THE SACRED TRADITION OF A L’CHAYIM AND CHEESEBURGER

I live within eyesight of Bob Jones University, an institution so conservative and fundamentalist Christian that it makes Presbyterians and Episcopalians look like Satmar Chasidim. Naturally, they want the rest of the world, including us, to be Christians like they are. So, my basic attitude toward them is that if they leave me alone, I will do the same for them. This I will tell you: Their integrity and ethical standards are unimpeachable, and all in all, they are the best sort of neighbors. That’s what recently led me to them.

You see, I recently catered a Kiddush-bacchanalia at my old schule. Bluntly, the regular workers in the kitchen detest me. I have my way of doing things, and they have theirs. I had a lot to do and little time to do it, so I could not afford to put up with their mishugas.

What to do? Ah, Bob Jones has a culinary arts program. In keeping with the school’s spirit, the students are neat, respectful, obedient, and their veneration of the Bible allows for no shortcuts in kashrut. I called over to the school, and what do I find? The Dean is Mark Moritz, an apostate member of our tribe from Queens.

Chef Moritz immediately dispatched four of his top students, who, by the way, worked for even less than we offered. They were wonderful, just as I had expected. They even asked to rush to the dorm to shower between cooking and serving, so they could look their best.

Well into the cooking it dawned on me that not only are Bob Jones kids not allowed to partake in alcohol; they are not even allowed to work in a place where alcohol is served. In complete honesty, I told the boys that we served thimble-sized cups of wine as part of the sacrament of Kiddush, not unlike Holy Communion (which, by the way, Bob Jones does not observe).

They were sure that it was all right, but they wanted to ask the Dean a shayleh, nonetheless. They quickly brought back the good news. It was a sacrament, so there would be no problem.

But then it dawned on me that we had a bigger problem: What about the l’chayim of schnapps that the old-timers poured each other in a corner of the social hall after the Motzi? Again, I told the boys the truth, albeit this time slightly shaded in my favor.

“Is it a sacrament?” they asked.

“Well, you might say that.” I invoked the principle of Minhag Yisrael din hu, a custom among Israel has the strength of the law. “You see,” I said, “the old-timers, especially the ones who came over from Eastern Europe, saluted each other with a little whiskey after Sabbath services to warm themselves for the long, frigid trek home. So, for the old-timers, it was a beloved sacrament, part of a consecrated heritage.

Again, the boys returned to campus to ask the shayleh. The Dean remembered from his days in Queens that the l’chayim was a venerated ritual. He quickly gave his approval.

On the morning of the Kiddush, though, the boys naturally saw a number of younger people, including yours truly, toasting a l’chayim over the ritual schnapps. They looked at me quizzically. I grinned sheepishly at them and said, “You’ve got to understand. These young men are merely carrying forth the custom ordained by their saintly elders, so that our sacred traditions will never be forgotten.”

The servers understood perfectly. When you think of it, I was probably telling the truth in spite of myself.

Now, if it were only that easy to get the Rabbonim to understand that a cheeseburger at McDonald’s is also a sacred tradition . . .