Note: This is not a "book review." It's more of a reflection. This is not going to be a book blog; it's a book journal.
I would rather get my teeth cleaned than listen to (or read about) people arguing for/against the existence of God.
… but get people talking about what God wants "us" to eat, and I relish (ahem) every detail, every argument. I don't keep kosher, and I definitely don't keep glatt kosher. Pas Yisrael? Cholov Yisrael? I didn't even know those things existed until I read this book.
The most I do is take off my headcovering before I chow down on ramen. (My roommate always gives me her char siu pork.)
I couldn't put this book down. Kosher Nation combines two of my favorite genres of nonfiction: food history (e.g., Candy: A Century of Pleasure and Panic) and Judaism (e.g., Who's Torah Is It?).
I've been reading and learning more about Judaism for a year or so. I light Shabbat candles and I cover my head, but I have a love/hate relationship with food and I've avoided making the decision to eat kosher or not. I don't eat bacon in public.
Kosher Nation was interesting to me as a person studying Judaism/a potential conversion student, but also because I like food histories. E.G., for very observant and Orthodox Jews, the rules of kashrut keep getting stricter. (The author pointed out that, for a long time, most families only owned one pot - no separate milk and meat dishes there!)
Some of the ruling struck me as a bit much. (I know most insects aren't kosher, but the ruling about almost microscopic aphids…) No criticism, but I definitely know that level of observance isn't for me.
I was proud to be able to situate myself in the Reform Judaism chapter, and proud to be becoming part of a tradition that is open to evolution and change, from outright rejecting kashrut rules to a new acceptance of ritual practice.
I don't usually review books when I've just started reading them or do the work of "reviewing" books on Shabbat, but this is a book diary, not a book blog, and I wanted to get down some thoughts before I sink too deep into How to Do Nothing.
From the first page, I've been nagged by the question "What about disability?" What if, instead of a refusal to engage with the attention economy, or capitalism, or whatever, it's disability? I've always struggled with the line between failure and refusal, especially around gender(ed performance of embodiment) and now around disability (disabled embodiment).
I texted my brother: "I think there's a lot to explore with what she talks about as resistance when it's disability and not a choice to disengage."
Yes, I "put down" my (e)book to "pick up" my texting app. I'm currently home alone while my brothers are at school, but when I lived alone, my phone - that displacement - was a lifeline, a connection between me and my friends and family, especially as I got sicker and more often stuck at home. Odell's arguments for resisting in place and getting to know your bioregion aren't wrong, but… I'm basically housebound? I don't know what to do with that.
In the introduction, Odell talks a lot about gardens and labyrinths. I don't know of any nearby public gardens, and I can't get to any of the local parks; I don't know how to drive, and it's too far to walk. Once I'm there, I couldn't meander aimlessly.
I experienced the state of doing nothing while wandering around residential neighborhoods in Tokyo, but I can't do that any more - and not just because I no longer live there.
Odell writes about the moments she was most alive, experiencing everything about that instant - including pain. I don't know if Odell has chronic pain; if she does, she hasn't mentioned it so far. How does the experience of chronic (intractable) pain change the equation of attention? (I'm writing this at 6½/10 on the pain scale. I am always aware of my pain; pain is an infinite and unending now. You can't not pay attention.)