The Torah Said No Bacon And For Some Reason I Said Okay
[October 2025]
The Torah Said No Bacon And For Some Reason I Said Okay
[October 2025]
Kashrut is the Jewish system of dietary laws. Kosher just means “fit” or “proper.” The Torah lays out which animals are allowed (think: cows, sheep, chickens, salmon) and which are not (pigs, shrimp, lobster, eagles—basically your dream surf-and-turf platter). There are also rules about how animals are slaughtered, and one very famous prohibition: don’t mix meat and dairy.
So: a burger with cheese is out, but a burger with pickles is fine. Lobster roll? Forbidden. Salmon bagel with cream cheese? Perfectly fine, as long as the salmon has fins and scales.
For Jews, these laws are our obligations. They are not universal rules. Non-Jews aren’t expected to keep kosher, and eating a pork chop if you’re not Jewish isn’t considered a sin in our system. Different lane, different covenant.
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Jews have been asking “why these rules?” for millennia, and the answers range from the practical to the mystical.
Shellfish ban: This one has some obvious merit. Shellfish spoil easily, carry bacteria, and lots of people are allergic without knowing it. So maybe this was early public health.
Meat and dairy ban: The Torah says three times, “don’t cook a kid in its mother’s milk.” Later rabbis expanded that into a blanket rule: no meat and dairy together. Some commentators have said this was about compassion—don’t use a mother’s milk, meant to nourish life, as the sauce for her offspring’s death. A proto–animal rights moment, if you squint.
Pork ban: Here’s where things get weird. Some say pork is unhealthy, but that doesn’t hold up scientifically. Pork can be as safe as any other meat if handled properly. Which leads me to my favorite metaphor…
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In the 1980s, Van Halen had a clause in their contract that said: “No brown M&Ms in the dressing room.” It sounded absurdly diva. But here’s the trick: it wasn’t about candy. Their shows involved massive, dangerous stage setups—lighting rigs, pyrotechnics, electrical systems. If the promoter actually read and followed the contract, the brown M&Ms would be gone. If not, it was a red flag that the promoter might have skipped safety details too, which could literally kill someone.
So the silly candy rule was a test.
That’s how I think about pork. It doesn’t make obvious sense—why pigs and not rabbits, why pigs and not chickens? But maybe that’s the point. G-d handed the Jewish people a rule that feels arbitrary, like a cosmic brown M&M, just to see: Are you paying attention? Can you follow through on the covenant, even when it’s weird? Can I trust you with the rest of this?
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Not every Jew does this the same way. Here’s the very rough breakdown:
Orthodox: Full-on. Separate dishes for meat and dairy, waiting hours between eating one and the other, only buying meat slaughtered and certified kosher, no exceptions. Whole kitchens are built around it. Also, Orthodox Jews cannot eat food that a Gentle has cooked even if the food has entirely kosher ingredients.
Conservative: No treif, but there’s more flexibility. Some might keep separate dishes, some might not, some will only eat meat certified kosher, some just avoid treif and otherwise buy regular non-treif meat at the supermarket, it varies family to family.
Reform (me): We’re invited to make thoughtful choices. Some Reform Jews keep fully kosher, some keep “kosher style” (no pork, no shrimp, no cheeseburgers) but don’t have a separate kitchen and will eat food cooked by Gentiles, and some don’t bother at all. The question isn’t “Did you follow the rulebook perfectly?” but “Why do you observe what you do?” Reform Jews believe halakha evolves; that what made sense 5000 or 1000 years ago may not for everyone right now; that individuals / communities should think about why they observe, not just what needs-to-be-done because of tradition. Reform Judaism encourages reflection and choice.
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There’s another concept in Jewish law called marit ayin—literally, “appearance to the eye.” The idea is: even if something is technically fine, if it looks like you’re breaking a prohibition, that can cause confusion or give the wrong impression about what’s permitted.
This pops up with food in funny ways. A lot of us, myself included, enjoy cheeseburgers made with vegan cheese, or “bacon” made out of turkey or plants. Halakhically, that can be totally fine—it’s not meat and milk, it’s not pork, it’s not treif. But if you’re a publicly-identifiable Jew (say you’re wearing a Star of David necklace and/or covering your head) and you order that in a restaurant, someone might glance over and assume, “Oh, Jews eat bacon and cheeseburgers.” (Of course, a very strictly observant person likely isn't going to be at a restaurant where Gentiles are cooking the food, to begin with.)
So marit ayin reminds us that sometimes the optics matter. It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy your turkey bacon and Daiya burger—it just means some people choose to be mindful of where and how they do it.
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Me? I keep kosher style.
I don’t eat pork.
I don’t eat shrimp or shellfish.
I don’t mix beef and cheese. (Chicken and cheese is fine; chickens don't lactate.)
But I also buy non-kosher meat (it’s too expensive and too far away otherwise).
I don’t have a kosher kitchen (my roommate eats treif).
I will eat food a Gentile has cooked so long as it's not treif and doesn't mess with my other dietary restrictions (I'm celiac and prediabetic so the list of stuff I can't have is much more than treif).
I do pray to bless my food.
So it’s not “perfect,” but it’s deliberate. For me, keeping kosher style is a way of practicing mindfulness every time I eat, and marking myself—visibly, bodily—as part of my people.
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When I was in elementary school in the 1980s, I had a Jewish second-grade teacher who had survived the Holocaust as a teenager—her wrist tattoo was visible proof. She was one of the few consistently kind, decent adults in my life, and she wasn’t shy about answering questions. I peppered her with a million about Judaism, including the all-important: why don’t Jews eat pork?
Her answer? She read Charlotte’s Web to the class.
At seven or eight years old, I walked away thinking: G-d just decided pigs were too cute to eat. That stuck. In hindsight, her gentle approach—and the way she also taught me why my redneck father's racism was wrong—probably had a bigger impact than I realized at the time. Looking back, I can see it planted seeds that later grew into my decision to convert as an adult.
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Here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand every reason to live the question. Sometimes it’s about compassion (don’t boil the baby goat in its mother's milk). Sometimes it’s about health (don’t eat oysters in 1000 BCE). And sometimes it’s about the brown M&Ms: showing that even the absurd rules have weight, because following them builds identity, trust, and connection.
Every time I pass on shrimp cocktail or a pulled pork sandwich, I’m saying, “I choose this weird, ancient, sacred family. I choose to remember I’m Jewish, even when it’s inconvenient.”
It’s not about guilt or perfection. It’s about belonging.