Leah Gitl Shukhman
Dear readers! I wrote this story a long time ago, back when I was writing about chalav Yisrael. But then it mysteriously disappeared. And now, just as I started doing my Passover cleaning on my computer :), it suddenly turned up. Cleaning really is an amazing thing: you always find some lost valuables. So I wish you inspiration in your preparations for Pesach, and may you find lots of treasures!
Meat Adventures
Galya managed to get by for a while—quite a long while, it must be said—on fish, eggs, and nuts. It helped to get her father involved; he took all her “religious antics” more calmly. Nevertheless, her mother's patience was running out. Something had to be thought of urgently.
So at the end of the next seminar, Galya went to a kosher store and, for what seemed to her an incredible sum, bought three chickens and a small piece of beef. “My entire monthly stipend is gone… Well, what can I do? Mom said not to come home without meat. The question is, how am I going to get it there…”
This really was a serious question. From Moscow to home—18 hours by train. It's winter now, and they heat the carriages so much that you can hardly breathe. In 18 hours, the chickens will not only thaw, they will also cook into something completely inedible… Of course, she could try hanging them outside the window—out there the temperature is minus 23, so they will keep perfectly. Provided they don't fall off along the way, and no one deftly takes them down when the train stops at some station… No, she can't risk such dear chickens (in both senses of the word). She could also put the bag in the vestibule—the little passage between two carriages, where the temperature is the same as outside. But they could easily be stolen from there, too…
There was no time to think it over at length—the train was leaving soon. Without having decided anything, Galya went to the station.
“The train to Mumyansk departs in ten minutes from track three,” a mechanical voice announced, and Galya ran to her platform, wondering how she had not heard the announcement earlier. She was near track ten! Carrying the bag of meat as well as her travel bag made it very difficult to move. Nevertheless, five minutes later she was standing at the entrance to her carriage, and another three minutes later she was sitting in her seat. A little while later, the train gave a long whistle and set off. Bag stowed away, coat on a hook, hat on the shelf—but what was she to do with the chickens? The question was now urgent. Meanwhile, the attendant walked through the carriage, checking tickets.
“I'll have to ask her; perhaps she'll have an idea,” Galya decided. She had no other choice. When the attendant returned to her compartment, Galya went over and knocked hesitantly. The door opened:
“You'll get your bed linen in two hours, before bedtime!” the attendant announced.
“No, I'm here about something else…” Galya said, embarrassed.
“Well, what else do you want? There's no hot water; if you want tea —go to the dining car.”
“No, it's not that… I… tell me, do you happen to have a refrigerator in your compartment?”
The attendant stared at the young woman as though she had just landed from the moon.
“Maybe you'll ask for a television next? We haven't caught up with America yet; be grateful they heat the carriage…”
“No, I'm very glad there's heating… But I've got a few chickens here… They might spoil.”
“Chickens? Don't you have chickens in Mumyansk? I thought the days of shortages were over, and you didn't have to bring them from Moscow anymore.”
“You're right, of course. But these aren't ordinary chickens… They're kosher chickens… and we really don't have those.”
“What—what kind? I've never heard that word before!”
Galya felt her cheeks positively burning. No heating was needed. But it was too late to back down. She offered a brief prayer that the attendant would not turn out to be an antisemite, and began to explain:
“You see… I'm Jewish. And according to our laws, chickens and livestock are slaughtered in a special way by specially trained people. We're not allowed to eat ordinary meat. There aren't many Jews in our town, so they don't bring in that kind of meat (‘I won't mention that, among the Jews there, no one except me cares about whether the meat is kosher at all…’). I have to bring it from Moscow.”
“I've heard that Jews have their quirks, but I didn't know they went this far!” the attendant exclaimed in amazement. “All right… give me your chickens; we'll put them in the ‘freezer.’”
Galya ran to get the bag, then followed the attendant, who had meanwhile gone out into the vestibule. “Is this really what she meant?” Galya thought, disappointed. “I could have put them here myself. But it's not a safe place…”
But the attendant went over to the wall, took out an odd-looking key, inserted it somewhere… and a deep “pocket” was revealed in the vestibule wall!
“Go on, put them in here. It's the same temperature as outside.”
“Thank you!” Galya beamed.
“You can't buy a chicken with a thank-you…” the attendant laughed.
Galya immediately took the hint, got out her wallet, and handed the attendant a hundred.
“Thank you very much!”
“Oh, now that's more like it. Just don't forget to collect them later!”
She closed the “pocket” and quickly returned to her compartment. Galya, too, hurried back to her seat. She had gone out into the vestibule without her coat and had gotten very cold. Well, now she could finally sit back and relax…