Barry Newman

An alternative (but plausible) Jewish Thanksgiving Day

What if the Puritans had aimed elsewhere when they went out hunting and instead of bagging a wild fowl, brought to the table something really foul, a wild boar?
Male wild turkey (iStock)
Male wild turkey (iStock)

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving more years ago than I care to admit, I was making some purchases in one of Brooklyn’s major Kosher supermarkets. A woman in a bit of a frenzy ran in and made a beeline to the meat and poultry section, where she asked the guy behind the counter if any turkeys were still available for sale. Shaking his head, he apologized and told the customer that not a single turkey was left. I was sure the woman would run out of the store and look elsewhere, but instead, she shrugged and asked the butcher for the largest chicken he had. “My kids,” she said,” won’t know the difference anyway.”

Not a November goes by that I don’t recall that incident and muse over how enthusiastically the American Jewish community – even those in “yeshivisha” conclaves – embraced the holiday of Thanksgiving. Which I’ve always found strange since the root of the holiday lies in the attempt of English colonists to escape Catholic domination and be able to freely practice a new kind of Christianity. Things, of course, have changed in the course of four hundred years. The New Testament spirituality that the Mayflower journeyers brought with them to North America has become increasingly secularized, and Jews, seeing no conflict with their own religion, have become as comfortable as gentiles in enjoying the festivities of the late Autumn celebration.

More than a few tradition-minded families, no doubt, still see the day as a time to bow their heads and express appreciation – in contemporary terms – for a successful harvest and for having survived another year. Over the last century or so, this sense of gratitude has, unfortunately, become increasingly diluted. As the bounty of the land and reasonably good health became more and more taken for granted, the emphasis of the holiday changed to what you might call the three F’s – Family, Football, Feasting. What, then, is the draw for Jews?

It certainly couldn’t be Family. Jews have their own annual family get-together, the Passover seder, which predated the excursion to Plymouth Rock by a few years. Even Jews no more than marginally affiliated with their heritage gather around the table in early Spring as two or three generations of a family share matzoh and wine. So, while those participating in the seder may not have ventured to Bubbe’s over the river and through the woods, the sentimentality of a family gathering is not foreign to Jewish culture or practice. It is not, therefore, the boisterous coming together of relatives that Jews find attractive about Thanksgiving.

Football? Well, Jews certainly enjoy the game and spend some time watching it on Sunday afternoons or Monday evenings, but Jewish calendars are not marked in anticipation of the two or three NFL games that are traditionally played on Thanksgiving. If, for example, the NFL Players Association would demand that they want Thanksgiving as a day off for all players and that there no longer be games scheduled on Thanksgiving, Jewish fans would not, I suspect, be overly upset. We would find other ways to occupy our attention in between courses and not fret over incomplete passes or devastating penalties.

Which finally brings us to Feasting, which is something Jews know a thing or two about. As the old joke infers – They tried to kill us, we won, let’s eat! – we don’t need much of an excuse to have a festive meal. And Thanksgiving fits the bill perfectly. There are no Shabbat or holiday restrictions, and the food that is prepared is in many ways different from what is traditionally eaten at Jewish meals. Fortunate indeed is that the centerpiece of the meal – the majestic turkey – is a kosher bird that is more than welcome at a Jewish table. Which, by the way, is something that has been overlooked for centuries. It was pure luck, I’d say, that enables us to participate in Thanksgiving festivities in the same way as our non-Jewish neighbors do.

What if the Puritans aimed elsewhere in 1621, exactly four-hundred years ago, when they went out hunting for the first Thanksgiving meal, and instead of bagging a wild fowl, brought to the table something really foul, a wild boar? This is not an unlikely scenario, by any means. The Massachusetts woodlands in the seventeenth century were teeming with wild game, including various species of swine. Imagine what would have ensued if, instead of a drumstick, the savory favorite of the Thanksgiving feast was a snout. More than that: there would be a balloon depiction of Porky Pig soaring in the sky during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, Arnold the Pig from the old television show Green Acres would receive the symbolic Presidential Pardon, and The Three Little Piggies would be the favored children’s story told around the table.

As for the Jews, well, insofar as there is no workaround for roast pig, Thanksgiving would have become nothing more than an ordinary weekday holiday, much like Memorial Day or Presidents Day. Families would spend a pleasant day off, either puttering around the house or going out for Chinese food. Lawns would be tended to, children would play basketball or ride their bikes, minor home repairs would be taken care of. The fun and excitement of the Thanksgiving celebrations and festivities would have gone ignored. And all because a path in the woods was chosen through which hunters encountered unkosher game rather than defenseless turkeys.

But the Puritans, unintentionally of course, did in fact feast on a kosher species of fowl (which may actually have been a goose or duck) and the rest, as they say, is history. For one day a year, Jewish and non-Jewish celebrations are perfectly aligned. Not that everything is perfectly clear about this alignment, mind you. My grandmother, one year, was explaining to some of her friends about the upcoming Thanksgiving gathering by my mother’s sister. “There is nothing goyish about Thanksgiving,” she forcefully declared. She then turned to my mother and hesitantly asked, “Is there?”

Not to go un-noted is that at the finishing line of the Macy’s Parade is a Santa Claus float, a poignant reminder that the day is also the kickoff point for what has become known as the December Dilemma, the challenge that Jewish parents face in keeping their children focused on Hanukkah and not on Christmas. Oddly, there were two occasions – 1888 and, more recently, 2013 – that Thanksgiving coincided not with Christmas but with Chanukah. The anticipation was back in 2013 was palpable; cranberry sauce with latkes, doughnuts with pumpkin pie, dreidel competitions instead of touch football. Rabbis went out of their way to bring a sense of holiness to the coincidence of the two days. Both, they said, were opportunities to express humility and gratitude to the Creator. But the two days are not quite the same. Thanksgiving involves the giving of thanks for the cooperation of nature by providing a bountiful harvest. Chanukah, on the other hand, expresses our gratefulness that oil burned seven days longer than it should have and that a small army managed to overcome a mighty one; in other words, we are giving thanks for the suspension of nature.

No matter, really. According to the experts, the next time the two days will again be aligned is either 76695 or 79811. American Jews, it seems, will no longer have the opportunity to prepare menus that cater to both holidays. Which is fine. A 6-8 kilo turkey, chestnut dressing and cornbread take enough time to prepare. Latkes and sufganiot can wait another week or so.

About the Author
Born and raised on New York’s Lower East Side, Barry's family made aliya in 1985. He worked as a Technical Writer for most of his professional life (with a brief respite for a venture in catering) and currently provides ad hoc assistance to amutot in the preparation of requests for grants. And not inconsequently, he is a survivor of stage 4 bladder cancer, and though he doesn't wake up each day smelling the roses, he has an appreciation of what it means to be alive.
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