The Road Diverges, Where's Chavi Going?

I'm worried that I've lost hope in the future (or the present) of mankind. All it took was a small stack of exams given to me to grade, and I was scratching my head, shaking my head, opening my mouth in utter surprise. All I could think was, "This isn't rocket science, folks," as I marked down points that would make even a regular ole D student cry. I mean, these exams? They're bad. They're really bad. And as I scribbled notes into the margins -- the same idea about 20 times, that is -- I began to wonder, to really wonder, if I could handle being a professor, knowing that the words that I might speak on a daily basis would be sucked into ears, processed in some absolutely mindless filter, only to be regurgitated out on paper like this.

Ever since I returned from Middlebury, I've been thinking, reconsidering, where I'm going. My desire to teach hasn't changed, don't get me wrong, but I am trying to figure out what's practical and possible for me at this point in my academic journey. I started out thinking modern, after all, my big-time term paper in my undergrad was on Ulysses S. Grant and the Jews. I slowly moved backward, thinking about Rashi and his daughters, considering Medieval Jewry. I read books and more books and the text that discusses the rabbi who decreed that if you're yawning in shul you better cover your mouth had me delighted. And then I came here to Connecticut and I found myself drifting even further back, to the Talmud, the rabbis, and the Second Temple Period as we know it today. But as the past year showed me, I'm so far behind it might take me years to catch up. In a perfect world, I'd be reading-fluent in Aramaic, Greek, French, German, and of course Biblical Hebrew. I'd read the texts in their originals, because that's what a scholar does. I vowed after realizing that the author of Rashi's Daughters didn't do any of her own legwork that I wouldn't be like that -- I'd work from scratch forward. But the reality? It might take me years.

I keep telling myself that I have all the time in the world. Tuvia has granted me that time, knowing that I want to follow my heart and really throw myself into that which I am passionate about. He's patient and kind like that. And in reality, I could probably toil away at school for the rest of my life studying those languages and working the texts until I'm blue in the face. Even if I don't pursue academic Talmudic work or what have you, I'll still do that in the outside world -- after all, my inquiring mind doesn't let me sit still on the sidelines when it comes to my Orthodox Judaism. I seek, read, and learn.

But the reality of the situation is that I'm reconsidering my situation. Life is a series of reconsiderations, you know. And after Middlebury, and even before, I was considering a future in Hebrew language. My time in Middlebury allowed me to gain a fluency I couldn't have dreamed of. But it was just a start, and much like my hungry neshama, my hungry brain wants more. Speaking Hebrew feeds my mind, my heart, and my soul. It's like I'm speaking in the voice of generations past and future. It empowers me and it makes me happy and excited.

And for all intents and purposes, it's practical and doable. At least, I think so.

So I sent an email off to my morah (teacher) from the summer, to see what she thinks and whether she has any advice. I would continue on with a PhD, but it would be in language -- Hebrew language. I'd rehash all the grammar rules I've forgotten (from English, that is; who can tell me what a past participle is!?). I hate to say it but although I've got mad editing skills, when it comes to the vocab and the nitty gritty, even the best editors are lacking. I want to perfect my language skills so that I can take what I know to a university or day school level and INSPIRE people. Inspire them to use and love the living language of the Jewish people. And furthermore, at least with a language, there are rules and measures and styles and words that mean exactly what they mean. I don't have to explain themes or devices to students. Language is like mathematics -- 99 percent of the time, there is really one right answer.

And maybe, once I've got that under wraps, I'll turn back to my dreams of being a Talmud chacham.

Of course, I want to be a mother, too. A mother, a wife, a community member, a shul member. A friend and a confidant. There are many things I want to be, and I find that as time goes on, my desires change along with my needs. What the soul needs to be comforted changes as new people come into our lives and also when we realize we need to reassess a situation. Unfortunately for Tuvia, being Morah Chavi the Hebrew teacher might not be exceedingly lucrative, but if there's one thing my father taught me, it's to do what makes me happy.

I've learned that, in life, you can't waste your time on the things that don't excite you. If it isn't one of the first things you think about when you wake up and when you go to sleep -- positively, with absolute excitement and eagerness -- then maybe you should reconsider where you are and where you're going. Life's to short to waste your time and energy. As Qohelet tells us,

So enjoy what you have. (Note: Many read Qohelet/Ecclesiastes as a text about the futility of life. I do not read it this way. I read Qohelet as an old man, full of wisdom, relating to us how to live one's life in order to gain the most from it. To seek happiness in all things and to not toil over that which is wasteful or futile. Rather, seek happiness in all that you do, here, in this life!)

Kosher Catfish? I think not.

Grab a stiff drink, a comfortable chair, and brace yourself for a most horrid tale. The tale of the Kosher Catastrophe in Central Vermont. Where do I begin? I'm worried this post will end up a lot longer than you're all willing to read, so I'll just start. I have no intentions of blasting any hecksher or rabbi, but this situation should make you all exceedingly wary of what you eat and from where you eat it.

When I signed up for school in Vermont at Middlebury College, I signed up for kosher food. The documents didn't state what the hecksher was, the specifications of the kitchen, or whether there was a mashgiach on the premises. When I was told that there was a kosher kitchen with kosher food, and that it opened in 2008 when Brandeis teamed up with Middlebury for a new Hebrew ulpan-style program, I trusted that the folks in charge knew what they were doing. After all, Brandeis has a kosher kitchen, and they know their Judaism.

I arrived on campus on Friday, June 26, and for the first three days ate salad from the salad bar and the "airplane style" kosher meals they had available. They didn't tell us that they weren't starting kosher operations until the first day of CLASSES, not the move-in day. I was perturbed, but forgave them. From June 29 to July 20, all was well in the kosher food world at Middlebury. That is, of course, aside from the fact that everything was doused in oil to a point of inedibility, that it was the same food over and over (rice/grain + veggies + small piece of bread), and that the portions were small enough that a few of the girls ate two of the packaged meals for every meal. I forgave the kitchen their oil and their portions. I ate, and I was thankful for kosher food.

And then, on July 20, in the evening, I plodded into the cafeteria to our special container with our special kosher food, opened the latch, peered inside, and saw several different containers. On one side were small containers of cooked fish and on the other side were containers with vegetables. How weird, I thought to myself. Then, I picked up the ingredients list and the first item on the list: "CATFISH." Yes, catfish. That sneaky little unkosher fish was in my kosher meal, but conveniently placed in a separate container from the vegetables. Why? I wondered.

We complained immediately to the guy who deals with us sometimes in the cafeteria, and he said he'd call the kosher kitchen, but that they wouldn't get the message until the morning. The shomer professor spoke to the program head and we were told the next day, Tuesday, that they had rekashered the kitchen that morning after calling the rabbi who grants them their hecksher. At that point, I was eager to find out A) who this rabbi is and B) if this hecksher is legitimate. Many people proceeded to go ahead and eat the food that came out of the kitchen, but I had my doubts and I continued to express my opinion. After much pushing, we landed a meeting with the head of dining services on July 27. Boy were our eyes opened.

It turns out the hecksher is Tablet K, the rabbi is Rabbi Rafael Saffra, and the kitchen is only open for kosher food during the summer. This means that the folks running the kitchen have only 7 prior weeks from summer 2008 under their belt, are not trained in kosher cooking, and that -- perhaps worst of all -- there was no mashgiach in the MEAT kitchen. The rabbi visits the campus at the beginning of each summer (which means he's visited all of twice), and gives all of his advice and guidance on kashrut from a great distance. Basically, Tablet K took the money and ran, which appears to be their M.O. We also found out that the guy who makes all the food realized, almost instantly, that the fish wasn't kosher. Making it fishy (har har) that he even made the product. I'm guessing this is why it was packaged separately for our consuming pleasure. The campus rabbi was less than excited to help or discuss the issue, and he was of no help in the situation. I expressed a desire for the kitchen to be rekashered -- that was the only way I'd eat anything out of the kitchen. I was told that it WAS rekashered (though without supervision by ANYONE). The rabbi didn't offer to rekasher, and neither did the school.

Over the next three weeks, a lot of things happened. I was forced to explain to people just about every day why I wasn't eating the kosher food. My rabbi, who by all accounts is not ultra anything, advised me not to consume the food from the "kosher" kitchen. After this, people asked me frequently, "Is your rabbi a Chabadnik?" as if the food is kosher enough for everyone else, why not me? I ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cottage cheese with pears, and other fruit. I ended up losing 7 pounds throughout the summer, and whether my measly food options played into this, we'll never know. I pushed for the program head to call Chabad in the city just north of where we were, because I knew that the rabbi there would be more than stoked to rekasher our kitchen. It turns out he was, but only if we had a full-time mashgiach, which we didn't. They didn't have the money and the efforts to find a pro-bono were met with nothing. I got a lot of sad looks and apologies as I shoveled pears into my mouth, but that was about it.

The constant frustration from those around me at my stern choice not to consume the kosher food was alienating. We were given the option of touring the kitchen on Tisha B'Av, which we did. We found a lot of Hebrew National, a few items without heckshers, and a handy-dandy list on the bulletin board with the largest 10 or 12 heckshers that are legit by all accounts (OU, Circle K, CrC, etc.), but was Tablet K on the list? Heck no. We asked the cook if he bothers to use the list. We pointed out that neither Tablet K nor Triangle K are on the list, so chances are he shouldn't be using them. He seemed clueless. I felt bad for him. Here he is, this cook trying to make kosher meals without a clue in the world. It seemed that they shoved a bunch of books at him and sent him on his way. That's no way to run a kosher kitchen, and it's deplorable that Tablet K and Rabbi Safra would be willing to stamp their hecksher on such a kitchen. Deplorable.

So I ate my crap food and everyone gave me looks of pity. "Is that enough to eat?" and "Everyone else is eating the kosher food, you know?" And then right before the last week, I was told that there's a kosher caterer in the city north of us that caters sometimes to Chabad and that the last week of classes there will be kosher food for every evening meal. Eegads! I was elated. I was stoked. I was coming down with a cold/flu thing and I was so excited to eat real, real, real food. After watching my compatriots scarf pizza and burgers and fries and cake and cookies every day, I was ready. My day had come. REAL kosher food. I was two seconds away from forgiving the universities all their failings. And then?

• Yom Rishon (Sunday): Kosher food! Veggies and Mac and Cheese and Blueberry Crumble!
• Yom Sheni (Monday): Kosher food! I was sick, but ate a few potatoes with GLEE.
• Yom Shlishi (Tuesday): Kosher food? Nada. Sorry. No dice. Why? No clue. No explanation.
• Yom Revi'i (Wednesday): Kosher food! For the banquet. Steak, eggplant and potatoes. Yum! (Sorta.)
• Yom Chamishi (Thursday): Nope. No kosher food. Sorry, No dice. 
• Friday (Yom Shishi) I returned to Connecticut and G-d bless my friends for making me banquet-style meals for Shabbat. 

I paid $2,500 for room and board. I paid $2,500 for seven weeks of a room without air conditioning filled with bugs and mosquitos with a bathroom light that broke a week before classes ended (and no one bothered to repair it -- peeing in the dark was an adventure) and cottage cheese with pears for roughly three weeks. I think I deserve some money back.

I can't really put into words how angry I am about the entire situation. I try to laugh about it, but in the long run, it's not funny. The president of the university has a kosher kitchen in his home, with his own personal chef. Why didn't he play into this? Why did it take them two weeks to figure out that there was a kosher caterer a half-hour away? And why couldn't they put up MY MONEY to buy me some edible kosher food? Why did everyone feel like I was over-reacting? Was I over-reacting? At this point, I don't feel comfortable suggesting this program to anyone who is shomer anything.

I wanted to talk to the head of dining services after the incident, to tell him to give my rabbi a call, to look into getting a new hecksher, and to explain exactly WHY the kitchen wasn't truly kosher and to explain what should be happening in the kitchen. I'm no expert, but I could offer my two cents and send them the way of my rav, who is the head of the local kashrut committee. But I was told that I had to go through a series of channels in order to do this. In the end? I never got the chance to talk to him. I wanted to call the rabbi at Tablet K, but I was told (by the campus rabbi) that we shouldn't contact him directly. At every point I was turned down. I felt patronized. Like I was a pain in the side of everyone there because I wanted to hold them to a standard of kashrut that was, well, plain ole kashrut. It wasn't like I wanted them to be Israel-only products or that I wanted to be there when they were cooking. I just wanted kosher food! Criminey.

So this is the saga. I'm sure some of you will say I'm nuts. Others will say I didn't do enough to change the situation. Some of you will probably say that posting this is really bad. But, you know, it's my experience and story. And the universities will hear about it.

In the meantime, I thank the rabbis who listened to me and gave me advice and offered their assistance. I thank the friends that offered to send me food, and I thank the friends that made me food upon my return. This issue, I think, will be one of ongoing proportions, but I'm willing to handle it. B'ezrat haShem, maybe next year the school will get its matzo balls in a row and produce some REAL food with a REAL mashgiach and a REAL hecksher.