Some time ago, I noticed in my medicine cabinet a bottle of rubbing alcohol with a Kof-K heksher. It seemed only slightly peculiar, so it fell to the recesses of my mind. A question sent to the blog about an OU-certified Shoprite variety restirred my curiosity: does rubbing alcohol present any particular kashrut concerns that would require it to fall under religious supervision?

The answer to that question, I learned, is a firm “no,” but the Orthodox Union’s response left me unsettled, as most of their measured, political responses do.

My discomfort manifests in three regards, listed by increasing severity.

Distortion of Kashrut Certification. I’ve often seen in kosher-related marketing materials that every-day consumers, Jewish or not, see kosher certification as a sign of “cleanliness” akin to the Good Houskeeping seal of approval. While it makes for quaint chatter, kosher certification is nothing of the sort. Kosher-certified means, plainly, “assured to be prepared in accordance with Jewish dietary laws.” Our non-Jewish lactose-intolerant friends, for example, should be encouraged to use the “pareve” distinction to assure absence of dairy ingredients, but we must resist representing “kosher” beyond its true essence.

Irrelevant Use of Kashrut Certification. If Jewish dietary law does not impact a product’s fitness for use, no form of kosher certification should be made available. We’ve witnessed this on the blog before, regarding chicken eggs; additionally, there is a specific group of foods which absolutely does not require supervision (known as “Category One” items), and yet many can be found with hekshers.

Disregard for Life-Threatening Danger. Isopropyl (rubbing) alcohol is poisonous, affecting both the central nervous system (headache, dizziness, confusion) and gastrointestinal system (abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting, gastritis), with the potential to cause blindness, coma, or death. There are three classes of people who are inclined to consume isopropyl alcohol: alcoholics, children, and those who attempt suicide. Imagine, heaven forbid, a Jewish child or a Jewish alcoholic who is unfamiliar with the aforementioned risks but notices that this bottle of “alcohol” has an OU or Kof-K heksher — it’s “kosher,” so it must be safe to drink, right? All of a sudden, a pseudo-righteous desire to assure “no animal derivatives or the like in the alcohol” has become lethal.

Like me, you may be quick to blame these certifiers for stepping beyond the bounds of kashrut supervision, but the blame is not entirely theirs. I had the great pleasure to speak at length to a rabbinic representative from the Kof-K regarding the matter, and he described the complexities of his work. It often starts with a well-meaning, but uneducated consumer. Mr. Cohen, while visiting his local supermarket, asks a clerk if the store carries kosher-certified peppercorns (a product which you and I know does not need certification). The well-meaning clerk, who hasn’t a clue, informs his supervisor that a customer wanted kosher-certified peppercorns but couldn’t find it. The well-meaning supervisor passes the information to the store’s regional purchasing director, and the well-meaning director, eager to bring better products into his stores, asks his spice supplier if they carry kosher-certified peppercorns. The well-meaning supplier, aware that future business with the supermarket chain could be riding on this request, assures the purchasing director that he can deliver — “my garlic powder has certification, why not get it for peppercorns, too?” So, the supplier calls up his friendly rabbinic supervisor and says he needs his peppercorns certified. “They don’t need certification, they’re kosher as is,” insists the rabbi. “Well, my buyer wants them certified,” replies the supplier. The rabbi reiterates, “They’re naturally kosher, I’d be ripping you off to certify them.” “Okay, so let me put your symbol on it for free,” suggests the supplier, but the rabbi can’t allow that either — a heksher is a valuable trademark. So, at the end of our well-meaning road to irrelevant certification, the rabbi, committed to serving (and retaining) his clients, levies a nominal surcharge so his heksher can appear on the supplier’s peppercorns, and everyone — the rabbi, the supplier, the director, the supervisor, the clerk, the customer — is happy with the newly-certified product. The price hasn’t changed, and the symbol probably attracts a few other enthusiastic (and ignorant) customers — but kashrut at its essence suffers as a result.

So, step one: become a better-educated consumer! Know what products are kosher without supervision (I’m in the process of compiling some of that information, stay tuned). Keep your rabbi on speed-dial if you have a question while in the supermarket.

Step two: become a more active consumer! If you find a product with a clearly irrelevant heksher, contact the producer and let them know they don’t need the symbol to get your business, and tell them why. While you’re at it, carbon-copy the kashrut agency or write them a separate message questioning their decision to certify.

Step three: pressure the kashrut industry! In addition the per-product agitation, push the industry as a whole (i.e. the Association of Kashrus Organizations) to adopt and publicize uniform standards on what they will or won’t certify. If there’s no chance Agency B will certify peppercorns, then Agency A needn’t worry that his client will jump ship over the matter. As for non-edible items with kashrut or kashrut-esque concerns, like dish detergent or pet food, perhaps certifiers should adopt alternative symbols that indicate some conformance with Jewish law but do not suggest any fitness for consumption.

It would be a real tragedy if serious harm had to befall a Jewish child or alcoholic before such policies change.