Food History

I can’t guarantee any of the details in the story because my chief source for it - who was told it by the wife of one of the gentlemen involved - is currently unavailable. Such is oral history. Your response to me saying “I might have got some of it wrong” ought to be “OK, I won’t believe you.”

I’m an unreliable narrator. My fiction-writing self has eaten the historian part of my mind. That would make a strange kind of horror movie, where bits of our minds cannibalise other bits. Anyway, on with the tale of the two shochetim*.

Once upon a time and in an exotic place (1960s Cairns, Queensland) someone noted the wonderful quality of Australian grassfed beef and set up an exporting business to Israel. There were no kosher butchers in Cairns, so they flew a couple out from Israel. No problems.

Now, these shochetim were Ultra-Orthodox blokes. Think big black suits and big black hats and those locks of hair (peyotim) lopping down their cheeks. Cairns airport had never seen such a sight and especially had never seen such big blokes sweltering in the tropical heat while dressed for a Polish autumn. Maybe it was because of the incongruity and identicality of the men with their beards and in their suits and with their lack of English that someone was a bit concerned and decided to check their cases, even though Carins in the sixties was pretty laid back.

The two shochetim willingly opened all their cases. The smallest case, flat as a briefcase, was filled with sharp blades polished and bright and dangerous. Big enough to kill a cow with one stroke and cause it no pain. Big enough and sharp enough to worry Customs. Customs called Security and the two Israelis were taken to a side room for further investigation.

The Australian who was supposed to interpret was unaccountably detained and the Israelis didn’t have much English so they sat in the side room, trying to work out what to do.

“All we need,” said one to the other in Hebrew, “Are the English words for ‘Anachnu shochetim’ and they’ll understand the knives.”

“I know the words for that,” the other said, confidently. “I know how to say ‘We’re kosher butchers’ in English.”

When the security team asked them again what they were doing in Australia, he replied proudly “We are killers. We kill for Jews.”

Fortunately for the path of international trade in beef, the Australian who had been supposed to meet them (and whose plane had been delayed) arrived at that point and the pair escaped custody for being butchers.

*shochetim are butchers, basically. They kill cleanly and humanely and according to Jewish law, facing in the right direction and saying the correct blessings. I can do a separate post on kosher killing if enough of you exhibit curiosity. Kashruth isn’t a great secret, though, and you can probably find out more than you’d ever want with the help of the amazing Mr Google.