforward. I just love bacon. Especially with challah french toast.
Next time I'll have the oatmeal.
