Food from Home

Even after a over a year and a half the grocery store in Jerusalem is still an adventure.

Last night we needed to stock up for today's BBQ and thought that serving Killer Spicy Canadian Caesars would be a great idea.

Tabasco? check!

Vodka given to us free by someone doing pre passover cleaning? check!

Celery? check!

Clamato? beeeep.
We knew it would be impossible to find (clams don't meet the scales, feathers or cloven hooves laws of kosher meat) and furthermore, the locals got these horrified grossed out faces when I told them what it was. So, tomato juice it is.

Celery Salt? beeeep.
We hunted through the six kinds of paprika, several zatar spices, something called Yemenite Hwaig Seasoning, the usual cloves and cinnamon, but did not find any celery salt. We did however find a spice that seemed appropriate for Canada Day, but we decided to pass over "Redness" due to its complete dodginess.

I guess they will be a weak imitation of Killer Spicy Canadian Caesars. We will change their name to Weak Less-than-Fantastic Israeli Caesars.

To further the theme of Canadian food, James opened up his birthday presents this morning. Since he never did tell me what he wanted, while I was home I went to the grocery store and stocked up on impossible-to-find treats and then spent part of last evening wrapping them each up in my old Hebrew homework: fajita seasoning, salt and vinegar popcorn seasoning (they only have regular and BBQ potato chips around here and popcorn seasoning is a genius second best to potato chips), and the piece de resistance: two boxes of Kraft Dinner.

I also bought him pajama bottoms, in his beloved blue, and he promptly put them on and started dancing and twinkle toeing around the apartment like a lead footed ballerina.

The PJ bottoms are a compromise. The Chicken owns an old pair of track pants that with their high waisted draw string closure and gathered cuffs, they would compliment any human body by turning it into into the shape of a potato. Since I don't think I can convince The Chicken to wear a James Bond style tux around the house, I will trade the PJ bottoms for the dirty, old track pants.

Happy Birthday Chicken.

Canada Day Invite

I thought I'd let you read my invitation for our Canada party since it is a big hit with the labmates who were suddenly dismayed by how bad their English was until they got to the second half of the email. Eyal told me the first word he had to look up was hosers (her pronounced it who-zers) and that he even used Google translator to figure out what the paragraph meant. By the way, if any of you are in town, feel free to drop by.

Howdy Hosers,

Next Thursday we'll be throwing a Bar-Bee-Que fer Canada day, eh? We'll be putting some tube steaks on the 'Q, roasting some s'mores, and making sure you folks know a little about The Great White North. The prizes will be more exiting than spinning donuts in the arena parking lot in a snow storm. The rest will be pot-luck, so break out your Auntie Edna's best butter tart recipe. Two hosers will need to bring the pop. It is BYOB (Bring Your Own Brewskies), but if you do you won't be getting on the snow machine after, eh? Respondez s'il vous plait, que nous voulons savoir comment des hot dogs d'acheter.

Did you understand that? In case you didn't here is a translation:

Hello Everyone,

Next Thursday, July 1, we are hosting a BBQ to celebrate Canada Day. We will supply the hot dogs, s'mores, and the famous Canada Day trivia quiz (with prizes!). Everyone should bring something to share (two people for the juice and soda). You can bring a beer or two for yourselves if you wish- but no drinking and driving. RSVP: which means, tell us if you are coming so we know how many hot dogs to get.

Let me know what you plan to bring.

Time: Thursday, after work (6:30pm)
Dress code: red and white or plaid (extra points for your team on the quiz for compliance)

Janet and James

Easter Food for Thought

Fulfilling his twice-yearly duty, James went to church with me this morning. There were about forty people there from Jerusalem, Tiberias, Bethlehem, Texas, California, Nevada, Germany, Yorkshire, Scotland, Ghana, Korea and of course there was a good looking couple from Canada.

I got my Easter egg of the year. It was yellow.

Taking to George the Rev after, we discovered that there was a bit of a kerfufle with the communion bread this morning. Seeing as it is still Passover, there is no bread to be purchased at the grocery store and even the cracker aisle is covered up in plastic. Luckily, the Scottish Guest house attached to the church came to George's rescue. They get their bread from a bakery in the nearby Arab-Muslim and Arab-Christian Bethlehem (which ironically means House of Bread). They donated a loaf to our cause.

But this brings up a bit of a conundrum. Wasn't Jesus in town for Passover when he got crucified? What was he doing eating bread at the last supper?!? Maybe we should be breaking Matzo!

You know, I only had to ask James once if he wanted to go to church with me this morning, even though we can solidly put him in the non-religious category.

Holidays are really distilled here. No Easter egg hunt, no big dinner with family, etc. And I think going to church every once in a while on holidays, even for a non-religious person, becomes a life-line to the culture you left behind and a life-line to your identity. And perhaps that is why James happily went to church.

I realize that probably makes some of you uncomfortable: church being part of your identity. If you are asked by someone here your religion and you answer "I'm an atheist," people will not be satisfied with that answer since that concept in not understood in the same way here. You are an atheist, but you are still culturally a Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist (in fact, they won't buy the Buddhist thing unless you look Asian, either). If you come here, even for someone who loathes organized religion, you have to get used to stating you are a Christian.

Even I, a practicing Christian, felt uncomfortable with this when I first got here. Now, I readily and easily state my religion and culture without a second thought in a way that I would never do at home.

Happy Easter to Believers and Non-Believers, because, like it or not, we are all in this together.

Good Friday in the Old City

Katrine and I went to the mid-day procession on the Via Delorosa for Good Friday. And we got a front row seat to all sorts of craziness.

We hung out, squished against the display of an Arab clothing shop somewhere near station number four. For over 35 minutes, thousands of people filed past us. We saw crucifixes ranging in size from twelve feet of metal and carried by several monks to hundreds of little wooden ones each clutched in the hands of believers. Some were silent, some were praying, some were singing, some were crying, some were smiling, some were talking on their cell phones.

And yep, there was even the guy doin' the Mel Gibson, with the crown of thorns covered in blood, towing a big honkin' wooden cross. We are still debating whether the blood was fake or not. In his wake was a big loud speaker with a woman plaintively crying "Help him! Help Jesus!"

The crowd was very pushy as they passed us. I got felt up by so many nuns it isn't even funny.

Despite being in the Holy city on one of the the holiest days of the year, Katrine and I didn't feel holy, we just felt squished.

Epic Road Trip and the Seder

We took Friday, Saturday and Sunday off work (I told every one it was a Christian Holiday, which technically Palm Sunday was) and zipped around the north of Israel with my old friend Katrine and our new friend Simon.

Every time they merely stopped for breath, I gave them the chop-chop and we were off to another site. We made it to Caserea, Haifa, Acco, Nazareth, Tiberias, and got royally lost in the Golan Heights again.

A highlight for me was Nasareth in which we made a one hour stop to do the required Church visit. The FAN-tastic signs put out in the main square in view of the church by some fanatic Muslims for the benefit of the Christian pilgrims made us laugh. I guess I am firmly ensconced in loser-dom. Next door at the arab candy shop the charismatic backlava guy wanted to know if Simon dyed his red hair as we were pigging out on the wares.

James loved getting lost for a whole day in the Golan again. The getting lost might be my fault. As James says in his fake Hebrew accent “When God made me perfect, he did not quite finish the job.” I fell asleep in the passenger seat as we weaved though the rolling hills, and consequently we took a 30 minute detour. As a consequence, I got hoofed out of my spot as chief navigator.

Katrine was entranced by the old city of Acco, which was once one of the most important Mediterranean ports. Although there are lots of sites to see, unlike J-town, Acco is not a tourist trap and much of the stores and shops are for the people living there. Simon, who is pretty much new to organized religion in any format, is still trying to process the baptismal site on the Jordan river and all the people in the white gowns. He wasn’t to sure about getting dunked in the murky water with the giant catfish and a muskrat but we all thought the big happy earnest hug from the preacher afterward looked good.

The day after we got back, I sent Simon and Katrine to the shook and told Simon that he had to buy a Kippa for the Passover Seder at the boss’ house. Simon, skipped the simple ones and went for a bright red one with the Pringles logo on it. We headed to The Boss’ and had a Seder with about twenty of his friends and family.

Most of us were dressed nicely, with the men in just shirts and nice pants – except the boss' eight year old son. Edo came to the door wearing a three piece suit and tie and was by far the best dressed person there. (Predictably for an eight year old, as the evening went on his outfit came apart; first the kippa, then the jacket disappeared followed by the six inch clip on tie which James decided to wear during desert) As we worked our way though the Haggadah book, which has the ceremony of the seder written in it, James and I had no idea what was being said as it was in “Old Hebrew” and Katrine and Simon were even worse off. But it is Passover, so the food afterward makes it all worth it. I wasn't again hungry until four the next afternoon.

To atone for the sins of too many falafel pitas on the road trip and passover seder, I have gone for two runs in the last 16 hours.

Chametz Purcahsing office- Update!

With only two hours to spare, I got a call from Asaf on Monday afternoon.

"I have a last minute favour to ask," he said.
"I have some leftover chametz, would you be willing to buy it? And my mother-in law's too?"

I happily agreed and we agreed on the steep price of twenty agarot (7 cents) which I left on his desk this morning. My new purchases are locked away in Asaf's and his mother in law's houses.

How great. I am providing a service. Buying chametz totally made my day.

My only regret is that I didn't act like a real Israeli and try and haggle him down.

Chametz Purchasing Office

So what happens to all of those wheat and leavened products over Pesach? Some people clean house and have none leftover. Our ulpan buddy, Helen, tells us this makes for some really odd meals at her house in the days leading up to Pesach as they try to use it all up. Pasta and red beans, anyone?

Another option is to seal all the chametz up, lock it away, and sell it symbolically to a non-Jew for the week. All the big grocery chains each have a trusty non-Jew who does this for them every year. The chametz never moves from the warehouse, but the sale and the contract is real and so the position of non-Jewish chametz buyer is not a toy position.

Adiel tells me that individuals can also find someone to buy their remaining household chametz so they don't have to throw it out. And thus, since it is almost Pesach, I decided to put up a little sign on my office door today. I am glad I can provide a service! Each time someone noticed it, there was a round of giggles.

Purim 2010: One for the Lab Mice

On Sunday night and Monday is Purim, the Jewish holiday where you are supposed to get dressed up in a costume head out to one of the many parties. And if you are a religious guy, it is a Mitzvah (good deed) to go get sloshed on the bad Israeli kosher plonk. Actually, if you live outside of Jerusalem, purim starts Saturday night and goes though Sunday. It is a long confusing story as to why the dates are different, but trust me, a few folks won't be coming to work on either day. Even if they are from outside the city, they will be nursing hangovers on Monday.
Just like Halowee'en, the festivities are starting a few days early, so people got dressed up today for work. James' labmate, Sigi, had a small idea a few weeks back to dress up like a lab mouse for Purim. Then she suggested it to someone else, and then the whole thing got completely out of control. Over forty people from the chemistry department were dressed up like lab mice, including some distinguished professors.


My lab was not so cool as to all dress up like lab mice. I gave group meeting this morning and presented my research from the last year and a half. After it was done, instead of putting up the traditional acknowledgements page with the way-out-of-date group photo, I popped up a slide with the word "smile" and took their photo.

See? Don't they look happy that my boring chemistry talk is finally over?

Because it was only to my labmates, I did not mince words in my talk about the six months of straight failure I had over last summer. I tried to do it with levity, but with some thoroughness since there truly is a lot to be learned from failure and these things almost never end up in papers. After the talk was over, the boss used me as an example saying something about perseverance, yada yada yada. "And she always kept her spirits up!" he said.

I just smiled on the outside, but inside my head, I thought about the hugs of encouragement I got from James thrice daily: before work, at lunch and after work. And I thought about the chocolate bars and icecream that David and Costi have fed me when they noticed I was about to explode. They only way I "kept my spirits up" was because I had friends and family to keep them up.
But what the boss doesn't know, won't hurt him.

Pancake Tuesday!

Today, The Chicken and I got up really early and made a double batch of pancakes for our labmates in celebration of Pancake Tuesday. We also had to drop by a store on the way to work to pick up a little bottle of 100% Canadian Grade A Maple Syrup which we noticed was for sale a while ago.

The real MacD maple syrup that my parents make is sacred, not to be wasted on the mapley unrefined Israeli taste buds. Plus, my family uses a little we bag of pork fat hanging over the kettles to keep them from bubbling over, so about 1/3 of my labmates wouldn't eat MacD maple syrup anyway.

Although they happily gobbled up the pancakes, the locals were a little confused. "What is Pancake Tuesday? Can we have Steak Thursday?" I was asked.

Turkey Curry Hebrew Style

So we all know that the country Turkey also has another meaning. Turkey is that wonderful bird that you roast up with stuffing for Christmas dinner.

The word for that yum-tastic fowl in Hebrew is "Hoh-doo" which also means the name of a country, and that country is.... wait for it...... India.

I swear, nothing comes easy in this language.

James and I are still making our way thorough the remains of my giant bird. We have eaten a lot of turkey sandwiches and the other day we made Turkey Curry, a.k.a. Hoh-doo Hoh-doo. Which, if you say fast enough, makes you sound like a Turkey.

Did you try it? Is the person next to you looking at you strangely?

Guest Post: Jerusalem then and now

Maybe you didn't know it but The Chicken has been to the Middle East before, a couple of years before I met him and during a time of youthful idealism and self exploration. Every once in a while he leads me down his memory lane with him but suprisingly not that often. The turn of the decade it seems has been the impetus for some reflection and recalling his time here at the turn of the millennium, ten years ago.



On the evening of December 31, 1999, I joined a crowd of about 200 people at Gethesmane on the Mount of Olives for a New Year's Eve service. About an hour before midnight, each of us was given a long red torch, which we carried in a short procession up the hill to the place that is known as "Abraham's House". As befitted the turning of the millennium, a lot of international media crews were there, asking people questions like "A lot of people would say this is a dangerous place to be right now. So why are you here?". It was a little rainy. I met some American girls working as nurses at Hadassah Mount Scopus. As the final seconds of the millennium ticked away, a cameraman trained his giant video camera on me and the girl I was talking with. "I need a kiss!!!" he said - but that would have felt awkward, and I wasn't going to do something inappropriate just for the sake of giving him good copy. The moment passed, and before long I was back in the quiet streets of the old city, which was absent any signs of the millennial procession except for a small flock of nuns on their way back from midnight mass.

Ten years ago, I had no idea where my life was heading, what I'd be doing in a year, or where I'd be a year from then. I had gone to the Middle East more out of sheer desperation than anything else, because everything I'd done before felt like a miserable failure. It sounds like a cliche, but I thought I'd become an artist here. I needed some time to myself to work out what I really wanted from my life and at the time the last thing I wanted was another lab job. But life has a weird way of working out. A few weeks later, I borrowed a copy of Don Cram's old textbook "Organic Chemistry" from my friend Faisal's apartment in French Hill. I carried that book with me in my backpack through Cyprus, Syria, and Lebanon, and it planted the seeds that would eventually lead me back into the lab. If I went back in time to tell my 26-year old self on the Mount of Olives that I'd do a Ph.D. in organic chemistry, work for 2 years at MIT, publish a total synthesis in Science, and would soon (2001) meet an incredible lady that would later be my wife (whom, I should not forget to add, is responsible for dragging me back here in the first place) he surely would have thought I was talking about someone else - there was no way I would have believed that all those great things would ever happen to me. I certainly never expected that 10 years later that path would take me back to Jerusalem.

Just like 1999, it feels like an end and a beginning here. I have no idea where we'll be or what we'll be doing in a year. But this time, that in itself seems more a cause for excitement than despair. I hope the next decade brings us just as much love and adventure as the past one has. Maybe on Dec 31, 2019 we can come back to Jerusalem to reflect on it.

Merry Christmas everyone!

I hope you have a lovely time no matter what you ended up doing this holiday. My Christmas did not get off to a great start but ended so pleasantly, I have to smile thinking of it.

As you may have noticed, I wasn't feeling the May-West on Christmas Eve, but after a couple of slices of Pizza, a nap and an hour of belting out carols at the midnight service, my heart was singing with he Christmas spirit.

True to form, the church was packed with perhaps 200-300 people, about 30 of which were Christians and had any clue as to what was going or or knew the songs. This incidentally, included the organist. I know now that it is possible to sing Angels From the Realms of Glory to the tune of Angels we have Heard on High. The rest of the people were there for the show, perhaps expecting to hear full-on choirs, or see kids act out the nativity story like they do in the movies. I saw two people actually taking notes and must have been in some sort of anthropology or religious studies course. As I was leaving the church, I heard one of my few fellow Christians loudly complain "They are all tourists! Come, watch the Christians! This isn't a tourist exhibit!" I can see his point. At times it was a little annoying, but in the name of promoting religious tolerance, I would rather have it this way than, well- you know- persecutions, crusades, giant walls, etc. Or a further breeding of the young stupid, bigoted, racist jerks, that can be found here who think that because I am a Christian and western, I must be a slut.

But I got to sing loudly and happily and I was in a great mood and strutting it home humming Angels we Have Heard on High (with the wrong words) and carrying my bible in hand since I had given one of the readings. At that point, a SUV buzzed by me and a guy yelled out his window "EAZY PUSSAAAH!" at me. My first thought was to throw my bible at him- literally, but instead, yanked off my mitten and gave him the finger. "Well there goes the Christmas spirit" I thought. As down as I felt at that moment, I should have know that the Christmas spirit is pretty resilient and it would turn out OK.

I woke up in the morning and started moving and didn't stop until midnight. I had to go pick up the big bird from the butchers (which was five pounds bigger than I ordered), go to the grocery store, bake a cake, make butter tarts, stuff the turkey with stuffing and then stuff the over-sized beast into the oven, peel the potatoes, clean the house, decorate the house, make a salad, move furniture around, set the table, mull some apple juice, make gravy....and then had a wonderful evening with five friends. We laughed and laughed. I don't think I have ever laughed so much at Christmas. Everyone had to try on Mom's chicken hat and the Jingle-Bells singing Chicken was a big hit. There are some great pictures of the shenanigans but I figured I will keep them for blackmail. Somehow Ehud had not heard the Cow fetus story and when he found out he had tears rolling down his face and a few times I was afraid he was going to fall off the chair. Itai insisted on making and bringing eggnog, which no one had had before, despite the fact that I kept telling him egg nog was gross. But it wasn't so bad, especially since it was laced with copious amounts of 8 dollar brandy. David wrote and presided over the now famous and annual Christmas general knowledge quiz and Adam and Orpha brought a giant pile of mini gingerbread men whom after a quick drowning in coffee have provided most of my sustenance on Boxing Day.


To say the least, it was an unexpectedly wonderful Christmas.

Everyone helped out with the dishes and rearranging my furniture back before they left, so after they left and today I really only had a few pots and pans to clean, the floor to mop and the carcass to strip and turn into broth.

I must tell you, I did not do these things until about 4 pm today when I finally crawled out of bed and had a shower. Must have been the egg nog with the 8 dollar brandy.

8pm on Christmas Eve

It is Christmas Eve and I was the last one to leave work. I am not sure if this is a whole new level of bad-ass hard coreness, or a whole new realm of pathetic.

I am leaning towards pathetic.

I am going to now eat the entire contents of my fridge.

Horray for Mrs. Claus, a.k.a Mom

The electrician was just here and he liked my story. He laughed when he read it and later told me it made everything clear what the problems were. Well, he said something along those lines that since I only understand about 60% of the words in what people say to me. Sometimes 60% is enough, most of the time it really isn't. But I got the jist.

Every day I have been opening little packages that my mom sent me along with a santa betoqued stuffed chicken that sings jingle bells and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree- complete with single red ball. Inside these little gifts are dollar store treasures: decorations and Christmas junk to make my house more festive. I now have three Christmas CDs (Michael Bublé, Diana Krall and -gasp- Celine Dion), a red string of tinsel, shiny paper snow flakes, stickers, snowmen candles and gell letters that spell "MERRY CHRISTMAS" for my window. Except the last S got squished in travel and keeps falling off, so it usually reads "MERRY CHRISTMA" with the S lying on the floor dejected like a very large green booger. Oh well, it is still fun anyway.

Never has dollar store treasure been so enjoyed. Yea for Mom. Who knows what I will open tomorrow? The anticipation is killer.

The week of Hanukah: a review

I really have no excuse this time for going so long between blog posts. It has been a busy and eventful week and it is not like I didn't have things to say, but I seemed to have gotten myself into a non-blog writing, spend all day in my pajamas slump. Since James left, I have let all of my slovenly bachelorette ways come back out. Two chick flicks in 24 hours, five hour afternoon naps, leaving my long hairs in the bathroom sink, breakfast bowl still on the table at 10 pm and diet of consisting mostly of the three C's of nutrition: coffee, cereal and cookies (although that has to stop after I nearly passed out getting out of the shower this morning).

Today I will stop procrastinating and get my butt in gear. Here is a very long blog post to prove it.

Last Friday James and I went to the Boss' house for the lighting of the first candle of Hanukah which was also Shabbat dinner. His brother and his kids were there and I was happy to find out that I am not the only one who is struggling to navigate the minefield of cultural and religious taboos around here. The boss' brother is a secular man but is a biology professor at a religious university. He said he has learned that after work when he takes his work-kippa off in the car on the way home, to roll it and not to fold it. This way there are no creases to give him away as secular. Then there is the remembering not to try to shake hands when he meets female students. And he had some hilarious stories of hiding out in various places in the university at 3 pm so he won't be pulled into praying.

James flew back to Canada last Sunday. He has been busy ticking off a very large list of errands and well as meetings with the family. As well as the usual blistering holiday schedule, he gave a chemistry talk at McGill on Friday and I am still waiting to hear how it went.

This past week was Hanukah, and Hanukia candelabras seemed to be everywhere. They come in every shape and size from giant lights on the Knesset parliament building, lights on every lamppost, 10 foot lights on street corners, traditional branched candelabra in window sills, tin boxes outside people's front doors- to my personal favorite: one made from and erector set that my boss' son made years ago and still gets pulled out every year. It even spins (somewhat wobbly) when you flip a switch. I think what I like about it so much is it reminds my of my family's Christmas tree which is always covered with decorations that don't match made by us years ago and full of memories.

I got to see this wonderful piece of family Judaica both on Friday night and at the group Hanukah party on Wednesday. After everyone but me heartily sang Hanukah songs they have all known from the womb, I was asked to sing a Christmas song. I balked and told them it was really hard to think of a Christmas carol that wasn't completely offensive to a room full of Israeli Jews which got a laugh. I didn't think "Oh come oh come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel" was going to go over so well. I finally came up with Jingle Bells and sped my way though it at record speed to get the torture of singing in front of my research group over with.

Earlier in the week at work, Gabi asked me if I would like a sufgania. "A what?" I asked and he opened a box from a bakery. "Ooooooh, jelly doughnuts!" I said excitedly.

"These are NOT doughnuts!" Gabi replied haughty "They are sufganiot."

Well lah dee dah, I thought, but must have looked contrite enough to warrant getting a sufgania despite my earlier faux pas. These pastries only are sold at Hanukah and of course I have eaten quite a few, each time getting confectioners' sugar all over my face (the best Israeli food cannot be eaten with dignity). FYI, they taste like jelly doughnuts.

Sukkot

This week is Sukkot or Feast of the Tabernacles, which appears to take urban camping to a whole new levels. Everywhere, in every piece of spare yard, outside restaurants, on balconies, hanging off balconies and even on rooftops are these sukka huts.

This week, the observant will be eating all of their meals inside, and the truly hardcore will be sleeping in them with only the street cats to keep them warm. Even for the non-observant, this is a fun holiday especially for kids. Nir tells me his family builds one in his aunt's garage, all the cousins get together and have a pot luck, and someone brings a guitar...sounds like fun to me.

From what I gather, this is an ancient harvest feast that even Moses was already celebrating. I guess it is kinda like the Jewish Thanksgiving with, of course, all sorts of extra symbols, rules and observances. For instance, I keep seeing men walking around with these long plastic bags with green bits of plants in them. Not to sure what that is all about.

Last week, it was a mad house outside all of the hardware stores in town. For sale were all the necessary pieces for the do-it -your-selvers and kits for the lazy. Yossi says his goes up like Lego. All of the huts have these somewhat dodgy looking flat palm frond roofs, and surprise surprise, if it rains, you don't have to sleep in them.

Frankly, I am tempted to say to the whole city "You call this camping? I'll show you camping!" and take them out for a wee canoe with trip mosquitoes, rain, instant mashed potatoes and all.

In other news, there was a rumor in East J-town that the Jews were going to take over the temple mount, corroborated by the bazillion black hats going to the western wall for the holiday. There were some tossed rocks, some arrests and the temple mount closed until things calmed down, which further fed the rumor. And then there are bus loads of happy-clappy evangelical Christian tourists having a Sukkot big hippie style festival by the Dead Sea. Go figure, they are getting together, trying to fulfill a prophesy in the old testament. Bring on the second coming! And of course there are local nut jobs that think they are only here to get Jews to convert. Just another fun day in the Holy Land! I swear, this place is a lot more normal if you don't read the news.

Yom Kippur

It is evening of Yom Kippur and all is quiet. There are no sounds, no cars whooshing past, no tinkling piano across the way, no chatting pedestrians. Everything is quiet save for the odd bark of the dog, the whirr of the refrigerator and the occasional turning pages of Doris Lessing coming from the chair across the room.
Everything is dark. Traffic lights turned to only yellow caution and we have one of the few lighted windows.

The closest thing I can describe is the quiet of winter camping if any of you have been lucky enough to have gone with my dad or on your own.

As we walked home near dusk today, people were walking down the middle of the streets since there were no cars. Many were dressed all in white, to reflect the most holy of Jewish holidays.

Observant Jews, including the only semi- religious, have started their fast and will spend the day in reflection and atonement for promises not kept and wrongs committed. It is the most holy day of the year, and we were warned that even holding food in public will be frowned upon.

One of the most beautiful and famous Jewish tunes is the Kol Nidre which is sung on the eve of Yom Kippur- which I am not sure if that was earlier in the afternoon or yesterday evening. The song is so old the words are in Aramaic.

Shanah Tovah!

Happy new year everyone! Shanah tovah! Welcome to the year 5770! May it bring you all sorts of good things.

We got invited, yet again, by my boss and his generous family for a BBQ- feast. With grandparents, three families and what seemed like a dozen kids under the age of 10, it was a loud, boisterous affair with Guitar Hero being the highlight of the kids' night. The table was piled with food and my flavour buds were happy indeed (especially since gfilte fish was thankfully not served), while everything, from research, to vaccines, to breaking an arm falling off the monkey bars, to our bad but progressing hebrew, to car seats was discussed.

I am all for the edible symbols of Rosh Hashana (literal translation: head of the year).

Apples and honey to bring you sweet things.

Pomegranates for the multiplicity of fruitfulness

Mandrake liqueur for fertility and, well, you know, X-rated things. (James informs me that the neighbors at five thirty am were vigorously and vocally feeling the effects of last night's mandrake liqueur)

At the market on Friday they were selling these giant vegetables that the veggie dude told us were "ka-rah" and with some pointing and bad Hebrew, we determined they are in the zucchini family. We decided to buy one to try and of course came home with the largest one- just for a silly picture.

The grandma, Sarah, tells me, Ka-rah too is an obscure symbol of Rosh Hashana- so obscure that she had only seen the word for the first time yesterday in a booklet about the holiday. Something, she said, about defeating enemies. All I can see is that you could probably beat your enemies over the head with it. Since I don't have many enemies here, I would prefer to eat it. Because the Israelis were pretty unfamiliar with it too, we are still stuck with a giant vegetable on the counter, don't know the English name and have no clue what to do with it.

All right you readers with all-vegetable-knowing Chinese Grandmas, I need you to help me out here. What is it and how do I cook it?

Janet 1, Travel Agent 0

Lately, I have been in short temper with my coworkers and my science. To boot,
the university is closed for the week along with the TEM, making chemistry difficult. And the guns and the security everywhere and the almost pathological fear of the neighbors have been grating on my nerves. I need a break.

So James and I decided to book a last minute trip to ANYWHERE- just not in the Middle East. After navigating a heap of Hebrew travel websites and visiting a travel agent who thinks Greece isn't in Europe, we settled on a sweet internet deal to Crete for five days.

With the help of a trusty Hebrew-speaking lab mate, Itai, who read to me all the fine print, I booked the trip this afternoon. Strangely along with my credit card number they wanted my nine digit "Identity Number" but being a Canuck, I don't have one so I put in my 9 digit student number. Itai, suggested that he call and tell them, out of courtesy, just to make sure everything goes though.

Travel agent lady gets worried and emails me a "form" to sign that she tells Itai only confirms that I will be returning to Israel with a foreign passport. The form shows up in my email in-box and I wisely translated it. At the very bottom it sneaks in something about a mystery "2.5% credit surcharge". One email and four phone calls later the Lady tells me I am charged extra because I have a foreign Visa Card.

Any other time I would have caved over the extra 23$, but in the last two weeks I have been in a constant bad mood and so I behaved out of character and proceeded to lash out with the full power of the thundercloud that has been hanging over my head.

I balk. We argue. She threatens to cancel my reservation. I tell her the policy is ridiculous and I say I'd like to cancel and hang up.

Two minutes later I get a phone call. The are not going to charge me the 2.5%.

For the first time ever, I called an Israeli's bluff and won.

Just when I am starting to get cranky enough to start negotiating like an Israeli, I am heading out of the country to get back my Canadainess. I relished in the victory all the walk home but it will be nice to get away for a bit so I can begin to recognize myself again.

9th of Av

The last couple of weeks has been an annual time of mourning marking the siege of the walls of Jerusalem by the Romans and then the destruction of the first (Damn Nebuchadnezzar!) and second (Damn Romans!) temples that occurred both, creepily, on the 9th of Av, 650 odd years apart.

When Jewish men mourn, they are not to shave or get a hair cut. So like Passover was a holiday for bakers, this season is a holiday for barbers. People have been looking mighty scruffy around here lately.

Today is the 9th of Av, so many people are fasting. At the Wailing Wall there will be a huge crowd of people mourning its destruction and praying for Temple Version 3.0 to be built. For those of you that are religiously inclined, check out the book of Lamentations which is the poems of Jeremiah, bemoaning the destruction of the first temple. This is what they will be reading at the synagogues and at the Wailing Wall today. Some of the text is the source of some of the most beautiful music I have ever sung.

I would like to go down to see what is happening, but I can image that without food, the crowd will be be very, very cranky.

Come tomorrow morning, bolstered by a rejuvenating breakfast, wives around the country will be sending their hubbies to the bathroom with electric razor hand.

The university is half closed, which means I had to do an epic walk around the campus to get to the one gate that was open this morning. I really despise all of these fences. I like the idea of Universities not having walls and students streaming in from all directions for higher education, but I can see the point here. Yesterday was the seventh anniversary of the bombing at the other Hebrew University Campus across the city that killed nine and injured 80 students.

Of course the non-religious grad students are hard at work today- which means all but two students, Itzik and the boss are here with their heads in the fume hoods. Sadly, there will be no glee-dah runs since all the restaurants will be closed.