סַמְּכוּנִי בָּאֲשִׁישׁוֹת רַפְּדוּנִי בַּתַּפּוּחִים כִּי חוֹלַת אַהֲבָה אָנִי
In Israel, you really mean it when you say "מה נשתנה הלילה הזה, מכל הלילות." That's because, unlike the Jews who live everywhere else in the world, Jews living in Israel celebrate the Jewish festivals only one day; "הלילה הזה" really does mean "הלילה הזה" (this night) rather than "הלילה הזה וגם המחר." (tonight, and also tomorrow). I know that I've mentioned this fact before on my blog, but it makes an even greater difference on Pesach, which is probably the most ritual-laden of the Jewish festivals. This year, for the first time ever, I performed the seder only once. I was invited by Galit (my host-mother from Rosh Hashanah) to celebrate the first night and day of Pesach at her parents', which was very generous of them. The invitation made me feel as if there really are Israelis other than my students who are happy that I am spending the year here, and who enjoy my company.
Alex is traveling in Europe, and Veta is with her family and friends in Chaifa, leaving me alone in the apartment to hunt for Chametz. I'm a very hungry person, and happy to report that I had already eaten virtually all of the chametz. I swept up the rest, and while I did so, thought about past years' searches for chametz, back when I was house manager at the CJL at Cornell. One year, I remember, Peninah and I found a whole loaf of bread in the lounge downstairs.
Galit picked me up from my apartment on Monday afternoon, and I went to the local Sepharadi synagogue with Micha'el, her husband, and Saba Eliezer, her father. We returned to Saba and Savta's house at a little before 8:00 pm, and began the seder. There were about twelve of us seated around the seder table. For the first time, I met Galit's younger brother and sister, the latter of whom got married in August only a little bit after Andrew and Allison. As the only guest present, I received a lot of attention. The others were genuinely interested in learning about where I was from and about what I was doing in Israel. I managed to get by on my Hebrew, which felt fantastic. The Haggadah was, of course, entirely in Hebrew (except for the occasional Aramaic passages), and I could feel my practice paying off, although I did stumble when it was my turn to read. Peninah once told me before that the Jewish regional and family traditions manifest more visibly during the seder than during any other time of year, and I think that she's right. For instance, there seems to be an annual joke in my host family about on whose turn the passage about the Wicked Child falls (Galit's younger sister read it this year), and even though Shiloh, the youngest, recited the Four Questions, the rest of the table sang along with him in order to help him learn the words. Tamir complained to me that he never has never found the afikomen before (he subsequently found it in the laundry basket this year), and Or complained to me that, last year, even though she found the afikomen, she didn't receive any prize (apparently, they don't engage in the fierce bargaining that goes on in my house). Whereas American Jews tend to use horseradish as maror, this year, I consumed -- lettuce. Yes, that's right, lettuce. I do not know who decided that lettuce is a bitter herb. My only guess is that whoever made this decision made it long before the modern, bland strain of lettuce was bred, because, my friends, lettuce does not remind me of the bitterness of slavery. Nothing reminds you of the pains and hardships of forced labor quite like a eye-watering, face-reddening, throat-burning, palate-peeling, mouthful of freshly-ground horseradish, especially if your Mother pounded it out of a root that she pulled out of the garden just a couple of hours ago.
Also, for those of you who remember the slight misunderstanding that occurred back in Rosh Hashannah concerning my, er, dietary choices, I'm past the point of no return, and ate more meat during the festive meal than I have in the last several years combined. Yes, I've been a vegetarian since the end of Middle School, but if I now express this view to my host family, it will become very difficult and embarrassing to explain everything. Again, I'm just trying to prioritize politeness and good behavior, and if that happens to mean that with this one family, on Jewish holidays, that I will be eating meat, so be it. As it is, it turns out that I really, really like the taste of cooked vegetables wrapped in cow intestines.
The last words of the hagadah, recited annually, are "לשנה הבאה בירושלים." This year, those words had special significance to me. I managed to make it all the way here, to Israel, from the United States. I had hoped to be able to spend more time here, continuing to work as a teacher and educator. Unfortunately, I was recently turned down by the program that I had hoped would give me an opportunity to continue my work here. In other words, with no job, I have no future here in Israel, and must return to the United States, where it is equally unlikely that I will manage to find a job for this coming year. When I said "לשנה הבאה בירושלים," it felt more like an exceptional request than like a prediction, or even a reasonable suggestion. Next year, maybe, just maybe, I'll still be in Israel, and, even if so, I probably won't be in Jerusalem (in fact, I'd rather like to be back with Saba and Savta -- I have an open invitation). But if I am in Israel, it's because I'll be making something of myself. I'll be working a real job, speaking Hebrew, and making a real difference with my students. So I repeat, with emphasis, "לשנה הבאה בירושלים."
After the seder's conclusion, Micha'el and Saba Eliezer recited all of Shir Hashirim, making me reminisce, of Shir Hashirim at second seder two years ago, the most memorable recitation of my life (מַה יָּפִית וּמַה נָּעַמְתְּ אַהֲבָה בַּתַּעֲנוּגִים זֹאת קוֹמָתֵךְ דָּמְתָה לְתָמָר). Then, Galit and Micha'el, with Shiloh in tow, brought me nearly all the way back to my apartment on Yoseftal, so that I wouldn't get lost trying to find my way. It was nearly midnight by this time, but there were plenty of people out. On the way, I thought about how comforting it feels to be in a country where most of the people around me are celebrating the same holidays, and that my late-night walks home fall on the same nights as everyone else's.
The next morning, I walked to the synagogue, and arrived at Ashrei. Synagogue had begun "late" at 8:00 am, because of the seder the night before, as opposed to the regular starting time of 6:30 am. By pure coincidence, I ended up sitting next to a seventeen-year-old boy whose family was hosting my fellow volunteer Harry for Pesach! Afterwards, I walked back to Saba Eliezer's apartment, and spent time with the family until lunchtime. Once again, excellent food; once again, lots of meat. At one point, the conversation turned to how much Americans love meat (Israelis perceive Americans as subsisting mostly on hamburgers), and I demurred from commenting. I returned back to my apartment for some reading of the book of moral philosophy that Eli lent to me, which is slow going, but enjoyable. I passed out while reading, but woke up in time for minchah. After arvit and the beginning of the counting of the Omer, I returned to my hosts' house. They had more guests for their (I was very happy to see) dairy dinner. Before we ate, Saba asked me to read the label on a bottle of medicine treating low blood-sugar. I was incredibly happy to be able to put my English-fluency to good use. Even though Galit and Micha'el speak excellent English, this was all medical English, partly in fine-print. I'm amazed that it's even possible to sell medicine with labels in foreign languages here. Using medicine incorrectly because of a language barrier could cause serious harm, even death. I wonder why the pharmaceutical industry works this way? The point is, I read that the medicine did indeed do what Saba had been told that it did, and also told him the dosage size, and the number of doses. Meanwhile, the children were playing video games, all of which were in English. It's now easy to see why some Israeli children are able to pick up English so easily from the media around them. Galit drove me home afterwards, at around 10:00.
It's now Chol Hamo'ed, and I'm enjoying some time to rest. I've made some surprisingly good egg salad, thanks largely to the dill that Alex left in the refrigerator, but I am nevertheless very much looking forward to being able to eat lentils, chickpeas, and rice again. It's hard to be an Ashkenazic vegetarian at this time of year, especially with my income so modest.
And, meanwhile, it seems as if one of my favorite people back in Ithaca was hospitalized over Pesach.
רפואה שלמה לך ולכל החולים בעולם.
~JD
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