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28 Shevat 5761 - Febuary 21, 2001 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
WHAT'S COOKING?
This is a satire.

by P. Chovav

Hey? What's cookin' by P. Chovav!

The world, we know, is divided into two types of people: those who love squash (zucchini) and those who don't.

One of a housewife's favorite hobbies is to conceal squash in the food of even the most die-hard, stubborn enemies of squash. That's the way it is. After Gershon or whatever-his- name finishes his meal and heaps accolades upon its chef, his loyal helpmate will cheerfully announce: "Oh, really? That's great. I'm very happy to hear that. Tell me, how did you like the potato kugel?"

"Fantastic. Something special." Then comes the bombshell, ejected with a teeny bit of a smile on the face of the distaff, "D'you know?" she reveals, "I also put one squash into it. Not a big one, really, just medium-sized. But it adds so-o much, don't you think? Even though you can't actually detect it..."

There's nothing you can do about it. Experts in sholom bayis are at a loss to explain why this happens to the wives, but it remains an immutable reality of life. Primarily in those families where there are squash-haters -- and what family doesn't have at least one? The challenge of sneaking in a zucchini or two is almost incontrollable. Psychologists claim that even if there is a measure of pleasure in the very ability of controlling the tastes of the family, the true satisfaction is derived only afterwards, at the long awaited moment when the housewife can declare on the phone, "Listen to this! You won't believe it, but I grated a squash into the apple compote and it added such a delectable flavor. I'm telling you, you couldn't pinpoint it, but it enhanced the dessert immeasurably. Even Gershon conceded that you couldn't taste it."

An achievement like this can reassure the average baalebusta and keep her coasting along on her laurels for weeks and months -- except for the fact that somewhere along the line the squash-cart will be upset and she will hear of a one- upwomanship victory of hiding a squash in an angel cake or ice cream. This will arouse within her a new urge that will afford no respite until she can again grasp the receiver with confidence and in a stage whisper, announce emotionally, "Yes, yes! Exactly what you heard! A squash inside a cup of tea-and- lemon! Not a big one, I must admit, but it added so much. You can ask Gershon! That's right! Even Gershon!"

There's hardly a home without a zucchini. Except, of course, for those roosts ruled by women who hate them, themselves. There you wouldn't find as much as a zucchini seed. There you need have no qualms as to where the squash could have been finagled. There, even if some of the members of the family do happen to like squash, the chance of their enjoying a delectable homemade squash casserole is equal to the chance of finding a squash capable of singing "Layehudim..."

Not only squash. The same applies to Palestinians. There are some who like them and some who don't. Interestingly enough, those who love them try to push them on us with all their might. They know that a direct method won't work, so they try to hide them, like squash.

Just the other day, the government ministers were sitting around, and they found an original way of serving up the Palestinians on our plates. Jerusalem, they postulated, would become a city of sectors: Jewish and Palestinian. The Jewish sectors would belong to the Jews and the Palestinian ones to the Palestinians. Ramot - - for us. Sheikh Jerakh -- for them. Gilo -- for us. Silwan - - for them. All of the eateries in Geula -- for us. The garages and junk yards in Wadi Joz -- for them.

That's how they apportioned Jerusalem to everyone's complete satisfaction, and as far as they are concerned, the Palestinian problem is settled once-and-for-all. This side of the Kosel -- for us. The reverse side -- for them. The second incline to the right, leading towards the Jewish quarter -- ours; the other one, theirs. The road that splits off by the glazier until the fourth step -- theirs. Just great! Why shouldn't everyone be pleased with this simple arrangement?

And in order not to upset the ancient custom that requires the kalla's side to give more than half, it was agreed to transfer to the Palestinians some hundreds of square kilometers south of Netivot. Why not?

This arrangement, as far as the Left is concerned, should satisfy the demands of both sides. You can't force Israelis to love Palestinians, but you can insert a few here and there without anyone noticing. Big deal! So you want to go to the Kosel? Bevakasha! Line up, double yourselves over, raise your hands to your head and dash across to the other side of the road. Everyone's made it? Fine! Now hug the wall and wait until the Palestinian with his machine gun on the rooftop goes in for a drink. Then you can run for it.

According to Yossi Sarid, these are concessions that can and must be made. He draws the line, however, at the Right of Return. This, he declares, would be the end of Zionism. But what's so terrible if they are willing to settle for any alternate territory in central Israel instead of the lands and homes they occupied before 1948?

Yeah, what's so bad about that? A nice Palestinian shikun near Ramat Aviv? Or a new town sandwiched between Herzliya and Netanya? The Americans would pay for it. Who cares, as long as this strife is settled. What -- peace is not worth half a million Arabs near Ranaana?

If you can ask the Jerusalemites to have armed Palestinians living a stone's throw from their homes, why shouldn't we expect the same from the residents of Kfar Shemaryahu?

All of the concessions which the Left are ready to suggest stop at the territorial borders of greater Tel Aviv. At close range -- it seems -- they love the Palestinians as much as the Jerusalemites love them.

And whoever doesn't like squash -- please, don't hide them in someone else's plate.

 

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