Breaking a Rule

My grandmother kept a kosher kitchen. This was my first experience in a Jewish home, and I had always thought it must be a very complicated way to cook. It actually was very easy. There were separate dishes and cooking utensils for meat and for dairy; each kept in separate cupboards. She had blue striped dishtowels and red striped dishtowels; the red used for the meat dishes and the blue for the dairy. She would urge me to drink milk during the afternoon, but there was never any on the table in the evening if she served red meat at dinner. It was just the routine of the household, and nothing was ever said about it.

When it was time for me to return home, My uncle thought I should pack a lunch to take with me on the train. He and I went to the grocery store to get something for the lunch. I chose some fruit and ham and cheese to make a sandwich. We went back home, and started to fix the lunch. When my grandmother saw what we were doing she was very upset and started yelling at Uncle Fritz in Yiddish. I couldn’t understand what was going on, but Grandma was clearly unhappy. “Just a minute”, Uncle Fritz said, “I need to pacify your grandmother.” Now she switched to English, “She’ll die, she’ll die.” It was the ham, of course. I had thoughtlessly forgotten that pork products are forbidden in Jewish dietary laws.

It was very hot on the train going north from Los Angeles. By the time I got around to eating my sandwich, it really didn’t look or smell all that good to me. I thought that my grandmother was probably right about the ham.