Please Come Pick Up Your Cheese

“Please come pick up your cheese.”

Those were the words that greeted me when I answered the phone. It was the Pre-School office at my kids’ school, and I was thoroughly confused to say the least.

I had brought the packaged sliced cheese, as requested, to school that morning for their end of year class party. The day before, I had run into Trader Joe’s to purchase it, and had made sure to drop it off well before the party, which was the next day. My son was 3 years old at the time, and even though he’s my second kid, I was still in my early years of being a mom. In other words, I had to be Super Mom. Everything had to be perfect, and most importantly, everyone had to notice.

A little backstory on the cheese might be necessary. My kids go to a Jewish day school. Any food brought in has to be certified kosher. In order to prove that, the letter K must be visible on the packaging. Or even better, if you see the letters O and U together somewhere on the product, that means this food has orthodox rabbinical approval. It is now as kosher as can get. We know that a Rabbi was present to witness that nothing came in contact with anything non-kosher, which would immediately de-kosherize all that hard work. Got that? Not complicated at all.

Apparently, my cheese had no such letters anywhere on the packaging. You see, cheese is one of those tricky foods for the kosher police. It seems free of all things non- kosher- it’s dairy, no pig, right? It’s just cheese, after all. But, it has this ingredient called rennet. Rennet is from the belly of a calf, and that calf was probably not killed according to kosher law. And rennet, with it’s non-kosher cow belly ingredient, has been mixed in to make this cheese, and then we’re mixing meat with dairy, which is a big kosher no, and…AGGHH! We’ve got ourselves one giant traif mess! Traif is the old time yiddish word for non-kosher, and I am the reason this traif has entered into my son’s pre-school.

But you see, I grew up knowing these rules. They’re second nature to me. In my defense, the Trader Joe’s cheese listed vegetable rennet as an ingredient. I checked later. So I didn’t traif up their fridge or anything like that. But for all I know, they brought in a few Rabbis to re-kosherize it after I left. I can only worry about so much.

I still didn’t know why I was summoned for the cheese when I arrived at school. And to be honest, I have mild amnesia for the actual gathering of the offensive product. Maybe a case of PTSD set in. I assume I went to the office to pick it up and was then informed of the cheese situation. My next clear memory after entering the building was being in my son’s classroom with his teacher while the kids were playing outside. By now, I was in possession of the cheese.

This next part has remained vivid in my brain like no other. It still makes me cringe when I think about it. The teacher, who let me just clearly state, I completely love and respect to this very day, proceeded to talk to me like one of her 3 year old students.

She said to me, in a most gentle, dare I say, condescending tone, “You know, Trader Joe’s has a lot of kosher products, but it is not a kosher store.”

(Sigh) Ouch. I don’t care if you think I’m a wimp, that cut me to the core. I tried to speak, but found I had no voice. You see, I grew up in a strictly kosher home. My parents cleaned the house and were ready for Passover two days early, shellfish was the forbidden fruit dangling from afar, and my parents never, ever, ever, brought home a pizza slice from the local pizzeria, mainly because of all the cheese reasons stated earlier. I knew Trader Joe’s was not a kosher store! I did not need the lesson this teacher was clearly compelled to give me. I did not need the tone or the look I saw in her eyes of, “Poor mom, she just doesn’t know any better.” What I needed was some sympathy, and a good nap.

I had run into Trader Joe’s and bought some cheese. I was a tired mom, trying to be perfect and get everything done at warp speed. I had a memory lapse and needed some slack. I didn’t bring nuts to the kid with the nut allergy. I have never, ever, ever, been too tired to make that mistake.

I brought non-certified cheese to a kosher refrigerator. An oversight, yes, but what exactly was my punishment? Embarrassment, a patronizing lecture, and a large dose of humiliation. Most of all, it put a spotlight on my own feelings of failure. The world now knew I clearly wasn’t perfect.

Except it wasn’t the whole world. It was one assistant in the school office, and one Pre-School teacher who simply wanted to educate me. Yet it may as well have been the whole world as far as I was concerned. I’m a perfectionist, and I wasn’t prefect. It didn’t matter if my mistake was on a small scale, it only highlighted my feeling of being outed as a failure, with dairy being my downfall.