Sometimes I really miss the US, especially on the forth Thursday in November. There's no point in trying to celebrate Thanksgiving on the kibbutz because it's so specifically tied to the settling of America. Besides, where would you find a whole turkey? In Israel only the legs and wings are grown.
Thanksgiving is the one American holiday a Jew can enjoy guilt-free. At Christmas time you can see the lights and decorations, hear the carols and sip the eggnog and pretend not to like it. Those Christians are so over-the-top. "What about your freakish fondness for fruitcake," you ask? You mean a Jew can't have a sweet tooth? But Thanksgiving has no particular religious component other than the thanking G-d thing. It's just an excuse for families to gather and fabulously over-eat.
My mother would always make the bird with her chestnut stuffing. It was her mother's recipe, she said, and it was the normal bread stuffing flavored with onions and sage plus the heavenly addition of cinnamon and lots of chestnuts. I loved it not only because it smelled and tasted great, but because it was a tangible connection to the grandmother I never knew, she having died before I was born.
When chestnuts arrive at the kibbutz shop, as they should do in a few weeks, I'll try to recreate the stuffing, but in a chicken not a turkey. It won't be the same of course. But at least a chicken will fit in the oven.
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