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ZipUSA: Iowa Kosher
JUNE 2005
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The best part of my trip to Postville was being invited to Shabbat dinner at the home of Leah and Sholom Rubashkin and their ten children. Shabbat is welcomed exuberantly, with prayer and singing and wine followed by a traditional multicourse meal. I watched Leah as she serenely presided over the wonderful meal, alternately cuddling her infant grandchild and her own infant son. I have one child and frequently feel I'm barely keeping up with my domestic duties. I tried to imagine myself caring for such a large family, but I don't have that good of an imagination.
At the end of the meal the Rubashkin's oldest son, Getzel, who is in his early 20s, gave a learned disquisition on the various rabbinical interpretations over the centuries of that evening's portion of the Torah, the Jewish Bible. Later, Getzel talked about his favorite websites and how excited he was about new software he had gotten to help him develop his skills at computer graphics. It was a wonderful example of how you can hold on to ancient traditions, yet live in the modern world. |
I had to steel myself when it came time to see chickens slaughtered at the Rubashkin plant, which made me feel a little hypocritical since I had eaten one of them a few days before at Shabbat dinner. I approached the killing line with trepidation, not because I'm a vegetarian but because I had never seen an animal slaughtered before. It wasn't pleasant to watch chickens' throats being cut, but it was a good reminder about how removed most of us are from the processes—and the people—who bring us our food.
Later, going through my notes, I saw the page where my ink was smeared from the drops of chicken blood that fell on it from the animals moving on an overhead conveyor belt. The experience gave me more respect for vegetarians and for the people who do the hard unpleasant work of bringing meat to the rest of us.
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One day during my stay I heard on the radio playwright Arthur Miller had died. I'm a news junkie, and I wanted to read an obituary of him, but I didn't even have a computer with me. As much as I was enjoying the intimacy and slow pace of small-town life, I had to get my hands on a major newspaper, and there wasn't one to be found. I got in the car, crossed the Mississippi, drove into Wisconsin, and bought a Chicago Tribune. I realized I could never live anyplace where I couldn't start the day with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. |
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