Kosher Mishegas
Anybody who has ever tried to make a kosher banquet knows the challenges and joys that only a kosher lifestyle can encompass.
The Rieders Foundation decided to sponsor an Israel Bonds Banquet in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. The Banquet for 40 years or who knows how long had been run by the late Marvin & Jean Staiman. They now reside in a lovely cemetery in Beit Shemesh, Israel.
There is, of course, no kosher caterer in the lovely rural city of Williamsport. However, Hillside Catering, owned by David Miele, always performed the kosher catering in Billtown. They were supervised by whomever the rabbi was at Congregation Ohev Sholom. Nobody asked much in the way of questions, but the kitchen at the synagogue had been done over and was a first-rate operation.
For the Bonds Dinner, Miele was contacted by the hardworking, diligent, detail-oriented Kimberly Paulhamus, better known as Kim Rieders, my lovely bride.
David is retired, semi-retired or mostly retired, but the business is run by his daughter Adria and his son Michael. They turned out to be absolutely marvelous people, a fine representation of their father’s warmth, competence, and absolute dedication to doing a good job.
Then came the question of supervision. Who is going to supervise the imposition of kosher standards? The rabbi who customarily serves at Congregation Ohev Sholom is a very pleasant gentleman, but part-time. He comes out for Shabbat a couple of times a month. He has Smicha from Yeshiva University and subsequent to that had been engaged in a number of activities, including teaching Social Studies at a Jewish high school in New York.
Fortunately, however, there is a Chabad in Lewisburg, 25 miles to the south. I asked the diligent Chabad rabbi if he would supervise the event, and he was delighted to comply.
Immediately sparks flew, however. Chabad, some would claim, have their own standards. Whether their standards are really any different, just higher, or more exacting, is a debate for another day. However, it was quite clear that the Chabad rabbi and the part-timer from New York were not going to see eye to eye on how Kashrut was to be accomplished. Sad but true since they are both very fine gentlemen, both of whom are likeable, dedicated, and competent.
After some initial wrangling, a mild war of words not nearly as bad as the war with Iran, it was clear to me that neither the Chabad rabbi nor rabbi part-timer wanted to supervise this dinner which was now only a week away.
Calmly but with inner desperation, I managed to make the acquaintanceship of a mashgiach from Scranton. This rabbi agreed to do the job at a very reasonable price. Of course, he had never been to Williamsport, and he was restive about the fact that the caterer might not have much, if any, recent experience in managing a kosher banquet.
The food arrived but, unfortunately, the mashgiach was not present at the time of the arrival. I dropped the ball by also not being present when the food arrived. The caterer proceeded to open the box of chicken and allegedly removed one chicken to smell it in order to make sure that it was fresh.
It reminds me of the old joke about the woman who goes into the butcher shopping for chicken. She smells under the wing, and she did not like the smell. She asked the butcher for another chicken. She proceeds to go through 2 or 3 chickens smelling under the wing, the leg, and the breast. She is totally dissatisfied, invoking the ire of the butcher who turns to her and says, “Lady, could you pass a test like that?” So much for bad jokes.
However, the mashgiach, having heard that the chickens were opened and touched without him present, declared that the event could not be kosher, and he would not certify it. I heard about this while at the dentist’s office. I was in the dentist chair when one of the employees of the dentist rushed in and told me I had an emergency phone call and I must call Kim. My mouth was full of whatever stuff dentists put in but, of course, I leapt out of the chair. The dentist was disgusted, but G-d bless the hygienist who was extremely kind and thoughtful.
I rushed to a private room and immediately called to find out what was going on. I was told that the mashgiach was dissatisfied with the fact that the chickens were opened and potentially smelled by someone who did not have a kosher nose, thus he would not declare the event kosher. So, I called the mashgiach who was very upset. He had specifically told the caterer, he claimed, not to open the chicken until he got there. Was he late? Who knows.
I was always taught by my parents, who were crazy enough to run events like this, to remain calm in times of stress. I asked the Mashgiach for a “leniency.” Because Kashrut is biblical (both written and oral law being involved), there is not a lot of room for error. The leniency the Mashgiach came up with was that we would do this just the way it is done on airplane flights. The “non-kosher” chicken or the chicken declared non-kosher would be served to those who are not members of the Jewish faith. 30 frozen chickens found at the Synagogue would be defrosted and served to the Jewish participants. It sounded like a plan; except how do we know that the chickens at the synagogue were properly certified as kosher? Thankfully, the rabbi did not seem to think that was a problem.
I authorized the mashgiach to do whatever was necessary to get chickens from the local community and to make sure that this event would go forward.
What happened thereafter is not fully known to me. I do remember the drilling that took place in the dentist’s office, the cleaning, and the rest of that mess but, fortunately, I was unable to think about any dental pain due to the pain associated with the Kashrut issue.
The crisis was not over. I went over to the Trade & Transit Center where the banquet was to be held. The Hillside people were there, but they were afraid to set up, serve the hors d’oeuvres, or even prepare the plates for the meal because the Mashgiach was not there. Now, all the Mashgiach had to do was go from the synagogue where the chicken was cooked to the Trade & Transit Center, perhaps two miles away, but he was not there! Where in the world was the Mashgiach?
I found out quickly where the Mashgiach was because I received a telephone call that the Mashgiach was lost. He claimed he had been given the wrong address to the Trade & Transit Center, and he was so angry that he said that he was quitting the job and would not certify it as kosher. Another crisis to solve.
I calmy gave the Mashgiach the address, and he showed up. He looked at me, saw the kippa and the tzitzit, and he seemed to be calmed. I had reassured him frequently that he had nothing to worry about because I was an expert in solving crises of all sorts. He seemed to accept that.
In any event, the hors d’oeuvres were served on time, the meal was served on time, and everyone who was there said that it was the best banquet meal they had ever had!
I went back into the kitchen at the Trade & Transit Center and asked every employee their name, shook their hand, and thanked them. I was particularly grateful to Adria and David. They were cooperative and made the trains run on time somehow.
As far as the Mashgiach, he enjoyed a good meal, thanked me, received his check, and went back to Scranton.
To this day, I am not quite sure where the chickens came from, whose chickens they were, whether the chickens walked there themselves or were carried, and who bought the chickens. I am told that everyone ultimately cooperated. The Mieles only had good things to say about the part-time rabbi and everyone else with whom they were associated in pulling off this event in Williamsport.
The most important thing was that the honorees were great, they were appropriate to the occasion and they spoke beautifully. Several political people showed up, and Morton Klein, as the keynote speaker, was as dynamic as ever.
So, for anyone making a Glatt kosher meal in a town where there is no kosher caterer, there is no local Mashgiach, and the food has to be imported from elsewhere or found at local grocery stores, whatever you do, if you need any help, direction, or guidance, DO NOT CALL ME, DO NOT CALL ME!
