Created 02 Dec 2018  

I Want Turkey

Harry Kraff was eight years old. He lived with his mother, Yetta, his Aunt Sonya, and Uncle Menashe on Girard Avenue in Philadelphia. All four of them had been born in Koshovato, in the Ukraine. Of them all, Harry was already the most American. His English was better than theirs. He knew all about American customs and holidays.            

He tried to explain to his mother and Aunt Sonya that real Americans ate only turkey on Thanksgiving. The women listened carefully. They nodded their heads in agreement. Then they went to the kosher poultry store. Here they would buy a live bird and after they picked it out, the shochet would kill it in a kosher way.            

All the birds looked the same. They all had white feathers. They all looked like chickens. They picked out a big fat hen. “Is this a turkey?” they asked.            

“Turkey, schmerky …what is the difference? A turkey is a big chicken!" Said the proprietor.            

Satisfied, the women paid for the chicken and then they paid the shochet to slaughter it ritually.            

When they arrived home with their turkey, Harry saw immediately it wasn’t a turkey. Where were the beautiful multicolored feathers of a turkey? Where was the long pebbly orange wattle? This wattle was yellow, like a chicken! And the cranberry sauce they were preparing was cherain (a horseradish and beet mixture). The color wasn’t even right!            

Harry put on his coat and went outside. The adults assumed he was going to play. Dinner was almost ready. Uncle Menashe went outside to call Harry. No Harry. Yetta, Sonya and Menashe began to search in earnest. Where was their golden boy? Each adult went in a different direction.            

Aunt Sonya finally found him. He was in a long line of homeless people. The Salvation Army was serving real turkey dinners to all the underprivileged. Aunt Sonya dragged him home before he even tasted the turkey dinner. But after that, Aunt Sonya always served turkey on Thanksgiving.