Garlic Chicken and Chocolate Chip Cookies

It was almost seventy years ago, that my father-in-law was drafted into the United States Army.  Joining its ranks, was no simple feat for a newly minted American, a Holocaust survivor, who had spent two years of his childhood hidden in an attic in Poland.  As luck would have it, he caught a fever which caused him to miss the boat that carried his original regiment to war in Korea. Instead, he found himself stationed in post-war Germany and it was there that he truly became an American.

As a company clerk in a mobile hospital unit near Heidelberg, my father-in-law learned to speak an American English. Because of his perfectly starched uniform and spit-shined shoes, he was placed in headquarters and became the confidante of officers and gained the admiration of his fellow soldiers. Visit his apartment today and he will proudly show you his reward for the three times he was declared soldier of the month – a prominently displayed professional portrait.

There was no better proof of acceptance as an American than his new best friend, Larry McMullen, a burly Irish football player from South Carolina. With money saved from their army salary, they purchased a jalopy, and on their days off they traveled the continent from Holland, to Austria, Luxembourg and Lichtenstein.  And, there was even an occasion or two, in which Larry was known to have let out a roar of protection when someone had dared to mess with his new friend, the Jew.

But the hero of this story is not my father-in-law but rather his mother, Mina. One might have thought that she and her husband Maier with all they had gone through would have bolted the door to prevent their only son from drafting.  However, Maier credited his service in the Russian army with his survival.  It was there that he acquired the fearlessness and street-smarts that ultimately saved his family.  Maier wanted his son to have the same arsenal. With the blessing of Maier, Mina had no choice but to acquiesce to her son’s enlistment.

But, of course, no departure could happen without a gift signifying her love and protection. So off Mina went and purchased a chicken, a whole chicken, which she defeathered and koshered and then roasted – infusing it with cloves of garlic to preserve it.  Then she wrapped it up in brown paper, tied it like a parcel and handed it to my father-in-law with instructions to open it only upon arrival at his new army barracks.

My father-in-law dutifully waited until a day or two later when he was settled in the top bunk of a bed in Fort Dix to open the care package which had lovingly been given to him by his mother.  As he unraveled it, the unmistakable smell of garlic immediately wafted through an open window calling to his new commander.  Within moments, the commander arrived in the barracks and with a barrage of words I can not write here, he barked, “Who’s the new recruit who dared to not share his food with me.”  From that point on, until he was shipped out to Europe, my father-in-law had a new mentor in his commander, and a weekly pass home as long as he returned with his mother’s garlic chicken.

And with chicken in hand, this battle scarred and decorated commander, taught my immigrant father-in-law how to spit shine his shoes and iron his pants and how to stand out in the army.

I write this, not simply as a story but as a message and prayer.  This Sunday, two of my father-in-law’s grandchildren (one with a middle name Maier) will join the ranks of the IDF along with hundreds of other young men and women enlisting in the March draft.  I imagine that all the fathers will proudly put their hands on the heads of their sons and their daughters and bless them.

And what will their mothers do?  They will hand their children a sandwich of egg and pita  and sneak in their backpack some freshly baked cookies.  They will hope that somehow, these tasty signs of their love will serve as a talisman – forever safeguarding their cherished young recruits from the unknown which lies ahead.  I know this because I have done the same.

And now to my fellow army mothers, I bestow upon you this fervent wish.  You have learned that the smell of a mother’s garlic chicken can waft through the generations.  So to may it be, that one day far in the future, your soldiers will tell this story – that once in the army, when they needed it most, in the crevices of their very worn backpack they found, a chocolate chip cookie packed by their mom, and it gave them the strength that they needed to carry on.