The New York Times once ran a highly publicized motto. "You don't have to read it all, but it's nice to know it's all there." I regarded our local Kosher offerings from my principal grocer much the same way. I bought most of my meat there, though as empty nesters we eat meat and its leftovers mostly for
Shabbos. Their deli I found too expensive in recent years to make meaningful purchases, though I much appreciated the efforts of its anchor volunteer and supervising rabbi who ensured that real shankbones could be purchased for our Seders each spring. I once purchased more from their bakery than I do now. Under the agreement with the local
Vaad HaKashrut, all baked products in the store would adhere to direct or indirect rabbinical supervision and carry their logo next to the ingredients on the price labels. Prices rose, probably not because of the Kosher certification but because paying skilled bakers added to supermarket overhead. This chain has dozens if not hundreds of locations in my region. When I read their weekly circular, the prices of their baked goods nationwide match the labels that I find at my local branch.
A notice came in my email a week ago. The supermarket and the Vaad HaKashrut have parted ways, a decision initiated by the supermarket. Needing some meat for Shabbos dinner, I headed over to purchase it, along with a few other items that this week's newsprint ad brought to my attention. They still had a section of fresh Kosher meat, though not much selection. All is processed, packaged, and labeled by major processors, so these do not require local supervision. I buy what they discount most times, including this. My choice: chicken thighs or whole unboned breasts. Based on price and utility, I now have two chicken breast halves with skin and bones, items of great kitchen versatility to supply two Shabbatot. My unwillingness to pay full price, and my household's simple meat needs probably contributed to this store's decision to stock their Kosher meat shelves in a minimal way.
On all errands there I look for my good friend who makes this deli function. We exchange notes since the last time we chatted, usually a few weeks between personal greetings. Not only was he not present, the case that contained the Kosher meat and salad products stood empty. The shelves remained, glass fronts still transparent, but illumination off. The sign on the countertop announcing that locally certified corned beef and lox could be acquired there had been removed. While that represented the most obvious change, we still have Kosher consumers in my part of town. Packaged Jewish products still appeared on adjacent shelving and in the self-serve refrigerator to the right of the deli case. We would not have to go without commercial herring, lox, kugel, or certified cheese. Being a sucker for baked products, and a reasonably experienced amateur baker at home, I gravitate to their bakery section. I will buy donuts and danish and cakes from any bakery, if I know that animal products did not appear in the ingredients or preparation, but I eat those at restaurants or in my car. At home I like to see the
hechsher.
As a routine on my grocery excursions, typically weekly, I search the bakery for bargains. The market places a wooden slatted shelf near the registers, the last thing a shopper sees before accessing the checkout, with bakery items discounted for clearance. I can expect six-packs of intermediate sized danish in two varieties, or slices of their high end cakes clear polystyrene clamshell packaging, or day old rye bread in its plastic sleeve. The local Kosher certification logo no longer appeared on any of those items.
Twenty-one years of partnership between that supermarket and Kosher consumers had reached a partial conclusion, though pre-packaged products of Ashkenazi cuisine still appeared in their expected locations. History matters. This relationship started as a personal friendship. My town had stable enterprises when my wife and I arrived forty-five years ago. The butcher sold fresh meat, two Kosher delis had served diners for decades, though the patrons had long since moved to different parts of town. An arrangement had been made with a local Jewish entrepreneur for baked goods, half his diner served non-kosher, but a designated Kosher case enabled fresh challot, bread, and bagels, though not donuts. Somebody from the Vaad made frequent on-site visits to ensure adequate separation. Family-owned businesses have life cycles. Owners retire. Their children become lawyers and dentists. As demand for Kosher meat waned, the butcher gave up his shop, changing it to a source of non-Kosher catering, but not before providing dairy platters for my son's
bris. The restaurants closed. The owner of the challah bakery, always with a line out the door every Friday morning, cashed out. His suburban location became a Starbucks, while his in-town shop found a pizza chain to take over.
My own need with a young family was to provide meat. Our nearest major city's Jewish enclave stood a 45-minute drive northeast. At the time, it contained a few dedicated Kosher markets offering every variety of Kosher meat. Locally people debated over which offered the best value. People tried to pool their orders together to make periodic delivery arrangements economically viable for some of the stores. I maintained my independence, along with a preference to see what I was purchasing, as well as special sales items. At six week intervals, I would make the trip. Often my grade school son joined me for a two hour father-son bond. I had a sense of what fits in my freezer and how long it will take to use it up. My wife could expect me to return with a roast, London broil, stew cubes, a slice of beef liver, sometimes a raw tongue, chicken parts of various types, a duck if my daughter's birthday approached. I found some treasure hunt elements, sweetbreads, pastrami, and premade items already frozen that just needed reheating in the oven. I did not mind the travel especially with targeted child time. We ate well in exchange for some inconvenience.
Others cut down their meat consumption or altered their diets to less beef and more Empire frozen poultry. available at some of the supermarkets where many of us shopped. Perhaps a healthier alternative for many, even if more default than voluntary. At about the same time, towns with smaller Jewish populations had taken their own initiatives to secure Kosher meat, amid the closure of their local butchers. Fewer families seemed committed to Kosher. My Rabbi took such a measure.
He counted among his personal friends the CEO of one of the local markets, a four-store franchise of a larger regional chain. This parent distributor already served much of metropolitan New York and Philadelphia, offering considerable experience with supplying consumers who maintained Kosher homes. Rabbi and friend, a stocky fellow of Irish heritage, devised a workable plan. His individual store in the area of densest local Jewish population, already a megamart, would add three sections for the Kosher folks. They would begin carrying fresh Kosher meat, with dedicated facilities to make custom cuts and to order special products from approved distributors. A deli section would be established, one closed on Shabbos, with a single individual to serve the customers at a designated counter. The bakery would carry only Kosher items including anything prepared on-site. The Vaad, the agency that assures Kosher standards are maintained, would offer its seal to any baked goods prepared on site and to any meat processed in the store. In addition, the distributor would expand the array of prepackaged Kosher meat, cheese, and specialty delicatessen. In exchange, the Rabbi would promote that store as the place his congregants should designate as their primary grocery store.
I worked magnificently. The shleps to the Orthodox neighborhood of the next city ended, with only a small sacrifice of meat selection. Orders for specialty items became available, though my request for a goat for Seder, for which I have a recipe, could not be fulfilled. Their bakery expanded. I could get corned beef and sometimes pastrami by the quarter or half pound. Sliced lox was priced beyond my willingness to purchase, but lox pieces became a common addition to my cart. This hummed along past the Rabbi's retirement and into the tenure of his successor. The deli man, an affable Holocaust survivor, became a popular fixture there. The new Rabbi made provisions to maintain the deli during Passover.
Projects like this depend on dedicated champions, a certain amount of goodwill, and a measure of luck. It also needs to be profitable for the grocer.
The first disruption came nationally, not locally. The largest Kosher distributor, known as
Rubashkin, processed Kosher beef from their Iowa facility on a commercial scale. As a shopper, I could count on a wide selection of cuts at an acceptable price, something I put into my cart on the majority of visits. They were able to offer this economy through some very questionable business practices, from mistreating immigrants, often illegal labor, cutting safety standards, and improper transfer of funds, leading to the conviction of its CEO. The operation shut down. Its replacement could not duplicate variety or price. As a result, most of my beef purchases required the store to discount by 25% to get it sold before expiration. The cuts became largely hamburger, stew cubes, and minute steaks, with an occasional brisket for a special occasion. Poultry fared a little better. Empire Poultry has been a staple Kosher brand. Fresh selection usually has skinless, boneless breast halves, whole cut chicken, often uncut whole chicken, often leg quarters. I can get any of these, make half that week, freeze the other half. Empire has a frozen basket in the meat section. Not seen duck in years. Mostly whole frozen chickens and turkeys. While I've made capon in the days I traveled to the large dedicated butcher, I do not miss not having it. As a result, the selection enables meals, often quite good meals as basic chicken serves as a culinary blank canvas to be filled in. No need yet to return to the drivable population center, though perhaps once or twice a year, I'd like to create a deli platter. Perhaps worth an infrequent drive for that.
While notice of the grocer's disaffiliation with the local Kosher agency appeared abruptly, hints of discontent floated subtly. Projects of this type depend on champions to make it go, people who avoid discord, people commited to the project's success. It started just that way. The founding Rabbi and grocery CEO worked well together. The employee assigned as manager had an extensive presence in our Jewish community. Nobody was more likable than that Holocaust survivor who sliced the cold cuts and made Kosher rotisserie chickens for the Shabbos tables every Friday. The CEO retired. The elderly deli man had to step down. The Vaad had a Rabbinical transition that did not affect operations, in fact, it made them more solid in some ways. Their successors did not do as well. The on-site anchor, volunteer, was a trusted friend of the certifying rabbi. A man of autonomy, expertise, and commitment for sure. Some movers and shakers, including office holders of the Vaad, had their objections. With the next rabbinical transition, the departing rabbi stayed on as the person offering certification, largely in absentia. The new Rabbi and People of Influence opted to do their end runs when they could have resolved grievances. Without an Orthodox Rabbi as the on-site director of Kosher, and with the children of the retired CEO lacking personal friendships other than the man who made the deli and bakery go, the commitment to serving the local Kosher consumers would eventually swoon.
Judaism is ultimately about how you treat people and how you promote cohesion. That's how it began. Two men, personal friends, acting as friends, achieving a win-win. As people transition, some are not treated in the most dignified way. They carve out their territories. Supermarket Kosher, less strong than its start, but with exclusions of key people driven by understandable, though often harmful, antagonisms. Judaism requires that dignified treatment as its core message because outcome depends on it. When the new deli man, the person who made it go, stepped down for unannounced reasons, the current CEO no longer had loyalty to the local Kosher Committee. She opted to empty the cases, remove the signs, and change the label makers to remove the local Kosher symbols from the baked goods.
Will another Kosher arrangement return? It could, but the people who could make it happen may not have the fundamental admiration or trustworthiness needed to achieve this. Many are scripted by Jewish Leadership Development programs, which promote unity by authority at the expense of autonomy. They presumptuously label subordinates as people who owe them obedience. Some will be though the best talents often place a high value on their independence.
Many places have had delivery arrangements for years. The Kosher butcher of Rochester takes periodic orders to deliver to Syracuse to the east and Buffalo to the west on a schedule. That could happen. Our Chabad obtains its meat not from our nearest city, but from an Orthodox center more than twice as far. Their arrangement works well for them. The people in my town can expect less convenience. We will still have Kosher food, even if the periodic schleps to fill freezers resume. We know how to do this. But our community will zip along Jewishly as less than it once was or could have remained with less entitled people leading it.
