Total Recall

It was one of the worst calamities that could befall an Iranian: a massive recall of cucumbers, large and small. The recall occurred several months ago and wreaked havoc on every fruit tray, salad, and breakfast consumed by Iranians across this country for weeks. The sight of a cucumber-less fruit platter on my in-laws’ coffee table still conjures painful memories for me. 

Food-borne illnesses are no joke; sometimes, they can even be fatal. I am not proud to admit this, but despite the risks, there still were several days during the recall in which I wondered whether consuming a gloriously crunchy Persian cucumber was perhaps worth contracting a (hopefully mild) case of salmonella. 

We Jews have had a lot on our minds lately. Israel is in turmoil while fighting a five-front war and over 100 hostages are still languishing in captivity in Gaza; Iran is doing everything it can to derail peace and progress in the region before the start of a second Trump administration. 

And for the first time in decades, antisemitism has taken a 360° form, the kind that forces us to physically turn our heads 360 degrees to scan for antisemites behind our backs on the streets, and to scan for more subtle signs of this ancient disease among our friends, co-workers, advocacy groups, supermarkets, bookstores, retail shops, and that devout Christian neighbor next door who was once so kind, but who now is suddenly swearing that Jesus was a full-blown oppressed Palestinian.

Amid this never-ending cycle that inevitably induces anxiety, there are also those of us who are exposed to news of food recalls seemingly every day. In mid-November, I read about a massive recall of organic carrots (both whole and baby carrots) sold at Trader Joe’s, Walmart and other stores, days after having bought a bag of organic carrots at Trader Joe’s. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) was investigating reports linking these carrots to a deadly outbreak of E. coli.

There it was, right in the vegetable crisper drawer of my refrigerator: A potentially explosive bag of bright orange carrots, and organic ones, to boot, perhaps waiting to unleash a terrifying E. coli infection upon me and my loved ones. I’ve never been so afraid of carrots in my life. And I promised myself I would never be afraid of food again after arriving in America three decades ago and seeing a package of something horrifyingly labeled “hot dogs.”

My phone recently warned me of a squash recall hours after I had fed our pet bird his favorite snack of diced squash. And last week, Google news suggested a story for me regarding a major recall of Kirkland-brand organic, pasture-raised, 24-count eggs purchased from Costco, due to a salmonella outbreak…at the precise moment that I was eating several Kirkland-brand organic, pasture-raised 24-count eggs I had ordered from Costco. 

Ever the scarcity-minded cheapskate, I continued chewing and swallowing the eggs until I was certain they had not been sold in California (they had not, but I wish consumers in Alabama, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Tennessee a complete recovery).

It goes without saying that it is all too much: the antisemitism, the violence, the inundation of technology and ever-urgent headlines. And now, the incessant recalls. 

Jews love food. And Jews always resort to food as a means of self-soothing. I cannot be expected to process news of pogroms against Jews in Amsterdam at the same time I may be contracting salmonella from a vegetable I have inevitably deep fried and eaten as a way to soothe my sadness and anxiety over surging antisemitism and global upheaval. Either Iran finally enriches enough uranium to 90% purity for a weapons-grade nuclear bomb, or I spend the weekend bent over a toilet bowl after having consumed a now-recalled egg, cucumber, carrot, squash or artichoke thistle. It can’t be both.

I cannot be expected to process news of pogroms against Jews in Amsterdam at the same time I may be contracting salmonella from a vegetable I have inevitably deep fried and eaten as a way to soothe my sadness and anxiety over surging antisemitism and global upheaval.

If 2024 was a sci-fi action film, it would be called “Total Recall.”

Of course, most readers are not being inundated with news of recalls several times a day. I, too, was once like you, shielded from daily updates on the latest food recalls (and one case of ticks that recently took the lives of three in California). But one day, I clicked on a story about a cucumber recall. And that was it. The algorithm quickly identified me as an interested reader related to all-things-recall, and now, when I open a new browser on my phone to read the latest news from The Times of Israel, I first receive suggested stories about every food recall from California to Mississippi to Maine. 

We live in an age of impermanence. Products we love are quickly discontinued, only to be found used and priced tenfold on eBay; we now all but expect other products we purchase to break down and disintegrate within a few weeks or months. Even relationships, once the cornerstones of a meaningful human experience, now have assumed a level of impermanence: Those with whom we felt a genuine connection suddenly “ghost” us and simply stop responding to our calls and messages without affording us an explanation. Nothing feels reliable. Few things feel permanent. 

And now, the basic foods we consume come with warnings of serious diseases. These foods are not gas station sushi rolls, undercooked chicken, or pâtés and meat spreads; they are the staples: simple fruits and vegetables, such as carrots and cucumbers. That paper-filled coffee table we purchased from a Swedish mega furniture shop may fall apart after a year, but that innocuous carrot in the refrigerator is not supposed to fill us with anxious dread. Frankly, I’m not sure I want to live in a world where a cucumber is a personalized atom bomb aimed at my stomach.  

My plan is simple: I am going to embark on so many Google searches related to gingerbread, Hanukkah recipes, and hidden, beautiful towns in California that algorithms will hopefully relieve me of news related to the latest recalls. Of course, I still want to know about major recalls, but within reason. 

But something tells me that could take a while. For now, the pervasiveness of doom-and-gloom stories knows no bounds, as demonstrated in my attempt to brush my teeth last night at the precise moment that my phone warned that the FDA had found bacteria and a “mold-like” substance in a popular brand of toothpaste. 

I turned my phone over, changed my thoughts to remember the heavenly scent of Hanukkah donuts, and brushed my teeth with extra zeal.

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X and Instagram @TabbyRefael.