Lise, Daniel and Laura Winer
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The Sacrifical Beet
Lise, Daniel and Laura Winer
It was the second seder, one night in the early 1980s, one of those
gatherings that seemed to take over the whole first floor of the house
without making it feel crowded. Dick and Sherry - between them at least -
probably knew every one of the twenty-five or more guests, but it was
unlikely that anyone else knew most of the others. This fact was not so much
the intent of our hosts as it was the natural outcome of the variety of
their friends and acquaintances. In the living room, several tables were
placed end-to-end, draped with white tablecloths, and set to make one long
seamless invitation. Although most of us stayed out of it, the kitchen was
the de facto center of attention, having been worked in full-tilt for days
to prepare for the Pesah festivities.
That there would be vegetarians among the guests was not surprising, and
there was at least one family near our end of the table that declared this
preference, a couple with a young child. The Israels had of course prepared
quite a feast, including more than a few dishes suitable for any
denomination of vegetarianism. As each dish was brought to the table,
however, the woman asked with pronounced skepticism whether the food had
really been prepared without the slightest hint of exposure to any animal
parts or byproducts.
"Are you *really* sure this is all right?" the woman asked Alisa Israel as
she offered them a bowl of purêed root vegetables or candied carrots. To
each such question, the answer, spoken in a tone of infinite patience, was,
"Yes, I am sure." There was even a discussion of the requirements for the
separate kosher l'Pesah bowls used for the Cuisinart, demonstrating the
expected Israel attention to the detail, spirit, and letter of the law.
Despite the continued reassurances, the woman only cautiously helped herself
to small portions and then stared at her plate, evidently trying to discern
any clue that she had somehow been duped. Eventually, she began to eat, but
with the expression of a royal food taster hoping not to be poisoned. Her
expressed commitment to their strict vegetarianism was somewhat undercut by
her husband's surreptitious repeated servings of all things offered,
including obvious meat dishes, to himself and his son, with the whispered
comment, "Might as well eat this here as we don't get it at home!"
Sometime later, we noticed among the items on the table a small serving
plate containing a single cooked beet. Clearly, it was not meant to be
eaten, so giving in to curiosity we asked the couple if they knew what it
was there for. "That's the sacrificial beet," the man replied.
Of course! Wasn't it obvious that a strict vegetarian would wish to
substitute something for the traditional lamb shank or chicken neck that
usually served to symbolize the lamb whose blood marked on the doorposts
would alert the Angel of Death to pass over the houses of the enslaved
Israelites? Nevertheless, this angle on the beet produced in us a
collective case of cognitive dissonance. (Could anyone really imagine God
saying to Abraham, "Alright, forget your son and the lamb - I want you to
kill that beet?") Pursuing this train of thought, we bravely asked the
origins of this symbol. We were subjected to a graphic description of the
proper way to roast a beet to result in the appropriate "bloody" color and
"cracked skin."
In what we hope was the spirit of Dick's The Kosher Pig, a straight-faced
exchange ensued on the halakhic requirements for beet sacrifices. Should
one shackle and hang the beet? Did it need to be salted? What was the
appropriate blessing for a sacrificial beet?
What does this story have to do with Dick? We're not even sure he was aware
of this particular subplot to the seder, but upon reflection, it seems clear
that only at Dick's home could such a scene have been played out. Though
often taken aback, Dick was never at a loss. We are sure that had he been
called upon to ponder the logic and symbolism of a sacrificial beet he would
have done so with his typical intelligence, respect, humor, and grace.