HOLIDAYS

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Taam Turkey

A prize fowl becomes a pal
on the way to the shochet

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CERT KOZAK

Special to The Jewish News

y first encounter with a
turkey occurred in 1924
when I attended kinder-
garten. Though the tur-
11111 key was cut out of brown
construction paper from a stencil
drawn by our teacher, it was of
singular importance to me. That same
evening in our home I attained the
height of ego-trips — my retelling of
the story of the first Thanksgiving as
my immigrant parents listened, pro-
udly attentive. The paper turkey was
pinned to the kitchen curtains and
my happiness was complete.
Thanksgiving took on a new
significance in the third grade, when
our class at last achieved that pin-
nacle of status — attendance at an
"Auditorium Program." There, upper
classmen from the sixth through
eighth grades, in commemoration of
the first Thanksgiving, presented
tableaux and skits and read original
essays and poetry. With staunch,
patriotic emotion we pledged
allegiance to our flag, and with equal-
ly staunch fervor sang My Country
Tis of Thee, accompanied at the piano
by an impressive seventh grader who
tossed her head importantly as she
played the final resounding notes
I walked dreamily up the stairs to
our second floor flat, where I was
restored to reality by the sound of my
mothers excited voice. I pushed open
the kitchen door and beheld an in-
credible scene: A large strange bird
was strutting in our kitchen while my
mother was agitatedly attempting to
corner it. "It" was an actual, live
turkey!
As my mother timidly approach-

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Religious News Service

ed the bird, she related the cir-
cumstances of its unexpected
presence. My teenaged brother, Ben-
ny, had been awarded the first prize
in a promotional contest sponsored by
the circulation department of the
Milwaukee Journal.
Never before having seen a live
turkey, much less fantacized that we
might own one, I was understandably
in a state of shock. I marvelled at its
great size, its colorful beading and its
baleful eyes as it circled the kitchen
table with my mother cautious
pursuit.
Finally my mother's voice
penetrated my consciousness. A for-
midable task awaited us. To my
mother and me fell the job of somehow
gettinghis turkey to the shochet, a
man trained in the humane and
religiously proper method of killing
fowl in order that it be kosher.
The problem was to maneuver
this bird the distance of five blocks to
the poultry-shop where the shochet
plied his trade. The year was 1927,
and there was not yet a family
automobile. This turkey would be
guided on its final journey on foot —
if my mother and I could somehow ar-
range for him to cooperate.
For the first time I reflected on
how much easier life was for our non-
Jewish neighbors. I had once been an
unwilling observer when my friend
Erna's father carried two chickens in-

to their backyard and, with a hatchet,
proceeded to chop off the chickens'
heads.
After much maneuvering and gig-
gling on everyone's part (by now our
downstairs neighbors, hearing the
unusual commotion, had also joined
the foray) we somehow managed to
slip a length of closeline around the
turkey's neck. How to convince him
or her (who cared about the turkey's
gender at this point?) to walk down a
flight of stairs was beyond us. No one
had the courage to lift this great bird.
Did turkeys bite? No one knew. Pro-
bably not, but their talons looked like
they could claw! This was apparently
the first live turkey that anyone in
this particular assembly had even
seen. With much urging and pushing
on the part of the humans and much
fluttering and acting-out from the
turkey, we somehow managed to get
it into the yard.
There were now five blocks of
strenuous effort awaiting us. It should
here be established that a turkey has
little in common with a dog, and not
only does not "heel," but also refuses
to be dragged. It soon became obvious
that not only would one of us have to
pull, the other would certainly have
to push in order to keep this prize bird
from strangling to death. Besides the
trauma of such a tragedy, such an en-
ding for the bird would have been
sheer calamity since, -finless it was

brought to the shochet alive, it would
be considered carrion and, therefore,
unfit for human consumption.
Several of my young friends and
even younger neighbors had decided
to accompany us, and as the tug-and-
push process continued, more joined
the group.
As we painstakingly completed
one block and then another, I found
myself alternately blushing and grin-
ning. I continued to be convulsed with
uncontrollable laughter, a manifesta-
tion I am sure of my embarrassment.
My mother angrily reproached me for
being a fool. Her words in Yiddish
were actually shtick nahrr — great
fool of fools. I was scolded for not
pushing the turkey fast enough, but
weak with uncontrollable laughter,
how could I possibly muster the
energy to shove this now detestable
bird?
At long, long last we arrived at
the poultry shop. It was still open. The
shochet was still there — and more
than taken aback at seeing what, or
more precisely who had arrived to
shatter the tedium of an other wise or-
dinary Wednesday.
Amid all the exclamations, a
business transaction had to be resolv-
ed. Since the fee for slaughtering an
ordinary chicken was 15 cents, the
shochet thought that 50 cents was an
equitable price for this exotic fowl. My
mother felt that 35 cents was more
appropriate. They settled on 40 cents.
Now, however, the price for pluck-
ing the feathers had to be determin-
ed. This was more complicated, since
it was obvious that there were in-
estimably more feathers on this bird

THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS

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