By Mira Fox
March 6, 2026
Every May for the past few years, I’ve spent time working on an oyster farm on Block Island, a small landmass nestled between Long Island and Rhode Island.
If you’re unfamiliar with oyster farming, let me describe the process as I experience it on this particular farm. First, you navigate a saltwater pond in a motorized boat reminiscent of a bathtub. Once on the water, clad in chest waders, you hop into the pond to unmoor large floating mesh bags filled with oysters, tethered to lines anchored in the water. These bags are often weighed down with an assortment of marine life like kelp, mussels, green crabs, and slimy creatures called sea squirts, making them quite heavy. After filling the boat with as many bags as possible, you must clamber back inside, a challenging feat since your wader boots often get stuck in the mud. Once aboard, you transport the bags to a floating barge.
At the barge, you spill the contents onto a muddy wooden table, sifting through the haul to discard everything that isn’t an oyster, as the other creatures can harm these prized bivalves. Then, you hand-sort the oysters by size, keeping only those large enough to eat. Oysters take several years to mature and tend to grow unevenly, meaning each bag contains a variety of sizes. The smaller ones are returned to the bags, which are then tied back onto the lines, and you start the process all over again. A productive day can see around 100 bags processed in a single shift.
While larger farms may utilize machinery for sorting, this farm operates entirely by hand. Though this type of labor can be grueling, it also serves as a refreshing change from desk work. Spending a day on the water doing repetitive physical tasks offers a mental reset. With muddy hands encased in oyster gloves, checking your phone becomes impossible, and service is minimal. Plus, dropping it in the pond would be a disaster, so it’s best just to leave it behind.
At this point, you might have noticed that you’re reading a Jewish newspaper, and I’m a Jewish journalist discussing oysters, which traditionally aren’t considered kosher.
But what if I were to argue that oysters could indeed be considered kosher? A rabbi once made the case that they are actually vegetables because they “root” on rocks in the ocean. Furthermore, their shells mimic scales, categorizing them under the kosher rules applicable to scaled and finned fish.
This line of reasoning was notably put forth by Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, the founder of Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, the first institution established for Reform Jewish ordination in America.
The backdrop of this Talmudic interpretation was the infamous “Trefa Banquet,” characterized by its non-kosher offerings. The extravagant menu boasted items like littleneck clams, shrimp salad, soft-shell crabs, lobster bisque, and frog legs, paired with non-kosher wines and dairy-based desserts, despite preceding meat courses.
This event marked a trifecta of significant Jewish occasions: the first ordination at HUC, a meeting of the Rabbinical Literary Association, and what was once known as the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, now the Union for Reform Judaism. The feast sparked a prolonged conversation about the significance of kashrut within American Jewish life.
Even though oysters weren’t on the actual menu, Jewish newspapers erupted, featuring heated debates over their kosher status. Somehow, these bivalves became symbolic of what American Judaism might represent—and what American Jews might consume.
The Symbolism of the Oyster
My introduction to oysters came during my college years when I lived in Seattle. For our first anniversary, my then-boyfriend and I dined at a trendy oyster bar. Although we were short on cash, we decided to indulge in a sophisticated experience we believed we hadn’t quite earned. Oysters seemed perfect for that occasion.
Upon receiving a menu filled with oyster varieties from across the nation, we opted for an assortment on the half shell—two each of a dozen types presented on a bed of ice with lemon and mignonette. As I hesitantly asked the waiter whether to chew the oysters or swallow them whole, he confirmed that chewing was indeed essential.
The taste of each oyster was distinct: one evoked memories of a stormy ocean, another was buttery and mild, while yet another was sweet and meaty. Each bite was a reminder of a day spent at the beach.
Oysters possess a sense of terroir akin to wine. Just as grapes absorb the characteristics of their growing soil, oysters reflect the waters from which they originate. Although only a few species exist, a myriad of variations exists. East Coast oysters lean towards a sharp, briny essence, while their West Coast counterparts are typically sweeter and creamier. Beyond that, each oyster tells a different story.
One Maine oyster I sampled had a metallic taste reminiscent of pennies (although, perhaps that sounds unappetizing, it’s akin to how aged rieslings might be prized for their petrol notes). I’ve enjoyed oysters that taste subtly vegetal, like cucumber, or deeply umami, resembling mushrooms.
When the Trefa Banquet took place, oysters represented a culinary trend across the U.S. The event itself was akin to a grand debut for American Jewry, celebrating the first group of rabbis ordained in the country—a declaration that Jews were an enduring presence in America and a challenge to their European counterparts. This celebration demanded a menu that epitomized refinement.
Moreover, these Cincinnati Jews were eager to impress their guests from New York City. Rabbi Lance J. Sussman, in a 2005 article published in The American Jewish Archives Journal, proposed that the menu’s numerous French misspellings indicated the caterer’s attempts to appeal to what he presumed were the more refined tastes of East Coast attendees.
Serving shellfish was a logical choice, then.
In 1883, the year of the banquet, most American Jews were German immigrants. While increasing waves of immigration began to introduce more traditionally observant Russian Jews escaping persecution, those German Jews were often associated with the Haskalah, a Jewish enlightenment movement advocating for secular education, modernity, and integration into wider society. They were typically urban, educated, and middle-class individuals who left the shtetl traditions of their forebears when they emigrated.
These individuals began to forge a contemporary form of Judaism, largely influenced by German practices. They modified religious texts, discarding elements they perceived as outdated, such as the idea that Jews would return to Zion and resume animal sacrifices in a future Messianic age. They shifted prayers to German instead of Hebrew and lessened many restrictions regarding Shabbat, kashrut, and festivals. Organ music and choirs replaced traditional chanting, and sermons now emphasized universal ethical themes rather than specific Jewish rituals. Some rabbis even advocated for intermarriage and the consumption of pork, though debates surrounding these topics persisted.
When this modernized Judaism reached the United States, it gained traction.
“Part of the Reform ideology is to move away from traditional laws and prohibitions of Judaism, seen as primitive and superstitious,” noted Jane Ziegelman, a Jewish food historian.
Instead, these reformers sought to transform Judaism into a more introspective, ethically and socially-oriented faith. Rooted in the Haskalah, science became integral to this new vision of Judaism. Oysters epitomized this ethos perfectly. At the time, bivalves were celebrated as aphrodisiacs and health foods and gained immense popularity (to the extent they were over-harvested, contributing to their current high prices). These modernizing Jews perceived kashrut as central to health and ethics, which meant anything healthy should be permissible.
“The belief was that modern science had invalidated the unhealthy reputation of the oyster,” Ziegelman explained.
American Reform Jews considered kosher laws, often derisively dubbed “kitchen Judaism,” as counterproductive to their loftier ambitions of pursuing a moral and scientific Judaism. By embracing the oyster, they lived out their ideals of assimilation, modernization, and ethical values.
“It was the oyster due to its prevalence in American culinary culture,” Ziegelman elaborated. “To adopt the oyster signified both acculturation—as if to say, ‘We are truly American’—and a statement of modernity. It was a rejection of the superstitions surrounding kashrut.”
The Shellfish Scandal
Not everyone is charmed by the nuanced qualities of oysters; their resemblance to mucus can be off-putting. Personally, I don’t share that opinion—I find them silky, buttery, and meaty. Yet I understand that some people find them unappealing, and this isn’t merely due to their texture.
While oysters float in bags on the farm, they naturally dwell on the bottom. As filter feeders, they clear the water for sustenance, making them invaluable for restoring polluted environments. The Billion Oyster Project in New York City seeks to revitalize oyster reefs in local waters to foster biodiversity and ecological health. However, this filtering process also means they can accumulate harmful substances. Given time in clean water, oysters can purify themselves, but they’re vulnerable to pollution, which may partially explain their initial prohibition in kashrut.
Even when sourced from clean waters, ensuring oysters are safe for consumption requires meticulous care. My partner and I operate a side hustle shucking oysters at events. Preparing involves hours of work: scrubbing each shell clean with a stiff brush, packing them alive in coolers filled with ice—but caution is crucial; too much ice could freeze them. These saltwater creatures need regular drainage to avoid drowning.
As is commonly noted, oysters taste best in months that contain the letter “R”—from September through April. This has to do with their plumpness during colder months when they build fat reserves and a reduced likelihood of harboring harmful viruses or bacteria such as Vibrio or norovirus.
Today, farms frequently monitor water temperature and conduct routine bacterial tests, so raw oysters are relatively safe. However, mishandling can still lead to food poisoning. For some, this effort may not feel worth it—spiritually or physically.
The very rebellious nature of the oyster may be what led to the legend of rabbis throwing down their napkins and storming out of the banquet. The overt disregard for kashrut during a religious event was seen as a potential threat to Jewish identity. This moment in history, known as the Highland House Affair, has since become infamous among Jewish historians as a pivotal schism. However, contemporary accounts often fail to mention any drama related to the menu.
An account from The New York Herald briefly touched upon the menu’s non-kosher dishes but indicated that attendees participated without issue. “Instead of rising in protest, they sat down and enjoyed their meal,” the article noted, much to the writer’s disdain.
Only one account, penned by Henrietta Szold in the Jewish Messenger, mentioned dissent at the table, observing that a small minority refrained from eating. She noted that two rabbis left without touching any food, while a few others expressed their disapproval in quieter ways.
Wise, the organizer of the meal, initially defended it, claiming he had hired a Jewish caterer who was unaware that the menu would feature non-kosher items. However, he eventually shifted his stance to justify the banquet’s non-kosher elements, condemning kashrut itself. One rabbi boldly declared that the event was an ideal opportunity to place “kitchen Judaism in the antique cabinet.”
When the Free Sons of Israel, a Jewish fraternal order to which Wise belonged, convened with oysters on their menu, Wise publicized the menu in his newspaper, The American Israelite. He reiterated this approach with another Jewish fraternal organization that included oysters in its meeting fare. He contended that it was time for Jews to acknowledge and embrace their culinary choices.
As Jews debated the boundaries of Judaism, they did so through a distinctly Jewish lens.
Ironically, despite his rejection of tradition, Wise employed Talmudic reasoning to defend the non-kosher meal. In the pages of The American Israelite, he posited that “the oyster’s shell is essentially similar to the scales of clean fish.” His arguments referred back to both Moses and Maimonides. Elsewhere, he even labeled the oyster an “ocean vegetable” to rationalize its potential kosher status. (Surprisingly, many vegans today share a similar view; since oysters lack a nervous system, some argue they’re acceptable for consumption.)
In response, others cited their own Jewish sages and engaged in counterarguments. One individual, B. Younker, wrote to The Jewish Voice, speaking to Talmudic discussions regarding scales and concluding that the oyster’s shell did not meet the criteria.
Despite the disagreements, most people continued enjoying oysters. Sussman references oyster-laden menus at various Jewish events, including the double wedding of two rabbis and a synagogue dedication, the latter using the same caterer as the Trefa Banquet. Clearly, the splendid menu was enticing enough for repeat patronage.
Today, many Jewish historians regard the Trefa Banquet as a catalyst for the Conservative movement in Judaism, as those offended by kosher oysters sought to find a middle ground between Reform and Orthodox approaches. The discussions triggered by the banquet concerning kashrut and Wise’s liberal stances on Jewish law prompted concerns among those wishing to preserve tradition. Shortly after, the Jewish Theological Seminary was established to retain some traditional elements in doctrine and texts.
Fishy Jewish Cooking
From my experience running the pop-up events, I’ve come to appreciate that shucking an oyster is indeed an art. It starts with finding the perfect angle to insert the knife into the shell’s narrow hinge—some choose to shuck from the side—wiggling until the knife settles deeper. Then you leverage the knife down to pop the shell open, slice along the top to separate the oyster, and scoop underneath to detach the adductor muscle. Personally, I prefer a Duxbury-style knife for its sharper point, though others favor the traditional New Haven-style knife, which offers slightly more leverage and reduces the risk of injury.
Each oyster possesses unique shapes and flavors, complicating the task of locating the ideal point to open it, which requires practice. The outcome of a well-shucked oyster is one that’s clean and free from shell fragments or sand. Additionally, it can’t be pierced (“scrambled”) and should retain its liquor. Ideally, it’s served on pebble ice rather than crushed cubes to prevent tipping over.
Working the oyster pop-ups has this meditative quality to it. There’s a rush, and the stress of handling countless orders can be intense—keeping the line moving as you expertly shuck each oyster is a delicate balance. One finds a state of zen to accurately pop each shell while ensuring a smooth delivery. Nobody wants that unpleasant experience of grit crunching between their teeth while enjoying a snack, and the true essence of each oyster variety is easily lost in a scrambled mess.
The oyster should appear as a plump, pearly arc in the shell, with elegantly frilled edges. It should simply look beautiful.
Apparently, the everyday Jewish community recognized the allure of the bivalve. They largely left the debates surrounding kashrut to the commentary pages of The American Israelite and carried on consuming oysters enthusiastically.
A 1911 article in J. Jewish News of Northern California gleefully announced the arrival of oyster season and highlighted several esteemed “oyster houses.” Over the following decades, Jewish newspapers across the U.S. embraced this trend.
Jewish vendors even established oyster stands. An article from 1892 in the B’nai Brith Messenger celebrated Al Levy’s thriving Southern California oyster cart, which enabled him to open cafes and “cocktail rooms.” Despite Levy’s indifference to kashrut, the report deemed him “one of the most progressive, honored, and beloved Jews in this community, enjoying popularity among both Jews and gentiles.”
Numerous Jewish cookbooks from that era flaunted oyster recipes, integrating the bivalves into Jewish culinary history alongside kugel and latkes.
Aunt Babbette’s Cookbook, a Jewish staple in print for 25 years, featured 11 oyster recipes, while other kosher fish received just one recipe each. Notably, a dish resembling kugel—though the term isn’t employed in the book—includes an oyster variation. Other seafood, like clams and shrimp, are significantly less represented in Jewish cookbooks of that time.
Despite their enthusiastic incorporation of oysters, there remained one clear boundary: pork, which the Trefa Banquet notably did not feature.
“Discussions around selective kashrut generally revolved around two key issues: pork and oysters,” noted historian Sussman. For the most part, the boundary was firmly delineated between the two. Pigs have historically been symbolic of kashrut violations and Judaism, and anti-Semitic representations often depicted Jews in relation to pigs. For many American Jews, consuming pork felt like a direct denial of their identity.
The Nature of ‘Kitchen Judaism’
The oyster serves as an apt metaphor for American Jewish life.
Some Jews adhere to a version of purity that emphasizes tradition and the safety of kashrut. Conversely, the majority lean towards a more experimental approach, bending and redefining rules to reflect their new cultural surroundings. While this can be riskier—one might end up with a bad oyster—it also allows for delightful experiences. Even as they navigate the complexities of identity, Jews continue to engage in meaningful and nuanced discussions about their faith. Remarkably, those who cast aside tradition over a century ago still justify their choices using Talmudic references and biblical interpretations, steering the conversation around the oyster. What could be more quintessentially Jewish?
Today, food plays a paradoxical role in Jewish identity. Many Jews now consume bacon or ham, and the Trefa Banquet’s centennial celebration in 2018 culminated in a menu dominated by pork, connecting to Judaism through a purposeful rejection of strictures. “Kitchen Judaism” has transformed from a derogative term into one of aspiration, with food customs becoming a cherished avenue for connecting with Jewish identity. Interestingly, the Reform movement has shifted back towards the practice of kashrut; in 2001, at the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the movement recommended that Jews observe “some element of Jewish dietary discipline.”
Throughout all these changes, the oyster has remained a powerful symbol reflecting the dilemma many American Jews face: how to balance assimilation into their new country while preserving essential traditions.
This summer, I might have to forgo the oyster farm due to life’s demands. Nevertheless, I anticipate shucking oysters for friends and customers at various events, including my own Jewish wedding.
Most importantly, I’ll continue the proud tradition of engaging in the oyster debate. Personally, I’m not entirely convinced by the argument that oyster shells equate to scales. However, I’m open to considering the notion that they could be viewed as vegetables. What I’m more invested in, though, is how to enjoy them. The right way, in my opinion, is raw and straightforward—perhaps with just a hint of lemon. Cocktail sauce, horseradish, or hot sauce? That, I deem heretical.
