Out with the old and in with the new

Greetings to all, and Happy New Year! Traditionally, the passing from one year into another has been a time for resolutions, a time for change. As such, I've decided to make a big change. This is (probably) the last post you'll see in this space. I've decided to move the blog to a new platform and give it a whole new look. All posts (except for this one) and comments have been imported to the new location, and while this "old" version isn't going anywhere, it probably won't be updated anymore.

The new blog can be found here, and the first new post goes live at 12:01am (Israel time) on January 1st, ringing in the New Year with a bang. Don't forget to update your blogrolls, bookmarks, and favorite links!

What will you be eating on Christmas Day?

I once told an Israeli friend of mine who relocated to the US about some of the Jewish traditions that I grew up with, and he later admitted to me that there was one he hadn't quite believed, until he saw it for himself.

So, what will you be eating on Christmas Day?

80s Music Video Sunday #47

Life wasn't easy when I first went off to college in Boston. I had just spent a year abroad in Israel and, having already gotten used to living away from home without having my parents around, I found it more than a little disconcerting to find myself surrounded by people undergoing a rite of passage that I had gone through one year previously, in a foreign country, no less. It probably didn't help matters that I wasn't much of a party-person, and certainly wasn't a big drinker. It took me a while to find the friends who would remain as such for the duration of my years at BU, as even though I was being dragged (not kicking and screaming, but certainly not with any degree of wholeheartedness) to parties with my floor mates, the realization that the people I needed to meet couldn't be found at those parties I disliked so much was a long time in coming.

Fortunately for me, I had a fabulous RA (resident assistant) that year, a first-year graduate student whose quirky sense of humor matched my own, who apparently sensed that I was having a hard time finding my niche. Not only did he make me laugh, but he also managed to keep me relatively sane. While I did eventually find my place, I owe him a great debt of gratitude for helping me to get through those first few months in such a big, strange place.

And, I also owe Tim a debt of gratitude for introducing me to one of the greatest bands ever – The Pogues. I'd never heard of them before meeting Tim, and thanks to him, I not only now have a small collection of Pogues albums, but I found that I can impress nearly any Brit or Irishman (or at the very least, I can impress Anglosaxy, who is, anyway, easily impressed ;-P) by making them aware of my musical tastes (at least with regard to The Pogues – I tend to shy away from mentioning that I've also got a few Andy Gibb tracks, but that's neither here nor there…).

So, in the spirit of the season, today's entry for 80s Music Video Sunday is The Pogues' charming little Christmas song, " Fairytale of New York".
Merry Christmas!




Fairytale of New York
The Pogues

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in AT eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So Happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day


I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas Day

Why they really went to Annapolis...

I was very skeptical about last week's Annapolis conference. I didn't expect anything to come out of it, and I was rather dubious with regard to some of the participants (and clearly I had good reason to be, as Allison points out here).

In his severely weakened state, Ehud Olmert was forced by various members of his coalition to water down his declared goals until almost nothing was left. Dogged by scandal after scandal, his mandate going into the conference was shaky at best. On the Palestinian side, Mahmoud Abbas is clearly floundering, carrying barely half of a mandate in his pocket and maintaining a fairly solid record vis a vis his inability to contain terror or lead his people.

I, along with many of my countrymen, were simply not impressed, and nor were we very interested. We've heard far too many words, witnessed far too many committees. Frankly, when it came down to it, I couldn't understand the real reasons for holding this conference now, at a time when neither side seemed capable of delivering promises that could actually be kept. I was especially frustrated by Olmert, who hopped across the ocean to attend a useless conference, stopping only to meet with Jerry Seinfeld before grabbing his passport and jumping on a plane, leaving behind a crushing teachers' strike that threatens to render this academic year as being a complete loss. "Why", I thought. Why now? What could you all possibly gain by going to the US now?"

And then, with a blinding flash of intuition that only a shopaholic could understand, I knew. Peace shmeace. With Thanksgiving safely behind us and gift giving holidays on the horizon, there could only be one reason why our leaders were so anxious to be in the US at precisely this time...

You're spending Chanukah where?

Chanukah – the festival of lights, begins this evening at sundown. At work, we had a company candle lighting ceremony, where I managed to scarf down an outstanding, obscenely calorie-ridden sufganiya filled with caramel, while at the same time explaining the holiday and the ceremony to a visiting colleague from Korea (who was already acquainted with said sufganiya, following a trip last week to one of the local bakeries with my officemate, who had an insatiable craving).

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I am a big fan of Tom Lehrer, so it seems only fitting that I wish all of my celebrating readers a happy Chanukah with Tom Lehrer's fabulous little holiday ditty…

Happy Chanukah to all, and to all a good night.




Chanukah in Santa Monica

Tom Lehrer

I'm spending Channukah in Santa Monica
Wearing sandals, lighting candles by the sea
I spent Shavuos in East Saint Louis
A charming spot but clearly not the spot for me...

Those eastern winters, I can't endure 'em
So every year I pack my gear and come out here til Purim

Rosh Hashona I spend in Arizona
And Yom Kippah way down in Mississippah

But in December there's just one place for me
Mid the California flora I'll be lighting my menorah
Like a baby in its cradle I'll be playing with my dreidel
Here's to Judas Maccabeus, Boy if he could only see us

Spending Chanukah, in Santa Monica, By the Sea!

Celebrating the holidays once again

There's something about the holiday season in Israel that makes me realize that there's no place I'd rather be at this time of the year. In some respects, it reminds me of the Christmas season in the US. The excitement and anticipation in the air are palpable, and talk inevitably turns to holiday plans. Strangers smile at one another and exchange holiday greetings as everyone gears up for the feasts and festivals that lie ahead, and inboxes are filled with electronic cards and wishes. At work yesterday, we gorged ourselves on the annual festive holiday meal served in the dining room, and found ourselves back there two hours later for a company toast of wine and sinfully delicious desserts. Leaving the office, I cheerfully exchanged my customary goodbyes for "happy new year" and "happy holidays", receiving smiles and holiday wishes in return.

Of course, given the events of last week, my usual joy is tainted with sorrow and feelings of loss, but life goes on, and given that we will have a house full of people tonight, sitting around in mourning isn't really an option. Fortunately, my sister-in-law, who loves to cook (which would be the exact opposite of me), is bringing nearly all of the food with her. Still, there's much to be done, especially as I have real work to do as well.

Happy new year to all...

Cows and cheesecake

I was lactose-intolerant for approximately ten years, from shortly after moving to Israel until I was pregnant with the Little One. As anyone who lives in Israel knows, the sheer quantity and variety of dairy products here is simply unparalleled, and I frequently found myself skipping over entire menu sections, constantly having to ask whether or not certain dishes contained dairy products and whether or not these dishes could be altered to accommodate my needs. Before becoming pregnant, I had read an article that some lactose-intolerant women become tolerant while pregnant, and that some women maintain that tolerance after giving birth. I decided to test this theory, since I was at home due to the high risk nature of the pregnancy, and very, very bored. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I was indeed tolerant (though a cruel twist of fate meant that I had gestational diabetes, so there were still many forbidden foods).

I hungrily consumed dairy products for the duration of my pregnancy, all the time pondering what would happen once I gave birth. The tolerance stayed with me, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was due to the fact that I was nursing, which played a small role in the fact that we nursed until the Little One was one month shy of his second birthday (with me pumping twice during the workday in order to keep up the supply, until he was 11 months-old), as I didn't want to revert to my former intolerant self. The Little One is nearly three years old, and I'm still eating dairy. I've discovered a whole world of ice cream, yogurt, pasta dishes with cream sauce, cheeses, and of course, my beloved latte. And finally, after many years of suffering and dread, I have been able to embrace the holiday of Shavuot, where tradition dictates that we eat copious amounts of dairy foods, and not eating at least some cheesecake is akin to sacrilege.

During Shavuot, agriculture is king, and in Israel, we celebrate with a veritable plethora of farm activities, whether they be tractor demonstrations, hay rides, and trips to various working farms around the country. We took the opportunity to visit friends on a moshav, as the friends have cows and tractors, and we were anxious to show the Little One where milk comes from. We strolled through the barn, discussing the bovine activities that we were witnessing and playing on the many tractors in the yard. As luck would have it, we were there for milking time, and the Husband brought the Little One into the center of the milking apparatus so that he could watch the cows line up on either side and get hooked up to the milking machine. He enjoyed the experience, though I think he was a bit unnerved by being surrounded by so many cows.

I stood on the side, watching my son as he witnessed in wonder. And as I watched each udder hooked up to the pump and observed the milk begin to flow, all I could think of was, "I know what that feels like!" Indeed, I am a sad cow...

In case you were wondering, the cheesecake was excellent...

Defining moments in the Diaspora

I have spent a fair amount of time during the last week-and-a-half reflecting on our recent trip, thinking about various moments and highlights, mentally rehashing certain experiences as one often does after returning from vacation. There were two events in particular that stand out, each one positively reinforcing my connection to Israel, yet so different from one another. The first one occurred during our flight from Atlanta to Sarasota. I was beyond exhausted, having not slept much on the flight from Israel, and having successfully navigated US customs and Atlanta's massive airport, not to mention successfully keeping the Little One entertained enough so that he fell asleep in my arms shortly before boarding the plane. The flight was full, and our seatmate waited patiently while I got the Little One settled, carefully propping him against the pile of blankets I'd managed to acquire and stack against the window. He even offered to move to another seat so that we'd have more room, and after I assured him that this would be unnecessary, we fell into the usual airplane banter that is so often marked by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, you will never see the person again, nor will you even go so far as to exchange names. He asked where we were from, which inevitably defined the direction our conversation would take, for our seatmate turned out to be a card-carrying member of the unconditional-love-for- Israel Christian right (and a firefighter to boot, which of course led to the Little One – once he woke up – referring to our seatmate as Sam).

What began as an ordinary, in-flight conversation with a stranger led to a fascinating exchange of ideas and experiences as he shared his convictions and I told him about life in Israel. He's never been here, but desperately wanted to visit, to see his belief system come alive, to see that which he'd only heard about, to commune with history. He told me of his great respect and love for Ariel Sharon and shared his opinions about Israel's current state of affairs vis a vis her neighbors. As a result of his religious beliefs, I actually found him to be more "pro-Israel" than many of the Israelis I know, and certainly more in favor of many of Israel's policies than I am. Despite his unwavering attitude that Israel could seemingly do no wrong, it was more than a little refreshing to meet someone who "got it", someone who didn't force me to defend my country, someone who understood that Israelis are not warmongering aggressors out to take over the region, and that neighboring countries are not simply innocent victims of Israeli aggression, that the situation is far more complex than many would have you believe.

The hour-long flight passed quickly and pleasantly, and while I desperately wanted our long journey to end, I was also a little sorry when this particular segment was over. I had enjoyed the company of our seatmate, who disappeared as we were getting ourselves ready to get off the plane. While we obviously didn't agree on every point (after all, living here on a daily basis, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to love my country unconditionally), and had we discussed other hot topics we might have come to blows, when it came down to it, I liked the guy. It was nice to talk to someone who passionately loved Israel instead of passionately hating it. I suddenly felt that maybe it wasn't so crazy to live here, that there are indeed those who do not believe that we should not exist, or even not have a right to exist. Despite my exhaustion, I was pleased that I had managed to stay awake during the flight and engage an anonymous young firefighter in conversation.

Israel's Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror fell towards the end of our trip. It felt strange knowing that I wouldn't be commemorating it in Israel, as I don't believe I've ever missed it in all of my years living here. For me, the day is special, a day of reflection and remembrance, a day when I feel connected to my fellow citizens as we collectively go through a state of mourning, even though it is one that has, to some extent, been imposed upon us (see Lisa's Memorial Day posts here and here, with the latter including a brief video taken during the siren). I imagine it would have been especially poignant this year, given that it would have been the first Memorial Day following the war last summer, and I wondered how I would commemorate the day while in the Diaspora. I was pleased when I discovered that the local Jewish Federation (in conjunction with another Israel-related group) would be holding a ceremony to commemorate Israel's Memorial Day. It was interesting to observe, as those in attendance were mostly from two distinct groups – elderly American Jews who have retired to Florida, and young Israelis and their families who had left Israel, but had chosen to remain connected. The program was led by the local Israeli emissary, and aside from one bizarre, rather long-winded rant given by one of the elderly American Jews (who I assume plays some prominent role in the local Jewish community), the events were rather well-done, if not a little frustrating for those who couldn't understand the Hebrew captions in the video clips that had been taken straight from Israeli television. We stood in silence, we sang meaningful songs, we watched as pictures of the fallen were projected onto the large screen at the front of the room. We said the mourners' prayer, sang Hatikvah, and then a break was taken in order to get the room ready for the next part of the evening – Israeli folk dancing and food to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins at sundown at the end of Memorial Day.

I'm glad I went, but I felt a bit odd nonetheless. I felt like I didn't belong to either group in attendance, yet at the same time, I felt connected to both. To some I was Israeli, while to others I was American. I inexplicably found myself wanting to somehow let the Israelis know that I was "one of them", but was I really, or would they just have seen me as an American who lives in Israel, despite the fact that I have been here for so long, speak the language fluently, and feel that I have successfully integrated? I suppose this comes down to the very core of the expat experience, and knowing that I will always feel the draw of the other, no matter where I find myself. That night, due to the nature of the event, I imagine that I felt more connected to my Israeli side than to my American side, but given the circumstances at hand, I strangely did not feel completely at home with either. I assume this had something to do with the fact that aside from my parents and my son, I didn't really know anyone there, and no one really knew me. I did, however, run into someone I'd met before.

The last time we visited Florida was two years ago. The day after we arrived, my parents took us a beach known as South Lido Park. While we were unwrapping our sandwiches, two people approached from the parking lot, staking out the tables next to ours. As luck would have it, the people were speaking in Hebrew. Within about twenty minutes, we found ourselves exchanging pleasantries with a group of 15-20 Israelis and their partners/families, all of whom, live in Sarasota. It was a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon (and, incidentally, the only time during our entire stay that I felt comfortable nursing the Little One in public, knowing that those around me wouldn't look at me strangely, or even look at me at all), as we all chatted and laughed, and even drank Turkish coffee, which they had in abundant supply. Apparently, we made quite an impression, as one of the women in attendance (an American married to an Israeli) at the Memorial Day ceremony remembered having met me on the beach, two years ago. So very Israeli.

Travels, trials and tribulations, and why there's no 80s Music Video Sunday today

As you have probably noticed, there was no 80s Music Video Sunday today, and I'm guessing that some of you are a bit disappointed. We were away for the weekend and only returned a few hours ago, and though I could probably cobble something together, I've decided not to post, given that Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror begins Sunday evening in Israel, and it just seems wrong to post a peppy little 80s song on such a solemn occasion. This is the first year since I moved to Israel more than 15 years ago that I've not been there to commemorate Memorial Day or to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins Monday evening at sundown, and it feels strange. We will, however, be going to an Israeli Independence Day celebration tomorrow at the local Jewish community center, and Memorial Day will be noted as well.

We've generally been having a good trip, and as usual, there's a part of me that doesn't want to return to Israel later this week. The Little One (who has tried my patience on almost a daily basis) is speaking mostly in English these days, albeit with an Israeli accent. We spent the weekend visiting with my brother and his family, and the Little One managed to utterly charm his young cousins, one of whom could not stop talking about how cute he was (she called him "cutie buns") and how all she wanted to do was to hold him and squeeze him. It was all rather adorable, and he kept crying her name for a good part of the trip back home to Grandma and Grandpa's house.

We've seen lots of animals and reptiles (mostly in various aquariums and other such establishments), played in the majority of playgrounds around the city, eaten rather well (the Little One immensely enjoyed the boneless spareribs after we told him that it was chicken), and done a fair amount of shopping (though of course, there's more to be done).

Oh, and I'm very, very tired. I've also developed an even greater respect for stay-at-home- and single parents. I don't know how you do it folks. I love my son to bits, but if I had to do this all the time, I think I'd lose it. I'm absolutely full of admiration for people who can do this, and a bit frustrated because I know I can't. As much as I'd like to stay here, I'm really looking forward to getting back to my husband and allowing him to spend some quality time with the Little One, while allowing me to spend some quality time with myself.

In any event, it is now nearly 9pm, and I've got phone calls to make and a small child to bathe. This week will be hectic, but normal blogging will resume next week.

80s Music Video Sunday #3

Growing up Jewish in the US, come holiday season, it is hard to miss all of the pre-Christmas festivities. As a child, I sat on Santa's lap quite a few times. I've watched the Christmas specials (including the Christmas episodes of all my favorite shows) attended Christmas parties, helped friends decorated their Christmas trees, and even attended Christmas Midnight Mass once with nrg, just to see what it was like (very nice!), though I did stop short "drinking the wine and chewing the wafer", fearing repercussions of godly proportions. And of course, who could escape the veritable plethora of Christmas songs, given that they were played anywhere and everywhere. Like any other American kid, I knew the words to "Rudolph", "Jingle Bells" ("Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..."), and "Mama Got Run Over by a Reindeer".

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, now that I live in a country where Christmas isn't a national holiday (and this is, of course, despite the fact that Israel is where it all started), I feel rather nostalgic for all that pre-holiday excitement. Not so much the piped-in muzak at the malls, but more the Christmassy feeling in the air, the all-encompassing Christmas spirit. It happens every year - I blogged about it last year as well. To remind myself that other parts of the world are currently in the throes of the holiday season, I keep a selection of Christmas songs on my computer, songs ranging from the Bing Crosby and David Bowie duet of "Little Drummer Boy – Peace on Earth", to "Snoopy's Christmas" by the Royal Guardsmen, to The Pogues singing "Fairytale of New York", and many more. My non-Jewish friends are very impressed, while a number of my Israeli friends think it's actually a bit strange (but I am used to that...).

When it come to it, though, I'm still an 80s girl at heart, and if you were to ask me what my all-time favorite Christmas song is, I'd have to say Band-Aid's "Do they Know it's Christmas". I remember when it came out, the heavy airtime it received on my top 40s radio station, the video, which simply showed the song being recorded by such 80s greats as Bono, George Michael, Boy George, Banarama, and so on. Those voices. I love those voices and I love that song. I bought the single, of course, and I believe I even have it with me here in Israel. The song was written by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure in order to raise money (and world awareness, of course) for Ethiopian famine victims.

Before we get to the business of the video and the lyrics, I just want to take a moment to wish a Merry Christmas to all of my readers who celebrate, and to those of you who don't but still live in countries where it's just another day off from work (unlike Israel, where it's just another regular work day), have a great day, and watch out for those Chinese restaurants that use MSG...



Do they Know it's Christmas Time

Performed by Band Aid
Written by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure (1984)

It's Christmastime
There's no need to be afraid
At Christmastime, we let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime

But say a prayer

Pray for the other ones
At Christmastime it's hard, but when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears
And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging
chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life
(Oooh) Where nothing ever grows
No rain nor rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

(Here's to you) raise a glass for everyone
(Here's to them) underneath that burning sun
Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

Feed the world
Feed the world

Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmastime again

Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmastime again

Holidays in the Land of the Extreme

In just under one hour's time, the state of Israel will come to a standstill for two minutes, and the only sound we will hear will be the melancholy wail of a siren, reminding us that today we mourn. We mourn for our fallen soldiers, and we mourn for those killed in terror attacks. Israeli television programming is dedicated to the fallen, with a continuous run of personal stories of those who have fallen, and those they left behind. Songs on the radio are sad and beautiful, songs of love and loss, of young lives cut short before their time. One can't help but be swept up in this wave of national mourning, especially given that nearly everyone knows someone who has been killed, or someone who knows someone, etc. You get the picture. It is a loss that is tangible and current, and the wounds are very much open, far from healed.

Following Holocaust Remembrance Day, I got into a brief discussion with another blogger, as we wondered whether our native-born counterparts felt as emotional upon hearing the siren as we did, as immigrants who had chosen to make Israel our home. Sadly, we came to the conclusion (following conversations with the native Israelis in our lives) that we, as people who had not grown up with the siren, were more moved emotionally. Now that we've reached Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror, I wonder if today's siren is felt differently, if our young Israelis are more moved by the symbolism of an event that touches them personally, as opposed to the siren of Holocaust Remembrance Day, which marks an event that for many Israelis, is a historical event.

One of the most interesting facets of this day, though, is the switch. The switch that we will make this evening, as Israel transitions straight from deep sadness into pure, unadulterated joy. Within moments, Memorial Day turns into Independence Day, and the celebrations for Israel's 58th year as an established state begin. Fireworks, festivities and happy pandemonium take over the country from North to South, as each city and town tries to outdo not only its own previous celebrations, but also those taking place in other towns. Singing and dancing, free concerts and performances, children and teenagers happily running through the streets with their friends… Only in our land of extremes could such a transition of emotions be possible.

And yet, I can't help but wonder about the families of the fallen. Do they make the transition as well? How is it possible to be mourning the loss of a child, a parent, a spouse, a sibling in one moment, and celebrating our independence the next? I can't even imagine being able to do such a thing. I question whether it is wise to mark these events so close together, whether the mourning on one day makes the next day even more unbearable, as you are once again left alone with your pain while everyone around you has moved on. When we mark the day of our first son's passing, whether or not we actively mark the day, I am careful never to schedule a joyful event on that day or the next, whether it be dinner out with friends, a concert or show. I don't do it. I can't. All this for a child who was with us for less than seven months. How do these parents do it, after losing a child who's been with them for so much longer? How do they make the switch? Strong people they must be.

In any event, we will be quietly celebrating this evening, barbecuing on our porch with He (my blogging partner) and family, watching the fireworks with our children as our dog cowers in our shower, shaking uncontrollably as he waits for it all to be over, as tradition dictates (which will inevitably be followed by weeks where he will refuse to go out after dark for his evening walk, afraid that the fireworks and other loud noises will catch him unprepared out in the open). Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, while every other Israeli will be outside searching for a few blades of grass on which to start their barbecue (I've seen people barbecue here on traffic islands), I will be comfortably ensconced on my couch (sans bird), watching Israeli films from the 60s and 70s and running around the house after the little one, who has no need for such traditions, despite the fact that he's a first-generation native-born Israeli. Whatever happens, yihyeh tov (it will be good).

**************

And here's a little post-siren update. I ended up getting roped into a conference call with some of the folks from work. When the siren started, I could hear the scraping of chairs all around, and then all went quiet as we stayed on the phone, each standing silently in their respective locations (with me silently praying that my dog, who was laying on the floor behind me, would not start to howl, as he sometimes does in these circumstances). Once the siren ended, we went back to our meeting without skipping a beat. Only in Israel, I think.

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch. - Thoughts during Passover

Here we are, about halfway through the Passover holiday, and unfortunately, about three-quarters of the way through the Passover cookies. Our Seder was mercifully quick, and seems to get quicker and less structured from year to year, which suits me just fine! Fourteen of us at my sister-in-law's home, which is where we've held the Seder every year since my mother-in-law passed away, just before Passover back in 1999. The food is always wonderful and always plentiful, and I am extremely, extremely lucky that my sister-in-law actually enjoys making the family Seder, as the thought of doing it myself practically brings on a panic attack.

The Seders I remember most from my childhood were held at various hotels in the Catskills, where the amounts of food served at any given meal were simply mind-boggling, and Seders were performed by various high-powered cantors. We often spent at least part of the holiday there, depending on how the school vacation was scheduled during a given year, and we would spend our time running around with all the other kids, begging quarters from all ancestors and blood relatives, to be spent on the hotel arcade pinball machines and video games (Pacman, Asteroids, Phoenix, and the like), and I shudder to think of the house I could have now had I saved all the quarters spent on arcade games in my youth. For the most part, the same kids would return year after year, and we wandered around like a pack, looking for things to do (Bingo, anyone?), going swimming/ice skating/bowling/etc, participating in Simon Says, going to the evening shows that embodied the Borscht Belt genre of comedy. Those were good times, characterized by food (it always comes down to food with us, doesn't it?), bingo, Latin American waiters who were often both charming and handsome (and given the amount of time spent at our assigned table in the dining room, we got to know our assigned waiters quite well), and endless supplies of Kosher-for-Passover rolls that my grandmother (and all the other elderly ladies in the vicinity, of which there were many) casually nicked from the dining room by stashing them in a pocketbook seemingly designed for just such an eventuality.

We even managed to maintain contact with some of our "Passover" friends during the year, and no one was more surprised than I at a new student orientation lecture on my first day at university when a guy came over and sat down next to me and said, "hi, don't you recognize me from "Unnamed Hotel"? I'm Garey. I saw you and your parents moving you into your dorm room." I did indeed recognize Garey, but had always assumed him to be older, as he was always with his grandparents, and never hung around with the other kids. While never becoming great friends, we maintained casual contact throughout our four years on campus.

I must say, that despite nearly 13 years of marriage, I've never become completely satisfied with my husband's family Seders. While I do enjoy the "rapid" pace of the Seder itself, I often find myself missing the Seders of my own family, always a special occasion where everyone gets dressed up and makes extra effort to get into a festive mood, where the pace is comfortable and familiar, where the traditions are mine, and not something I've had to adopt (and anyone who has attended a Persian Seder probably knows what I'm talking about...). Every year, I tell myself that maybe next year we'll plan our trip to the US to coincide with Passover, but it never seems to happen. Admittedly, though, my joy knows no bounds when it comes to the fact that we only have one Seder in Israel, instead of the two held everywhere else, and the holiday is one day shorter here (isn't it, or am I just making that up?). All good eating habits go out the window whenever this holiday comes around, and one of my most anchored traditions is spending a week feeling guilty about my calorie consumption. As the old saying goes with regard to Jewish holidays, "they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." And that, my friends, sums it up.

In keeping with the holiday theme I've got going here, I'd like to share a recent email that my father sent...

The Two-Minute Haggadah - A Passover service for the impatient

Opening prayers:
Thanks, God, for creating wine. (Drink wine.)
Thanks for creating produce. (Eat parsley.)

Overview:
Once we were slaves in Egypt. Now we're free. That's why we're doing this.

Four questions:
1. What's up with the matzoh?
2. What's the deal with horseradish?
3. What's with the dipping of the herbs?
4. What's this whole slouching at the table business?

Answers:
1. When we left Egypt, we were in a hurry. There was no time for making decent bread.
2. Life was bitter, like horseradish.
3. It's called symbolism.
4. Free people get to slouch.

A funny story:
Once, these five rabbis talked all night, then it was morning. (Heat soup now.)

The four kinds of children and how to deal with them:
Wise child - explain Passover.
Simple child - explain Passover slowly.
Silent child - explain Passover loudly.
Wicked child - browbeat in front of the relatives.

Speaking of children:
We hid some matzoh. Whoever finds it gets five bucks.

The story of Passover:
It's a long time ago. We're slaves in Egypt. Pharaoh is a nightmare. We cry out for help. God brings plagues upon the Egyptians. We escape, bake some matzoh. God parts the Red Sea. We make it through; the Egyptians aren't so lucky. We wander 40 years in the desert, eat manna, get the Torah, wind up in Israel, get a new temple, enjoy several years without being persecuted again. (Let brisket cool now.)

The 10 Plagues:
Blood, Frogs, Lice - you name it.

The singing of "Dayenu":
If God had gotten us out of Egypt and not punished our enemies, it would've been enough. If he'd punished our enemies and not parted the Red Sea, if would've been enough.
If he'd parted the Red Sea... (Remove gefilte fish from refrigerator now.)

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch.

Thanks again, God, for everything.

SERVE MEAL

Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night...

I feel very fortunate to have grown up in a multicultural society. My friends were Jews and non-Jews, Asian, South American, Greek, and so on. You get the picture. A veritable United Nations. Growing up in such an environment allows you to be exposed to so many different and exciting things, whether it be foods, customs, holidays, etc. It was a wonderful experience. Of course, living in Israel has exposed me to many different kinds of Jews, but in some ways, it’s just not the same. I mean sure, the Persians, the Moroccans and the Iraqis each have their own customs, their own ways of celebrating the Jewish holidays, and sure, it’s interesting, but when it comes down to it, I mean, when it really comes down to it, what do I miss? Christmas.

Yep, I miss Christmas. I miss the lights dancing in the trees and bushes, seeing the Christmas trees through the living room windows (and you shouldn’t infer that I’m a peeping tom, I’m referring to those trees that can be seen from the street), I miss the music, I miss the festive feeling in the air. I suppose that some aspects would be similar to the feelings that we get here in the period leading up to holidays like Rosh Hashanah, but it’s not quite the same. Of course, I didn’t actually celebrate Christmas in the truest sense. I mean, it’s not like we had a Christmas tree or anything. I miss the feeling of Christmas. The excitement of Christmas. I miss going to the neighbors’ Christmas parties. I miss eggnog. I miss watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” I miss going out for Chinese food and a movie with all the other Jews (when one of my Israeli friends relocated to the US a few years ago, I explained the Jewish traditions vis a vis Christmas and he thought I was kidding. Later on, when I asked him what he’d be doing over the Christmas holiday, surprise, take-out Chinese food, and renting movies with friends, or perhaps some skiing, the other favorite Jewish pastime on Christmas. He even went so far as to admit that he hadn’t believed me, until he actually witnessed it with his own eyes.).

My fondest Christmas memories were created with my best friend and her family. For years I would go to her house in the days and weeks before the holiday, helping her family to decorate the tree, while lovely Christmassy music played in the background (care to remind me what the music was, my dear?). To this day, whenever I drink Chamomile tea, its taste comforts me, taking me back to those tree decorating days, when we’d all sit around the living room, drinking tea and admiring our work. There were even years when they would schedule the decorating so that it coincided with my trips home from university (thanks for that, guys!), or at least leaving it up after the holiday long enough for me to see it, if I hadn’t been able to make the decorating session.

Being the inquisitive lass that I was, I even went with my friend to Midnight Mass one year, just to see what it was like. Well, it was beautiful. A church full of happy people dressed in their holiday clothes, celebrating the birth of Jesus. I enjoyed the singing, the spirituality of the evening. I enjoyed watching (and participating) as everyone offered good wishes to those around them, as part of the service. And, for those of you who are worried, you needn’t be. You’ll be pleased to know that when the time came to take communion, I decided against it (visions of the church falling down around me while being repeatedly struck by lightning if I did so was the primary deciding factor).

Now here I am, living in Israel. The Holy Land. The land where it all began. Christmas is distant, and it just feels wrong. Needless to say, there’s no snow on the ground, only big dirty puddles. No Christmas lights so blinding that you’re not even sure if there are bushes underneath. No overdone Christmas/Nativity scenes. Call me crazy (go on, most of you do anyway!), but I miss it all (well, not all. I can certainly do without the “mall” music). A large chunk of the world is building up a feverish holiday frenzy, and here in Israel, we go about our daily business as if nothing is happening (same thing happens with New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, but that’s for another blog entry). To keep myself entertained, I periodically play a selection of Christmas songs on my computer, running the gamut from the original Band Aid tune to various Muppet Christmas ditties, and needless to say, a punchbowl full of eggnog certainly wouldn’t hurt.

In any event, us folks over here at something something wish all of our readers who choose to celebrate a Merry Christmas. And, given that Chanukah begins on Christmas day (how terribly convenient!), Happy Chanukah to all of our Chanukah-celebrating readers! Or perhaps we should just wish you all a Happy Festivus…

Tis the season to be jolly

And they just keep on coming...

Holidays galore round here, though I can see the light at the end of the tunnel - just one more little festive round to go. Bit strange though, right? On the one hand we're all smiling because we know that nasty ol' working week is a little shorter for each week in October. On the other hand, we know that the holidays bring about an unhealthy amount of quality time with your nearest and dearest (including Uncle whats-his-face and Auntie whats-her-name-again plus their cherub-is-heading-for-a-slap-if-he-doesn't-stop-kicking-me).

So I have a confession...yesterday saw me pull a sickie and politely decline the opportunity to spend time yet again with the in-laws. My cough got miraculously better the moment my wife left, but, strangely enough, it reemerged the moment I heard her key in the door...strange that.

Busy Busy Busy!

Yes, we've been quiet. We know. But, we've got very good excuses. All of our parents are in town! He and I haven't even had a chance to touch base, we've just been so busy running around with our ancestors and watching them turn all mushy in the presence of our children that we haven't had a moment to write! With the little one safely in day care, Mom lingering over breakfast and Dad sitting on the porch reading the newspaper, I thought I'd take a few moments to let you know how it's going.

Arrival two days ago went fairly smoothly, though there were moments of anxiety when my parents thought they'd lost all of their luggage. In the end, it turned out that someone had taken everything off the carousel and left it stacked together off to the side somewhere. A happy ending, but certainly something they could have done without, following the flight from hell. The little one recognized them straight away, thanks to our constant drilling with photos, and even managed to point to my dad and say his name (though to be completely honest, he first pointed at Mom and called her by Dad's name). Upon arriving at home, suitcases were emptied of toys, videos, books and clothes for the little one. Given the sheer quantity of items for the grandson, it's amazing that there was even room for any of their stuff! They might even be able to return home with a lunchbox-sized carry on! I'm kidding, of course, but there will be at least one or two less bags on return.

Yesterday we went to the Safari - a wonderful zoo in the Tel Aviv area, and had it pretty much to ourselves. The little one slept the whole way in the car, and started to wake up as we pulled into the grounds. One mention of the word "animals", and his eyes popped wide open in amazement, as he saw all the birds coming up to the car, the zebras, the hippos in the pond. I love the zoo, but to see it through the eyes of my son is truly something special. He ran all over the place, looking at the monkeys, and completely taken with the birds. "Bye bye, tuh-tle" had us rolling in hysterics, as did his roaring at the "cat" (which was actually a fierce looking black puma). He was intrigued by the sheep, especially as they ate the pellets straight out of Mommy's hand, and enjoyed watching Mommy in the petting zoo. When he started to cry on a bench by the deer area, one of the female deer stood quietly by the fence watching him, only going away once we managed to get him to stop crying. She was obviously concerned for the crying baby, and we were in awe of her apparent concern. The look on his face when one of the birds said "hello" was priceless! I knew that Mom had reached her zoo limits when we walked through the bird area. The birds started making all sorts of birdie noises, and all Mom could say was, "ah, shut up". Given that she's not prone to taking out her aggressions on our feathered friends, I realized that it was time to head for home.

The long ride back was broken up by stops at two supermarkets - first to Tiv Taam, as we were in desperate need of seafood (Dad's been after me to make him crab cakes for some time now), and then to our regular supermarket, to stock up on a veritable plethora of other items. By 9pm, parents, husband, the little one, and the dog were all fast asleep, completely exhausted from our day at the zoo. Today and tomorrow we'll be on forced rest, due to Yom Kippur, but come Friday, we'll be off again to parts unknown. The longer I live here, the harder it is to come up with good destinations, as the parents have been nearly everywhere at this point. We've got a tentative schedule for the duration of their trip, but if anyone has any suggestions for outings, especially child-friendly outings, I am definitely all ears! Mini-Israel is already on the schedule, as well as vaguely defined plans to head "up North", but we are seriously running out of places!

Anyway, must go drink more coffee. Had only one cup of regular coffee yesterday, as opposed to usual three cups of latte, and paid for it dearly with a dreadful headache! For those of you fasting on Yom Kippur, I wish you an easy fast, with a reminder to watch out for the mad cyclists who take over the roads every year. I'm sure the little one will be running about madly and riding his tricycle as well, but given that his feet don't quite reach the pedals yet and he's only just discovered the magic of being able to steer as of this morning, I'd be willing to bet that one would have nothing to fear if they found themselves in his path. Bye-bye, tuh-tle.

Tribal gatherings

I haven't posted for a while, so thought I'd grab you with some seasonal banter...

Oh yeh. The holiday season is upon us.

That means lots of family gatherings to enjoy and savour. I don't know about you, but my wife's family is a bit on the enormous side, so these 'little' gatherings take on proportions that always manage to give me the willies. Uncle whats-his-face and Auntie whats-her-name-again arrive with pesky little junior-is-heading-for-a-slap-if-he-doesn't-stop-kicking-me and conquer my in-laws' garden for the annual Jewish New Year do. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just one set of Uncles and Aunties, or just once a year, but unfortunately it's a whole tribe's worth and we're set to cross each other's paths over and over again this coming month.

I always used to think it was me, that I was the sad bastard who was anti-family or perhaps a bit unsociable. Then I met other Anglos married to clans and realised I wasn't alone. It's them, right? The Israeli side of the family. An unhealthy appetite for grouping together for as long as possible under one roof. It just ain't normal. Me, I'm used to short and sweet family get-togethers, where the taxi is invited in advance (because we're a family of festive drinkers and nobody wants to drive) at a specified hour, so there is a guaranteed cut-off point. That does it for me, no overkill, no unwelcome overstayers and no extended hours of listening to Uncle whats-his-face's jokes, the ones he told us last year.

Anyway, one majorly good thing about all this holidaying is that the holidays have fallen very nicely throughout October. Next week, it's the Jewish New Year, the week after Yom Kippur, and then the two weeks after that we have the Succot double-ender. It doesn't always work out this way, of course, thanks to the Jewish calendar, so us employees are counting our blessings and rubbing our hands in glee at the short working weeks ahead of us.

From the both of us (He and She) at Something Something, we wish you all a healthy, sweet, prosperous, and most importantly, happy New Year! And if you're sharing your holiday with an extended tribe, have a drink (or 3) on us!