CINCINNATI, Ohio — Lately, I’ve been doing outreach for a clinical research organization engaged in Phase III trials of vaccines against Covid-19. This is a very different environment from any that I have worked in. But if there’s one thing I know how to do well, it’s going out and talking to people.
Our Christmas party happened to fall on the sixth day of Chanukah, so I wanted to contribute. What I used to do at my school was bring in homemade sufganiyot using whole wheat flour with nutmeg mixed into the dough, fill them with jam and fry them up in coconut oil. These treats would be proudly presented in a basket with a sign that read “You don’t have to be Jewish to have a Happy Chanukah!”
However, I wasn’t going to do that this year. My mother, with whom I currently live, is very fussy about her kitchen. She will refer to a single pan in need of washing as “a huge mess.” Baking and frying are by nature very messy. So I knew that if I made an actual mess, I would surely hear about it until Purim.
Still, I wanted to show some Jewish pride at the Christmas party. So I stopped by a mom-and-pop gourmet doughnut shop and said, “Give me a dozen. Surprise me.” And the clerk did a great job selecting and artfully glazing each one. It never occurred to me to say, “No bacon.” That’s a thing? Who knew?
At lunch, I told a story about the year I played Santa Claus. I was walking through hospital corridors, handing out chocolates and holiday cheer, when I came upon a woman with a very Jewish name on her name tag. In my best Santa Claus voice, I said, “Let me guess. Happy Chanukah!” Her face brightened. “Why, yes. That’s right, Santa Claus.”
“Oh, Santa Claus just loves Chanukah.
Chanukah, Oy Chanukah
A yom tov, a sheyner
A lustiger, a freylicher
Nito noch a zeyner…”
So there was Santa Claus singing Chanukah, Oy Chanukah in Yiddish. I knew who was Jewish because they doubled over laughing.
Well, my boss was so tickled by tale this that she had me share this story and the song with the rest of the staff. I was a big hit as they don’t get too many professional entertainers in this crowd.
A few minutes later, I was sitting with three Muslims when someone discovered the bacon covered doughnut. Oy vey iz mir. The four of us commiserated on the ubiquity of bacon in Cincinnati and how those who don’t share our dietary restrictions just don’t get it.
(In retrospect, I really should have known better. Cincinnati was dubbed “Porkopolis” in the 1830s. Ivory Soap was originally made with lard and it wasn’t until the early 20th century that it became illegal to herd swine down Main Street.)
As we sat there chatting amiably, I thought, Who the Hell says Jews and Muslims have to be enemies? Here we are, fellow religious minorities at a Christmas party, genuinely enjoying one another’s company. While I will definitely remember to say, “No Bacon” in the future, I am glad to have made this connection with my co-workers and new friends because that is how we bridge the divides and repair the world.
Happy Holidays.
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Eric George Tauber formerly lived in San Diego, where he acted and reviewed plays for San Diego Jewish World. We’re delighted that when he moved to Cincinnati, we didn’t lose his talents, but instead enlisted him as a correspondent in Cincinnati.