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.

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?

Mazel Tov to David and Galia

Since about January, my office-mate David has been keeping me updated on his ongoing marriage saga, starting with Galia "just visiting the family in England" in the winter. Then there was buying a ring, proposing, wedding planning, finding a Rabbi, proving they are Jewish, finding a photographer...

Finally last week, the big day came and I was there along with three hundred others there to witness. Adiel tells me the wedding size was pretty average for Israel and his wedding was 1000. The place was pretty swank with palm trees, spot lights, decorative potted plants, etc. It made out wedding under the trees in my parents back yard look extremely simple (not that I mind!)

Assi was coaching me on the appetizers which he says are often better than the meal. "First we go to this station, then we eat as we walk to the next station." and "No, don't bother with that one. There is no meat."

I was particularity impressed by the appetizer hunting and gathering skills of a couple of rotund guests I noticed standing near the entrance to the kitchen like vultures. They were deftly intercepting every plate of appetizers that came out.

Yossi, the most religious of the lab mates, intently watched the Chuppa ceremony to make sure it was done right while Amit provided a running translation for us anglos. Did you know that the groom actually gives the bride a contract saying what he will give her if he leaves her? Although not done this time, usually they announce the actual dollars and cents.

In time the cup was broken, everyone cheered and hugged the happy couple and we headed off to eat.

Then I discovered that my labmates like to dance. A lot. In fact, my labmates are dancing machines. At first there were just wild circles spinning around the couple. Shira and Ehud insisted we join in as a cultural experience, and I did, but I feared for my life at times. Later was the usual wedding reception dance with the added bonus of plastic maracas and glow sticks handed out by David's Mother. I discovered that some of my male labmates know every word to "Momma Mia" and aren't ashamed to sing along. My sister would be impressed.

Sorry about the out of focus pic. It was the only one I took because the rest of the time I was dancing.

That evening I had further proof that I indeed needed a vacation. Some guy asked me about my research and then asked "What's the application of that?". In a few minutes when I asked what he did - architect- I boldly asked "What's the application of that?" I have never been so rude and I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth. I have always thought these things in my head but have never actually let them escape my lips before. He could have only gotten my hackles up more if he had said the dreaded "I hated chemistry in high school." People say this like I am a tax auditor or a repo man or something.

David and Galia's wedding was great. We got home at wearily at 1 am, packed, got one hour's sleep and then headed to the airport.

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.

Fitting the Part

Recently, I got a call out of the blue from my old roommate Captain Kirk. He wanted to see how things were panning out for me in Jerusalem. I told him things were great and we had a little chat. A few days later I got another call from him and we were invited to the neighbours' house for shabbas dinner. These are the same folks hat had invited me in my first few weeks in J-town. James and I happily agreed.

But now James could no longer put off a task that he had been avoiding for months. James had to buy a kippah. At the shook there are a couple of Judaica sellers with their booths full of menorahs, silver cups, double handled mugs, rams' horns, Star of David key chains and a whole table full of kippas.

Of course, being The Chicken, he picked out a kippa with blue on it. (I vetoed any kippa that had a sports team logo knitted into it. As well The Chicken wisely avoided black ones- they are for the hardcore people.)

James' suit pants are black and his dress shirt white, so combined with the kippa, my hubby looked like seriously Kosher Chicken as we headed out for dinner. This made me giggle considering the man practices religion like he irons shirts: only on special occasions and only under wifely duress. If you are wondering what I was wearing it was modest. Long skirt. White T-shirt. Flat shoes. If I was really trying to play Haredi dress-up, I would have had long sleeves, nylons and have covered my hair with a scarf since I am married.

We had a lovely dinner and again, I got to ask lots of questions about the religious communities since the family is what is commonly called "black". This is not a reference to their skin colour but rather the black suits the men wear amongst the more religious communities. We laughed when Taniel told of us a sect of Jews who jump out of vans on red lights and dance around until the light turns green. Likewise, they got a kick of our description of what Happy-Clappy means.

I also learnt that some of my secular friends may have it slightly wrong. They often complain that religious men only study in the Yeshivas (torah school for life), the women start poppin' out kids in their teens, neither work and basically the families suckle off of the government teat. This family tells me the government stipend is only 300 shekels per month (100CAD) and that many "black" families work at least part time, many under the table. In this family, the man studies at the Yeshiva in the morning and works as a computer programmer in the afternoon. The wife teaches women's studies at a women's religious school a few mornings a week and otherwise takes care of her two kids with another on the way. Like me, they didn't understand how the hardest of the Hard-Cores, who really don't work at all, survive on such a pittance. There must be some charity going on or something.

Since cabs are hard to find on Shabbat, we had a long walk home in the cool evening. James de-kipped, I de-skirted and we both crawled into bed. Today woke up and managed to spend the day doing absolutely nothing. I have to say, this shabbat thing is pretty nice.

Clothing

When I was moving to Israel my brother's friend Avi, who had just returned from a stint in the Israeli Army, told me that Israelis are more conservative dressers than Canadians. I always considered myself a rather conservative dresser anyways so I wasn't worried. But it is TRUE! Israelis LOVE bland colours (white, navy, brown and black are the staples). Although I have seen some horrifically tight/animal print outfits on fashionistas downtown, they are not very common and in general the populous doesn't show as much skin as Canadians, and they like to wear far more clothing than the temperature calls for. I swear we saw a fur coat at 15 Celsius one day.

To wear my favorite pink shirt is a statement about my identity. "I AM BOLD! I AM NOT RELIGIOUS! I AM WESTERN! HEAR ME ROAR!" It cries out with enthusiasm.

I could blather on for hours about how clothing defines class and religious beliefs far more than any place I have ever heard of. A day in the old city is a great game of "Guess that Christian!" Armenian Monk? Catholic Nun? Coptic Priest? A walk on Shabbat is a display of all sorts of cool hats. Askanazi? Haredi? Reform? Secular? Hockey Fan? (I'll explain that in a later post). The Arab Quarter is a lesson in femininity. Women, completely covered except for their hands and faces are the most elegant looking people I have ever seen in their long tailored coats and fitted head coverings.

When traveling Israel, it is not worth putting anything in your suitcase that is above the knee. Sure there are lots of places you can wear those soccer shorts, but it is a pain when touriting far a day and find out you can't go in somewhere because you look like a tart for wearing a tank top. You may as well save the suitcase space and bring a pair of capris and a longish flowing skirt, some t-shirts and a light cardigan.

But this is the kicker. Where do you think I found the clothing issues are most restrictive when traveling? Look at the sign. Where do you think I took this picture?



a) At a kosher restaurant specializing in Ashkenazi food.
b) Recommended clothing posted outside a tour-guide place for seeing the Arab city of Acco.
c) In the door of an Orthodox church in the "new" part of Jerusalem.

To make you guess, I have posted the answer to the question in the comments section (click on the orange word "comments" below).

Shavuot

Israelis have been known to have cactus-like exteriors but I think the stabs you get are less prickles and more elbows in the ribs at the market. Outside of shopping and lining up in the airport when the elbows are in full force, the truth is, the Israelis we have met have been exceedingly kind and generous people. To prove my point, a labmate and his wife kindly invited us to a family holiday dinner at his mom's house in Ashdod.

Starting last night and into today is Shavuot. According to Wiki, this holiday hearkens all the way back to Noah and is a celebration of the harvesting of the first fruits of the year. Then it was forgotten, but Moses brought the holiday back. Now the holiday also celebrates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai.

I was a little confused. I though the burning bush was at the same time as the ten commandments, but my friends here, who studied all this stuff in school, got me straightened out. The flaming shrub told Moses to get the people out of Egypt. Mt. Sinai was later. (I blame the VHS bible stories we had as kids that someone taped off the TV. I think someone forgot to press record after one of the commercial sets and we were missing a bit of the story. Hence the confusion. I am lucky I don't think Noah survived a flood of locusts)

To add to the symbolic confusion, for some odd reason dairy products are eaten this day, so we pigged out on cheese, quiche, rice pudding, pizza, creme caramel, cheesy pasties and these awesome things called blintzes which are like crepes with a sweet cheese in them. (Blintz are a 10 out of 10 on the awesome cultural food scale; the passover fish blobs rate a 2.) To the Christians, this is also the beginning of Pentecost (who knew?) which in my apple pie experience is not a big holiday. I am all for bringing this tradition home. Just like Pancake Tuesday, I am going to start Cheesy Thursday!

There is one part of the holiday that I cannot see myself transferring back to Canada. Last night the religious folks in the city spent an all-nighter studying the Torah. Indeed, as we were driving back into the city we saw flocks of people filing into a synagogue at 11 pm. Then this morning they walked to the western wall before dawn. Although walking to the western wall for sunrise would have been cool, I am not into all nighters. No thanks. I survived all of undergrad without a single one.

Anyway, back to the party.

Our Hostess has an amazing apartment with a view out over the Mediterranean and the sunset was spectacular. Each of her children brought some friends so there was a lively crowd chatting about. Since the family has spent a lot of time in Africa, they had some items made out of an animal that rates high one the don't-kill-me-cause-I'm-cute scale. I asked how they got the items in the country and I mentioned my seal skin slippers that I wisely left in Canada. This dead-seal slippers comment got silence with couple of shocked gasps from the crowd. Oops. Clearly, not a good way to make friends. It turns out our Governor General's recent seal heart snack even hit Israeli media. So now they probably think that all Canadians are seal killers.

Ashdod is a new city, the most of which is only forty years old or so. It has a HUGE port, and James is dying to see it. Our hostess has invited us back so we can go see the port and go for a swim in the Mediterranean.

One more thing. After royally screwing up the "touching taboo" I got one right last night. I wore a skirt and a white T-shirt. Apparently white is the festive color in Israel. And that was all by accident.

Hugs and High Fives

Sometimes I feel like I am in a cultural minefield. With every step, I may or may not make a mistake. Today I made a new one.

Back in Alberta, my labmates gave high-fives so hard that my arm ached at night. High fives were for celebration and greeting and were occasionally a supreme act of athleticism as the slap of the palms was combined with a run, jump and a 360 degree turn.

One of my labmates here had a great result while I was gone and when I held my hand up for a celebratory high five...

I was shafted.

Utterly.

Normally, I would feel hurt, but the shafter was the kind of person who would never be rude intentionally. So I just went on with my work. Later he came to me and shyly said "I hope you weren't offended, but there is a rule for religious Jews that we cannot touch a woman that is not our wife." I replied that I was in no way offended. (In fact, I was a little pleased that one of my labmates realized I was female under the very stylish lab coat and glasses.)

Five minutes later, after thinking about how often I give high fives, hugs and even handshakes to members of the opposite sex, I had to ask him for a clarification. Can he hug his mom? Apparently, moms are the exception. Sisters are officially OK too but still a bit taboo.

He asked me if my religion had such rules and I initially answered no. But now I realize that is not exactly true. All sexual harassment issues aside, we do have cultural taboos about how we touch the opposite sex. Many Canadian men are the kings of the weak two pat hug. And taboo and religion are almost one in the same, aren't they?

The Bitter and the Sweet

According to David, an ever present theme in Jewish culture is the mixing of the bitter with the sweet. Times of celebration are also times of mourning. The sweet fruits and nuts of the passover seder are always alongside bitter herbs to represent the celebration of redemption and freedom and the agony of generations of slavery. Even Jewish-Kurdish kubah soup, a new staple in our culinary repertoire made with beets and savory meat filled dumplings, is a delicious paradox of both sour and sweet. This week's secular holidays are a perfect example of this tradition.

Today is Memorial Day, which started last night at dusk with one minute of eerie air raid sirens. This is a day to remember the sacrifice of soldiers of the Israeli Army, victims of terror, and the members of the resistance movement during the British Mandate. (I for one am a bit tossed up in the whole Jewish resistance movement thing; only two years later than Israel's independence, India jettisoned the British with a policy of non-violence. Blowing up a hotel full of people is not exactly something I would glorify. But this is besides the point of this post and is, literally, history.)

Today at dusk, there will be a ceremony to the end the sober Memorial Day and start the big party of Independence Day which continues through Wednesday. I just checked and there are events scheduled until 3:30 am tonight, and that isn't even the party for the "youth". Tomorrow, the parks will be full of families with wee hibachis roasting kebabs (this activity seems especially popular with the Arab community). There will be concerts and street exhibits and a bunch of museums will be free.

And I, I will not be getting any more TEM done as the nanocentre will be closed. Again. After two weeks of passover and my vacation coming up, for the love of Mike, I just want to get some work done!

On the holidays I will really be getting in the spirit by mixing the sweetness of seeing a free concert in the park with the bitterness of TEM-less frustration.

Seder Supper for Passover

Last night was the first night of Pessah and throughout the city, people were burning little fires on the side of the road in in parks to burn the last of the chametz in their house. We were invited for Seder meal at my boss' parents-in-law's in Rehovot in the evening. The boss picked us up and as we booted it out of the city in his new car (he is very proud of it), we could see a line of cars trying to get to Jerusalem that reminded me of the 400 leaving Toronto on a July friday night.

The evening was what a family dinner is all about and we are very glad to have been a part of it. The whole family are really nice and super interesting people. There were five kids under the age of nine so the volume of the dinner party was quite high and the mood energetic. There are so many details of the evening that I could tell you about, but I have done my best to adhere to the code of blogging brevity.

Out from deep in a closet, Sarah, the family matriarch brought out a bunch of well loved copies of the Haggadah, a book with the ceremony of the Seder written in it. James and I played "guess what page we are on" with our English copies as the lengthy texts were read and sung by everyone at the table throughout the meal. The boss' six year old son put my Hebrew reading to shame even though the text was like Shakespeare-Brew.

The Seder itself is a traditional meal where many of the food items are symbolic of the story of slavery in Egypt and the exodus. There were matsot, hard boiled eggs, a paste of apples and pecans, chopped liver (it was a lot less tasty after I was told what it was), parsley dipped in salt water, bright red horseradish, red wine (some of which is flicked about when each of the plagues were mentioned) and some odd fish blobs that were over processed to the point of hotdog status. I guess really traditional people still buy the fish alive and keep them in the bath tub for a couple of days and there is a whole ceremony to making these fish blobs. This solves the mystery of why we had seen live fish for sale for the first time at the market on tuesday.

And then there is the feast part. Lots and lots of yummy food. After we had read and sung and ate our way through the Seder, Rami the Grandpa brought out his accordion and played as the rest of us hummed along and chatted and drank coffee.

By the way, James says the kippah he was lent really hides his bald spot well. I have a sneaking suspicion the one he was given was a old reject children's kippah, so perhaps we should buy him his own to keep on hand.

Late, late in the evening, full and happy we piled into the car whereupon James and the Boss' six year old son nodded off on the drive home.

I will end this post with the phrase that ends the Seder:

Next Year in Jerusalem.

I be takin' your Chametz loot, YARR!

I love Passover.
We just came back from Tal's apartment, where she was shockingly dressed in an old tee and baggy pants rather than her usual stylish well-put-together bohemian-jew look. Tal was madly cleaning her apartment to get it ready for passover and she gave us two bags of chametz- wheat and fermented products and other reject items from her kitchen.
We got: flour, sugar, wheat bulgar, barley, bran flakes, ketchup, oats, sweet chili sauce, sushi rice, rice noodles, lasagna noodles, spaghetti noodles, wine, pecans, cherries, icing sugar, a loaf of bread and a big bottle of vodka.
Not to forget a perfectly good frying pan because they weren't sure if it was a meat or dairy pan.

Siu asked why the no wheat for passover when the rule is about leavened products. Well my understanding is that this is all to mimic the hardships of 40 years wandering the desert. In my observation, Kosher food rules seem to have been expanded upon just-in-case or perhaps sometimes for simplicity. Case in point: during passover no leavened products has become no wheat products at all. Another Case: no cooking meat in its mother's milk. This meat/dairy rule includes chicken even though a chicken doesn't lactate.

Procrastinating on Purim

The lab is silent except for the whirring of the glove box pumps and whoosh of the fume hoods. Today is Purim, and most of my lab mates are taking advantage of the mid week holiday to chill out with their kids and/or nurse a hangover.

Purim is the only holiday where Jews and expected to dress up (like Hallowe’en) and get drunk. All week we have been seeing kids dressed up like cowboys and jedis going to Purim parties. If you want to know the religious meaning of the holiday, check out the book of Ester. Basically it is a celebration of avoiding a much earlier biblical Holocaust.

This is the funny thing, in most of Israel, Purim was yesterday but for some strange reason, in walled cities like Jerusalem the holiday lies a day later. So yesterday there were lots of silly hats walking around campus and the odd princess or shepherd costume even though the holiday is officially today. I wonder if there will be more celebrations tonight since today we saw two guys on the street in a fro and a jester’s hat.

All night, music was pumped though our window. And when I say all night, I mean it. At one point I heard the dawn call to prayer and the music was still playing. I was awake because it was on of those awful nights where my mind races about possible catastrophes in the lab caused by me. “Did I unplug the heating mantle? I remember pushing the off button. I think. Maybe I have started a fire. But I would have noticed the smoking mantle before I left. Did I leave the solvent wash bottles near it? Should I walk to work? No, it should be off….”

When I got into work this morning, the heating mantle was unplugged and sitting benignly in the fume hood. Staring at me. Mocking me. I need a nap. Maybe I can take one on my desk since no one is here.

What's in the box?

A while ago, the guy who sold me lasagna at one of the campus restaurants asked for a raise and didn’t get it. So he left. He is now pursuing his other career full time: a mezuzah writer. I had to have this unfamiliar career explained to me and then I started noticing mezuzahs everywhere I looked.

On the entrance to almost every door frame in Israel (at a minimum the front door), there is a little box, usually tilted a little inward with a shin on the front. Inside is a piece of paper with an inscription from Deuteronomy painstakingly hand written with a quill. The pasta guy has in essence become a calligrapher but will write the same passage over and over again.

My labmate Yossi, (religious enough to eat kosher, wear a kippah and a spectacular full beard, but no black suit) tells me that it is important to have it just right or it doesn’t count. To get a good mezuzah, you need to pay the big bucks and make sure the mezuzah writer has a “real fear of God”. He had the one on the door to the students' office checked by a professional mezuzah checker and had to get a new one because there were “mistakes” (probably misshapen letters). Mezuzahs must be part of the university operating cost because they are on every door except the loo.

Curious about what exactly is written on a mezuzah? Well here are thirteen verses of the bible condensed in the Revised Janet Version: God is the bomb. Teach your kids so. Mark your door that you respect God [hence the mezuzah]. Don’t tick off God. Behave. If you do, you get the land God promised. Tell your kids that God got us out of that hell-hole, Egypt.

The cases range from cheap plastic to femo cartoon characters to beautifully ornate silver. And the letter on the front of the box? That is for “Shaddai” which is a really ancient name for the big guy upstairs. (fyi, shin-the w looking letter- makes a “sh” sound) Above are photos I took of the mezuzahs of my lab, office and the apartment doors in my building. The photo of the one our door frame didn't turn out so I didn't include it.