"Real men don't eat quiche," proclaims one bumper sticker. "Would you kill flipper for a tuna sandwich?" inquires another. Both messages assert a connection between what we eat and who we are. Our community and our character are reflected in our choices of food. Vegetarians, macrobiotics, those who limit their cholesterol intake, those who won't eat red meat, all are asserting that we are, indeed, what we eat. While concerns of physical health remain the predominant factor in guiding contemporary people's diet, the link between eating and identity remain strong.
For most animals, and for many people, eating is simply a response to a biological need, or at best an aesthetic pleasure. At least three times each day, people sit down to satisfy their hunger, without giving thought to how their eating is also an act of identification and of education.
Yet for most Americans the proliferation of fast food restaurants, microwave ovens, and the decline of the family dinner all testify to emptiness at the core of our home routine. Meals used to be occasions of family and friendship; now we eat quickly with little attention to how and what we consume. This thoughtless approach to eating was not always the case, and need not be so now.
Today's Torah portion establishes the core of Judaism's teaching that how we eat and what we feed ourselves are sacred and communal matters--nurturing identity, morality, and relationship while simultaneously feeding the body. Kashrut offers an opportunity to harness the act of eating to contribute to who we are and what are our values. Kashrut summons us to elevate eating from an animal response to an encounter with holiness, transforming our kitchens and our dining room tables into sacred altars, our meals into reminders of our deepest values as Jews.
For thousands of years, the dietary laws served as a vehicle for solidifying Jewish identity, for forging a link with Jews throughout time and across the globe as well as for strengthening the connection between Jews and their Judaism. Jewish meals forge a potent bond, linking family and friends into communities devoted to a more humane order on earth. Through the regimen of kashrut, we have learned that we can discipline ourselves and master our drives and impulses, thereby enjoying the pleasures of life while simultaneously affirming our highest humanity.
Finally, the practice of kashrut, motivated at its core by a recognition of the holiness of every living creature, has instilled sensitivity to the suffering of animals and of our responsibility to other forms of life. True, the practice of the dietary laws requires commitment, self-discipline, and striving. Any undertaking that has the power to renew meaning and enrich our sense of community will not come with ease. Yet look at what can result from the endeavor: an opportunity to become a fully conscious and caring Jew--one whose meals inculcate reverence for life rather than simply a response to hunger, one whose way of eating is an invitation to a more noble Jewish identity and a continuing affirmation of Jewish loyalty and values.
Unlike book learning, sh'mirat kashrut, the observance of the dietary laws, is available to every Jew --young and old, adult and child, scholar and beginner. By integrating the Jewish dietary laws into our lives, we begin a regimen that can provide ample exposure to the sacred, regular reaffirmation of Jewishness, and a renewed commitment to the preciousness of life.
Renewed Jewish identity, heightened appreciation for all life, and increased responsiveness to God's presence--these constitute the backbone of Judaism and emerge from the observance of kashrut. By making those values a regular part of our meals, by repeating those lessons at least three times each day, we take up our task of being a contributing member of a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation." We bring the world--and those we love--that much closer to redemption.
Shabbat Shalom.