The night was a complete bust unless my goal was "not sleep." In that case, the night was a complete success. I stayed up reading the wikipedia entry on Maddie's unit (in Hebrew and English) and then reading it again. Then I made sure to get up, shower, get everything all ready and look at the clock, realize that I still had 2 hours to go before we left and do it all again.
Jeff picked us up at 7:05 and we headed out. First, to Beit Shemesh to pick up his wife and elder son, and then down to Zikim, a touch south of Ashkelon to the base for the graduation ceremony. The ride, itself, was wonderfully direct and uneventful, except for the parts that required spinning around and driving up and down mountains. And there were some cows also. But we made it down before 9AM and found out that the parking was being handled by the people who run the Israeli bureaucracy. There was a modicum of yelling and pointing and eventually forms had to be filled out. So we, as tourists, walked away and assumed it would all sort itself out. Julie and I walked up a hill and down a hill and got to the assembly point where we would all (the hundreds of other families and friends) meet the approaching soldiers who were on the last part of a 10 mile hike and walk them to the celebration. It was hot but exciting. It wook a bit but then, under the cover of yellow smoke, the group approached. Maddie was towards the back, helping to carry a soldier on a stretcher. I applied for the job of "lying on stretcher" but it was already filled by another soldier who was taking selfies. Maddie was radiant in her camouflage war paint and Israeli flag.
I have to say, all kidding aside, this was an incredibly touching moment. She has become part of something really special. She has followed a dream and persevered, keeping up and surpassing and I really am proud of her! So there.
We walked with her and her unit and all the families over to the open area so that we could mill around, buy a DVD and find seats on the grandstands. Then, after some pictures, we took our seats in the sun heard all the songs, watched the soldiers stand through all the speeches, took more pictures, saw the exemplary soldiers receive their special certificates, witnessed the giving of the orange berets to replace the basic-training-olive berets and then saw the soldiers throw the berets up in the air as we all cheered. And took more pictures. We came down off the bleachers so that we could congratulate her and realized that, because of the uniformity of the uniforms, the distance and the camouflage, we had been cheering the wrong kid. Whatever. Yay IDF. All of you.
More pictures, the compulsory meeting of the friends, seeing her concrete slab of a bed (seriously -- they all slept in sleeping backs on what looked like a basketball court, her returning her special vest (with extra pockets for junk food when one doesn't feel like carrying grenades), and gathering her stuff. The Lone Soldiers had a special gathering where there were more speeches (the standard ones with themes like "You aren't really alone" and "you are part of an important tradition" and "make sure you give us the vests back") and grape juice. After more waiting around we all got under way for the return (Maddie and Julie got in the car while Maddie's friend and I took a shuttle to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere to catch a bus to the central Jerusalem bus station). I slept on the bus.
Maddie reported that she and Julie were waylaid in Efrat so they wouldn't meet us just yet so we decided to go to Cinema City and kill time after the friend showed me his apartment and got out of his uniform. He's in the infantry and carries a different gun from Maddie. I think that's how the soldiers assess each other -- not by stripes or shoulder patches, but by which gun they carry. Maddie has an M-16 or an M-4. I would carry an M+M. In my vest.
A light lunch at Greg's Cafe (where you can get anything you want, except Greg). The friend had the Indian tapas platter. I don't like having to assemble my own lunch so I got the fish cakes and an egg salad sammich. To drink, a fruit smoothie. All very nice. The accompanying Israeli salad had too many red onions, but tasted of fresh Israeli. We met Julie and Maddie and saw Maddie's apartment. The friend worked on "aging" Maddie's beret so she didn't look like such a newbie. The required shaving it down and then hitting it with a combination of hair spray and a lighter. Then shaving off the charred bits (and admiring the friend's newly smooth legs, his having burned off the hair accidentally) and wetting and shaping the beret. After a few hours of delaying, we went over to the shuk where we argued over where to eat. We settled on 2 different restaurants (Fishen Chips and Pasta Basta) and sad amidst the Thursday night throngs. In Israel, the conversion rate has 1 Saturday Night (US)=1 Thursday New Israeli Evening. The bars were loud and over full. The walking was difficult and the music was obnoxious. Imagine Time's Square full of 16 year old Israelis and 19 year old Israelis. Mix in 55 year old Israelis smoking and some random Europeans and put it all indoors in a mid-sized mall. Make it all smell like old fish, and voila. Shuk.
The last question was whether we would go out for a drink afterwards. That was solved by the sleeping. I returned to Nomi and David's place, chatted with them for a bit and fell asleep and that's the important part. Today, walking around Yaffo Road, spending money (Maddie wants to get her uniform further tailored), eating felafel and going to the kotel before Shabbat. More info if anything actually happens.
Friday, June 9, 2017
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
The night before
So here I am, lying in bed with a cool Judean hills breeze and the sound of Israel outside my window, unable to sleep. 1:17 AM and nothing. I'd love to say it is because of the excitement as I eagerly await Maddie's tekes (graduation type program) in the morning, but that's not really it. How can any civilized country consider itself part of the global community if it puts its darkness on in the middle of the afternoon. My body knows that it is not even 6:30 PM. It should be light out and I should be complaining that I'm tired. Someone should tell the prime minister that the darkness machine is broken and needs to be set back 7 hours. Truth is I should not be expected to have adjusted to the new time zone yet. That should set in about 30 minutes before I return to the U.S.
Did I mention that when we left the Paris airport, the recorded announcement warned us that pickpockets abound? Maybe it would be more efficient to, you know, arrest criminals instead of just warning tourists. Maybe not. What do I know - clearly the French government has more experience dealing with lawless behavior and it knows that acceptance is the best course of action.
So today (yesterday? I don't know. Will this be on the test?) I woke up at about 9. Maybe. I showered, ate food. Caught up on the Internet and then went back to sleep til 1pm. At the time it seemed like the most reasonable course of action but now I realize that I don't know what "at that time" even means anymore.
At 2, Steve and Senja gave us a ride to the big, local mall. Because we have no malls in Bergen County. When I go to the mall in America, I look for products that I can't get locally or online, so I buy nothing. At a mall in Israel, I look for anything I can't get at a mall in Bergen County, so I got pizza. There are 5 kosher, dairy food choices in the mall. I chose Il Fresco or something like that because it was the only one that had regular pizza ready to go. I don't like olives, I don't want onions. Keep your weird veggie slices. I want pizza. So I got two slices and ate in the food court like a normal, obese American.
Julie went to a Judaica store and spent half an hour looking at head scarves. I don't understand how one can agonize over the color or texture of a head scarf thing. Green or black or red. They are all the same. Who is going to notice? Maybe the proprietor of another scarf store? I won't. The same holds true for ritual items. Do I care if my sacramental wine cup is etched or bejeweled or glass or blue? No. As long as it holds the grape juice, whatever. What was nice though, was that Julie kept me in the moment by asking me all sorts of rhetorical questions like, "do you like this one better?" and "does this match the red dress I have at home?" and "please give me the credit card." The mall had stores like Zip, Diesel and Nimrod where they were selling none of those things. Pity. I need a new Nimrod.
Good times.
S and S picked us up and we returned to Efrat. By now you should have asked the obvious question (and I'll admit - I'm a little peeved that you haven't): "Pizza? You were in a mall with all sorts of kosher food and you had pizza?" A fair question and I'm glad you asked, jerk. First off, I had had a long espresso and needed something to eat fast. Caffeine sometimes makes me crazy like that. Hey, maybe that's why I can't sleep. No. Definitely not - the problem is that the sunlight is broken. Anyway, we were scheduled to arrive on June 6, our 24th anniversary and I had asked the Lauderdales to pick up a cake. They searched and found one that was nut free and dairy so that I could skip the benadryl and the cake would be dairy (Zog say dairy cake good) . But when we came in, not only was it after midnight, but I was still within the 6 hour waiting period after eating what passed for meat on the plane. So the cake was waiting for me today after the mall. I stuck with pizza so I could eat cake, a truly Noble purpose.
It was worth it. Damn fine cake.
We got back, I ate much cake. Others might have had a little but who cares. I ate cake. We had received an invitation to the Oshins' for a cookout and I sorely wanted to take them up on that (the Oshins throw a kick-butt cook out) but, you know, cake. If the Oshins ever invite you and you have a dairy cake option, you will understand how difficult a decision it is. Jeff had suggested cake first, but by the time I stopped eating cake, the idea of having other food seemed ill advised. So shout out and apologies to the Oshins.
Julie and Lauderdale kids made a banner for us to wave at the tekes and then I thought I was tired. Clearly I was wrong. I wonder if the Oshins gave any hot dogs left.
Also, there is a mosquito in this room now and I was promised no mosquitoes. This will not end well.
1:58 in the morning, fake time. Maddie begins her long hike imminently. We are incredibly proud. Thinking of her and counting the moments before I can get up, shower and have more cake.
Delay of Deland (or, Going on 2 legs in the afternoon)
Ah Paris. What a way to spend an anniversary -- and then to top it all off with a romantic plane ride...this is what I signed up twenty-four.
Did I mention the flight from Paris was delayed? Maybe it was the rain and thunder, maybe standard inefficiency or something more interesting but bottom line, sit and wait. And wait. CDG is a lovely airport at which to pay too much for water, play solitaire or charge an iPhone. They also kept making announcements about people being asked to come over to gate A40-something, and though the announcements were in 3 languages, I wasn't sure what they were saying. Incomprehensible is a universal concept. Eventually, when I worked up the courage, I asked Julie to find out what was going on and she said we should report to A40-something for additional security screening. Cool, I like screens.
Our little meeting with the good folks at El Al was interesting. Julie and I share many things, but not a last name, so they had some trouble wrapping their heads around why I never took her last name or why we would leave the airport for 2 hours. They also were concerned that we left our carry-ons in the possession of the guys at the local "leave your luggage here" place so they had to be hand searched. The luggage, not the guys at the place. But how would the El Al guys know if something not ours was slipped in there? They wouldn't, so they watched us as WE searched our own luggage. I was hoping they wouldn't ask me to give myself a cavity search. I can be pretty rough.
We found some questionable nail polish but that's about it.
On this flight, I also paid extra for the leg room (an exit row). I requested an aisle seat for Julie. Our tickets actually said "exit row" and on Julie's, "Aisle." But here's the thing, Ralph -- even though her ticket said "aisle" her seat was a window seat. This is the joy of a 747-400. And right in front of her was the airplane door which jutted out actually giving her LESS leg space. I had the middle seat which did give me the leg space but there are trade offs. The video screens flip out and up from under the seats and have no remotes. That didn't prove to be a problem because they didn't work, anyway. The tray tables are a bit wider but snugger on one's lap. Also, no overhead bins or lights or seatback with magazines in it. But legroom. Legroom good. Other stuff, not good. Verdict? A weak win, but I'll pay for the ability to stand up without climbing on people any day of the week.
Julie spent much of the rest of our anniversary on the flight professing her love for the cheesecake from Korcarz. I suggested a fromage a trois but was roundly (and rightly) ignored. My humor is oppressive, but it's a dry humor.
By 4:05 (though I don't know what day or time zone) we hadn't left (2:40 ETD) I was feeling punchy because according to my circadian rhythm it was actually half-past-I-should-have-been-asleep-yesterday-ago-o'clock. By punchy I mean I had no filter left and wanted to punch that kid who kept crying a few rows back. We finally took off at 5:15 local time. We should have taken an express. See? Punchy.
I ate a meal (I have lost track how many meals I have eaten recently. I would certainly pay less for a 4 hour flight with no meal service). What is nice about El Al is that I can eat the food everyone eats and not struggle with layers of plastic and aluminum foil. Sure, the food is still pretty bad, but it is the same "bad" as most everyone else's. I realize one of the reasons for this -- in an effort to avoid bad people with bad intentions' being able to do anything evil, only plastic cutlery is issued so the main course has to be edible with a dull spoon. Therefore, there can be nothing in the way of chicken in the chicken nuggets and the nuggets must be the most tender and succulent collections of bread meal and eggs. Also, no spices as they might be used to blind the flight crew I guess. And for some reason, properly cooked green beans are a no-no according to the TSA. I had the chicken and Julie had the wine. Her meal was better.
On my iPad, I watched "Fist Fight." Don't. Save yourself the hundreds of dollars it would cost to get a plane ticket, get an iPad and watch this. It wasn't very good. You're welcome. Julie then watched "A Dog's Purpose." Now I thought Sparky's purpose involved fertilizing my lawn and biting people but according to this movie, the reincarnation of the soul has more to do with a spiritual need to meet Dennis Quaid. Who knew? I wonder what Sparky is up to.
We landed at Ben Gurion airport at 10:15 Israel time, I think. Someone's time, that's for sure. Last off after we got our stuff and made the rounds apologizing to the flight crew. Because we didn't check any luggage we assumed that things would move quickly. We made the mistake, though, of lining up at booth 23 for the Passport Control. Friends, please, don't use line 23. The guy wasn't just asking people questions before he let them into the country, I believe he was writing biographies for each person. Except us. He was a bit confused by why we had different last names and yet still insisted we were married, but then he shrugged his shoulders and let us go. Senja and Steve had set up a car for us so we contacted the driver and made it to Efrat by a bit after midnight. Julie used the shower and I availed myself of the pillows.
So now (for those of you keeping score at home) it is almost 11AM. I am sitting at the computer while Julie sleeps. We traveled thousands of miles (and, if my calculations are correct, and why wouldn't they be, billions of kilometers) for an experience like this. To our various hosts, drivers, family and friends (Steve and Senja, Jeff and Sharon, Marci, Nomi and David and anyone else) a sincere and hearty THANK YOU for making this all possible.
More events as updates warrant.
Did I mention the flight from Paris was delayed? Maybe it was the rain and thunder, maybe standard inefficiency or something more interesting but bottom line, sit and wait. And wait. CDG is a lovely airport at which to pay too much for water, play solitaire or charge an iPhone. They also kept making announcements about people being asked to come over to gate A40-something, and though the announcements were in 3 languages, I wasn't sure what they were saying. Incomprehensible is a universal concept. Eventually, when I worked up the courage, I asked Julie to find out what was going on and she said we should report to A40-something for additional security screening. Cool, I like screens.
Our little meeting with the good folks at El Al was interesting. Julie and I share many things, but not a last name, so they had some trouble wrapping their heads around why I never took her last name or why we would leave the airport for 2 hours. They also were concerned that we left our carry-ons in the possession of the guys at the local "leave your luggage here" place so they had to be hand searched. The luggage, not the guys at the place. But how would the El Al guys know if something not ours was slipped in there? They wouldn't, so they watched us as WE searched our own luggage. I was hoping they wouldn't ask me to give myself a cavity search. I can be pretty rough.
We found some questionable nail polish but that's about it.
On this flight, I also paid extra for the leg room (an exit row). I requested an aisle seat for Julie. Our tickets actually said "exit row" and on Julie's, "Aisle." But here's the thing, Ralph -- even though her ticket said "aisle" her seat was a window seat. This is the joy of a 747-400. And right in front of her was the airplane door which jutted out actually giving her LESS leg space. I had the middle seat which did give me the leg space but there are trade offs. The video screens flip out and up from under the seats and have no remotes. That didn't prove to be a problem because they didn't work, anyway. The tray tables are a bit wider but snugger on one's lap. Also, no overhead bins or lights or seatback with magazines in it. But legroom. Legroom good. Other stuff, not good. Verdict? A weak win, but I'll pay for the ability to stand up without climbing on people any day of the week.
Julie spent much of the rest of our anniversary on the flight professing her love for the cheesecake from Korcarz. I suggested a fromage a trois but was roundly (and rightly) ignored. My humor is oppressive, but it's a dry humor.
By 4:05 (though I don't know what day or time zone) we hadn't left (2:40 ETD) I was feeling punchy because according to my circadian rhythm it was actually half-past-I-should-have-been-asleep-yesterday-ago-o'clock. By punchy I mean I had no filter left and wanted to punch that kid who kept crying a few rows back. We finally took off at 5:15 local time. We should have taken an express. See? Punchy.
I ate a meal (I have lost track how many meals I have eaten recently. I would certainly pay less for a 4 hour flight with no meal service). What is nice about El Al is that I can eat the food everyone eats and not struggle with layers of plastic and aluminum foil. Sure, the food is still pretty bad, but it is the same "bad" as most everyone else's. I realize one of the reasons for this -- in an effort to avoid bad people with bad intentions' being able to do anything evil, only plastic cutlery is issued so the main course has to be edible with a dull spoon. Therefore, there can be nothing in the way of chicken in the chicken nuggets and the nuggets must be the most tender and succulent collections of bread meal and eggs. Also, no spices as they might be used to blind the flight crew I guess. And for some reason, properly cooked green beans are a no-no according to the TSA. I had the chicken and Julie had the wine. Her meal was better.
On my iPad, I watched "Fist Fight." Don't. Save yourself the hundreds of dollars it would cost to get a plane ticket, get an iPad and watch this. It wasn't very good. You're welcome. Julie then watched "A Dog's Purpose." Now I thought Sparky's purpose involved fertilizing my lawn and biting people but according to this movie, the reincarnation of the soul has more to do with a spiritual need to meet Dennis Quaid. Who knew? I wonder what Sparky is up to.
We landed at Ben Gurion airport at 10:15 Israel time, I think. Someone's time, that's for sure. Last off after we got our stuff and made the rounds apologizing to the flight crew. Because we didn't check any luggage we assumed that things would move quickly. We made the mistake, though, of lining up at booth 23 for the Passport Control. Friends, please, don't use line 23. The guy wasn't just asking people questions before he let them into the country, I believe he was writing biographies for each person. Except us. He was a bit confused by why we had different last names and yet still insisted we were married, but then he shrugged his shoulders and let us go. Senja and Steve had set up a car for us so we contacted the driver and made it to Efrat by a bit after midnight. Julie used the shower and I availed myself of the pillows.
So now (for those of you keeping score at home) it is almost 11AM. I am sitting at the computer while Julie sleeps. We traveled thousands of miles (and, if my calculations are correct, and why wouldn't they be, billions of kilometers) for an experience like this. To our various hosts, drivers, family and friends (Steve and Senja, Jeff and Sharon, Marci, Nomi and David and anyone else) a sincere and hearty THANK YOU for making this all possible.
More events as updates warrant.
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Leg 1, Dan 0
We are on our way to go see Maddie's tekes kumta, her beret granting ceremony in which she marches 10 miles to get a beret. In other words, a regular day at the mall. We started out by experiencing Igor the Uber driver and a nice drive to JFK. Our flight was scheduled on American Airlines, for 5:15PM.
We got to the airport with time to spare, got ourselves checked in and settled in at the gate. I noticed a desk and went up to ask a question about our Kosher meals. Then the line started behind me. I figured that they all had questions about Kosher meals so I shrugged it off, but soon, the desk agent started telling people to sit back down because "if you don't have a seat, I'll call you." Well, I had a seat so I didn't worry. Then the Chuds came.
Apparently, our flight equipment (ii.e. the plane) had been downgraded. I don't want to hear that my plane has been downgraded. When I hear "downgraded" al I can think is "rubber bands" and damned if I am going to have to twist rubber bands to fly across the Atlantic. The 767 which was expected FROM Paris was delayed so they gave us a 757 instead. Now a 757 is a fine aircraft but not state of the art. It holds fewer people so stand-by passengers could not be given seats and people who paid for seats couldn't be given seats. Let the madness ensue. Business class people were being pushed into commoner seating and commoners were being bumped. An offer was made -- if you are willing to take a later flight, American would give you a whopping $500 credit towards another American flight. Um, that's not going to cut it. We already regret taking American -- we aren't going to be bought by the promise of more poor planning. Cash or go blow, my friend. So we didn't give up our seats. I had paid for the "plus" seats with more leg room so I didn't want to risk losing that. And I was afraid that the Kosher food reservation would be lost. We demured. The flight became severely delayed. Apparently, a smaller aircraft means smaller shaped meals so we had to wait for catering services to come over and get things all squared away. The next rumor to circulate was that the later flight was downgraded also so no one who volunteered could even be sure of getting a later seat. Suckers, I thought.
Then the karma came. Amidst the sour mood we began boarding at 6:05. Yes, we had seats. Yes, they were seats 20A and B as expected. But on a 757, those are not the preferred seats we paid for. They are regular "I can't breathe" seats. Calls will be made and a refund had better be tendered because I went crazy stuck in those seats for 6 hours. Harumph! Also, the overhead bin above row 20 is full of oxygen tanks so there is no room for the carry on luggage! Oxygen? Who even uses that stuff anymore?
Now the 757 is a fine plane, but it is like asking your friend Biff to help you move and getting his little brother Peanut, instead. Yeah, he'll try really hard and do a serviceable job, and he is cute in a way, but still, Peanut. Come on. So, yes, I'm taking your gol-darned earbuds whether I need them or not. Cold comfort is still comfort. The exit-information card is from 2013. I'd like to think that exit card information has gone through a series of advances technologically since then and I was afraid I missed something by using out of date diagrams and such. Worrisome, indeed. My subsequent nausea was both caused and exacerbated by the 2 films, Beauty and the Beast and The LEGO Movie. The audio jack didn't work very well and I never liked "Don't Worry, Be Happy" especially on a loop.
We made fine time and eventually deplaned. I had to find a place to daven and had researched Charles De Gaulle airport so I knew that there was a synagogue available to the faithful. Well, that's not entirely true -- there is a multi-faith service area which means a mosque with a small room with a star of David on it. Julie and I made the decision to avoid that particular configuration so I davened in a photo booth. Not as spiritually fulfilling as you might think. And no, no pictures.
Our plan was to hop an RER train (sort of a light rail) into Paris to have some breakfast and lunch (simultaneously) and then jump back on the train and get to the airport before our flight to Tel Aviv left. So we struggled with our phones, paid a company to store our bags, tried to figure out the ticketing line and asked many strangers many questions. Eventually we got to the station (Eau de floret or something not at all like that) and walked down a bunch of streets with names like Rue De and Sauf or Neuf or Sortie or what not. Eventually, we found our way to the Jewish neighborhood and explored the bakery (I had an espresso, Julie had everything else), a falafel place (I had a cup o' falafel, and Julie had one in a pita). Julie insists that this falafel place (World of Falafel, or in French, Vorld Le Falafel, I think) is the best ever. Good, yes. Best, I still hold Moshiko in that spot. Then she bought chocolates at Dam-yell, which is what you do when you have to pay obscene prices for chocolate.
Then back on the train and back to get our luggage, only to find that our flight to Tel Aviv, scheduled variously at 2:30, 2:35 and 2:40 was now listed at 3:30. So I'm sitting -- falafel, 2 airplane meals, a beer and an espresso rumbling their way through my intestinal tract watching, and waiting for the second leg, El Al flight 324 to start boarding and giving me more reason to hate most everyone and everything.
We got to the airport with time to spare, got ourselves checked in and settled in at the gate. I noticed a desk and went up to ask a question about our Kosher meals. Then the line started behind me. I figured that they all had questions about Kosher meals so I shrugged it off, but soon, the desk agent started telling people to sit back down because "if you don't have a seat, I'll call you." Well, I had a seat so I didn't worry. Then the Chuds came.
Apparently, our flight equipment (ii.e. the plane) had been downgraded. I don't want to hear that my plane has been downgraded. When I hear "downgraded" al I can think is "rubber bands" and damned if I am going to have to twist rubber bands to fly across the Atlantic. The 767 which was expected FROM Paris was delayed so they gave us a 757 instead. Now a 757 is a fine aircraft but not state of the art. It holds fewer people so stand-by passengers could not be given seats and people who paid for seats couldn't be given seats. Let the madness ensue. Business class people were being pushed into commoner seating and commoners were being bumped. An offer was made -- if you are willing to take a later flight, American would give you a whopping $500 credit towards another American flight. Um, that's not going to cut it. We already regret taking American -- we aren't going to be bought by the promise of more poor planning. Cash or go blow, my friend. So we didn't give up our seats. I had paid for the "plus" seats with more leg room so I didn't want to risk losing that. And I was afraid that the Kosher food reservation would be lost. We demured. The flight became severely delayed. Apparently, a smaller aircraft means smaller shaped meals so we had to wait for catering services to come over and get things all squared away. The next rumor to circulate was that the later flight was downgraded also so no one who volunteered could even be sure of getting a later seat. Suckers, I thought.
Then the karma came. Amidst the sour mood we began boarding at 6:05. Yes, we had seats. Yes, they were seats 20A and B as expected. But on a 757, those are not the preferred seats we paid for. They are regular "I can't breathe" seats. Calls will be made and a refund had better be tendered because I went crazy stuck in those seats for 6 hours. Harumph! Also, the overhead bin above row 20 is full of oxygen tanks so there is no room for the carry on luggage! Oxygen? Who even uses that stuff anymore?
Now the 757 is a fine plane, but it is like asking your friend Biff to help you move and getting his little brother Peanut, instead. Yeah, he'll try really hard and do a serviceable job, and he is cute in a way, but still, Peanut. Come on. So, yes, I'm taking your gol-darned earbuds whether I need them or not. Cold comfort is still comfort. The exit-information card is from 2013. I'd like to think that exit card information has gone through a series of advances technologically since then and I was afraid I missed something by using out of date diagrams and such. Worrisome, indeed. My subsequent nausea was both caused and exacerbated by the 2 films, Beauty and the Beast and The LEGO Movie. The audio jack didn't work very well and I never liked "Don't Worry, Be Happy" especially on a loop.
We made fine time and eventually deplaned. I had to find a place to daven and had researched Charles De Gaulle airport so I knew that there was a synagogue available to the faithful. Well, that's not entirely true -- there is a multi-faith service area which means a mosque with a small room with a star of David on it. Julie and I made the decision to avoid that particular configuration so I davened in a photo booth. Not as spiritually fulfilling as you might think. And no, no pictures.
Our plan was to hop an RER train (sort of a light rail) into Paris to have some breakfast and lunch (simultaneously) and then jump back on the train and get to the airport before our flight to Tel Aviv left. So we struggled with our phones, paid a company to store our bags, tried to figure out the ticketing line and asked many strangers many questions. Eventually we got to the station (Eau de floret or something not at all like that) and walked down a bunch of streets with names like Rue De and Sauf or Neuf or Sortie or what not. Eventually, we found our way to the Jewish neighborhood and explored the bakery (I had an espresso, Julie had everything else), a falafel place (I had a cup o' falafel, and Julie had one in a pita). Julie insists that this falafel place (World of Falafel, or in French, Vorld Le Falafel, I think) is the best ever. Good, yes. Best, I still hold Moshiko in that spot. Then she bought chocolates at Dam-yell, which is what you do when you have to pay obscene prices for chocolate.
Then back on the train and back to get our luggage, only to find that our flight to Tel Aviv, scheduled variously at 2:30, 2:35 and 2:40 was now listed at 3:30. So I'm sitting -- falafel, 2 airplane meals, a beer and an espresso rumbling their way through my intestinal tract watching, and waiting for the second leg, El Al flight 324 to start boarding and giving me more reason to hate most everyone and everything.
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Mother, May, she
While congress might not have voted on this just yet, it is a well known fact that this month is my mother's month. I say "well known" because I, well, know it.
May is my mom's month. I have just said that 10 times fast so that makes it official. You can look that up -- it is a true fact that I read in a blog I just wrote on the internet so it must be true.
Between Mothers' Day and her birthday (and other salient points) this month is set aside to celebrate the singular person who is my mom and in that vein, I take some time on a Sunday in May to write a poem to my mom. And I do this despite the first-world-problem I am wrestling with, the trouble my computer is having with the M key. I suffer in order to celebrate this lovely lady.
I call this poem "Motherc"
--------------------------------------
M is for the many months in which I was reportedly in your womb. I have no particular proof of this but lacking evidence to the contrary, I am forced to concede its probability
O is for the ovaries. If you need me to explain their relevance, you should probably not be reading this.
T is for the trouble that I got in as a youngster. I was pretty much a jerk.
H is the eighth letter of the alphabet. I learned that from my mother. Maybe. I might just have counted. But I give her credit to be sure, you know?
E is for the everyman, the spirit within us all that strives for survival in this dog-at-dog world, the drive to be accepted and loved and make our way through life. Truth is, E was voted "least likely to be for anything related to your mother" but I had to include it for certain contractual reasons.
R is for Rosen. Duh.
C is for cookie. Et cetera.
--------------------
I think that the meter fails in the second half of the fourth line of the eighth stanza but I invoke poetic license, and essayists learner's permit.
So, in sum, happy May to my mum, the Dear Ol' Mom of email fame. May this month and year be yours for years to come.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
May is my mom's month. I have just said that 10 times fast so that makes it official. You can look that up -- it is a true fact that I read in a blog I just wrote on the internet so it must be true.
Between Mothers' Day and her birthday (and other salient points) this month is set aside to celebrate the singular person who is my mom and in that vein, I take some time on a Sunday in May to write a poem to my mom. And I do this despite the first-world-problem I am wrestling with, the trouble my computer is having with the M key. I suffer in order to celebrate this lovely lady.
I call this poem "Motherc"
--------------------------------------
M is for the many months in which I was reportedly in your womb. I have no particular proof of this but lacking evidence to the contrary, I am forced to concede its probability
O is for the ovaries. If you need me to explain their relevance, you should probably not be reading this.
T is for the trouble that I got in as a youngster. I was pretty much a jerk.
H is the eighth letter of the alphabet. I learned that from my mother. Maybe. I might just have counted. But I give her credit to be sure, you know?
E is for the everyman, the spirit within us all that strives for survival in this dog-at-dog world, the drive to be accepted and loved and make our way through life. Truth is, E was voted "least likely to be for anything related to your mother" but I had to include it for certain contractual reasons.
R is for Rosen. Duh.
C is for cookie. Et cetera.
--------------------
I think that the meter fails in the second half of the fourth line of the eighth stanza but I invoke poetic license, and essayists learner's permit.
So, in sum, happy May to my mum, the Dear Ol' Mom of email fame. May this month and year be yours for years to come.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Friday, May 19, 2017
I'm a traditional-ish
I wrote recently about traditions within Judaism and, unlike earlier experiences, writing has not cleared my mental cache -- instead it has spurred on more questions. Now, I have a site that I go to when I have to ask questions, but this is a bit too extensive for the format of that site so I will just place the whole ball o' wax here in the hopes that someone will read it and explain it all to me. I do, however, recommend the other site if you want to read up and enter the discussion about other topics related to Judaism.
So if you are not conversant in Jewish law and tradition, you can follow along. Sorry if you don't understand all the words and concepts -- I'll explain what I remember to, but I have spent so long not making sense that it is sort of my default and I don't always notice it. If you are a relative expert, chime in but please, please be gentle -- I am still a child in terms of my learning and am soliciting help because I am starting to come to terms with the volume of what I don't know.
I am confused about what exactly, under Jewish law, counts as a minhag. "Minhag" is a Hebrew word which is often translated as "tradition" but it isn't exactly just tradition. The word comes from the concept of "guide on a path" or something like that. In Jewish law, something that is a "minhag" is abided by often, very closely. A community minhag, a family minhag or a geographical minhag is often elevated to the level of ersatz-law and must be followed to that degree. Many well known practices are really the result of minhag which must be followed: the not eating of legumes on Passover is a minhag of Ashkenazic Jews ("Ashkenazic Jews" refers to Jews of European extraction and is not identical with "Minhag Ashkenaz" which is a tradition of people specifically from Germany, as opposed to, for example, minhag Polin for Jews from Poland. Both are Ashkenazic but still differ in some liturgical practices) and is considered pretty firm as a practice. [strangely, the minhag of adopting some prohibitions related to mourning during the Omer period between Passover and Shavu'ot can be altered year-to-year in terms of which days one applies it to, so the notion of a minhag's being fixed sees not to apply.
Many traditions are passed down from father to children and the abrogation of a practice received from a father might even require a religious exemption/voiding of a vow, an actual rite, assuming one has parental permission or some other mitigating factor. This is not stuff to be taken lightly. However, I do not feel comfortable with what exactly counts as a minhag and what doesn't, and I have a bunch of other questions about them, so if you have answers, let me know:
1. Is one bound by a parental minhag if the parent adopted it without any particular reason? [this begs the question of how we adopt a minhag if we have no communal or familial tradition -- if it is ever by simple diffusion and convenience, is it then binding on later generations?]
2. Is a subtle liturgical change (a girsah) tantamount to a minhag? There are many situations where different siddurim (prayer books) even ones which are all, ostensibly, from the same general tradition, have slightly different wording (the absence of a prefatory letter "hei", the shift from "b'fi" to "b'feh", the use of "yitgadel" vs. "yitgadal", "latet" vs. "leeten", "hameichin" vs. "asher heichin") or even more substantial wording changes ("ne'ima kedosha" vs. "ne'ima. Kedusha", "ishei yisrael - ut'filatam" and "bracha hameshuleshet - batorah") which bring up grammatical and meaning differences.
3. If I have my particular liturgy based not on explicit instruction from a parent but because of the habit of having used a specific text, does that make that combination of words my "minhag" or just my practice? Am I not allowed to choose a siddur which would have me say prayers that my father doesn't say because he uses a different siddur or use wording different from his practice?
4. In my Ashkenazic siddur, there are sections that are labeled "minhag Polin" and "minhag Ashkenaz" indicating that liturgical shifts ARE (nominally?) considered "minhag". Is choosing to say one or the other as binding as any other minhag? There are also sections (daily vidui/confession) which are NOT labeled as minhag, but presented as normative practice (as opposed to the Artscroll which says that the Ashkenazic practice is NOT to say daily confession). Mine also includes the phrase "morid hatal" but doesn't tie it to any specific group, just indicating that "some say" it. If I have adopted the siddur, have I adopted all the concomitant liturgical practices? Are they "my minhag" now? Are insertions the same as variations in terms of minhag? Are single word insertions the same as paragraph or full-prayer insertions?
5. Is not having the minhag to do something the same as having the minhag not to do that thing? If someone in my shul adds in "bizchut avraham/yitzchak/ya'akov avinu" during the repetition of the Amidah service and I like that, may I simply start saying that, or does the fact that I have inherited no tradition TO say it the same as having a tradition NOT TO say it? Is it easier to adopt than to drop a minhag?
6. If there was a standard practice in my school, or something done by my rebbe in school which I copied (not because of any research but because it filled the void of [passive] instruction or I was exposed to it from the age of 3 before my father explicitly taught or demonstrated his practice) does that become my minhag? What if it eventually contravenes the tradition of my father?
7. Are practices which are listed in codes of law as "minhag chassidut" -- a practice of piety, such as checking tefillin during the month of Elul, the same (as binding in the future) as another minhag? May I not adopt it if my father hadn't adopted it? Must I do it if he did do it?
8. Are other aspects of behavior considered minhag? Is dress minhag or just a communal practice? What about moving my head in a circle during the saying of the Sh'ma. Some people touch their tefillin at certain points during prayer while others don't. Are those actions minhagim and binding?
Maybe this stuff is obvious to you, but I am at sea, here. Any input and discussion is invited, welcome and appreciated.
So if you are not conversant in Jewish law and tradition, you can follow along. Sorry if you don't understand all the words and concepts -- I'll explain what I remember to, but I have spent so long not making sense that it is sort of my default and I don't always notice it. If you are a relative expert, chime in but please, please be gentle -- I am still a child in terms of my learning and am soliciting help because I am starting to come to terms with the volume of what I don't know.
I am confused about what exactly, under Jewish law, counts as a minhag. "Minhag" is a Hebrew word which is often translated as "tradition" but it isn't exactly just tradition. The word comes from the concept of "guide on a path" or something like that. In Jewish law, something that is a "minhag" is abided by often, very closely. A community minhag, a family minhag or a geographical minhag is often elevated to the level of ersatz-law and must be followed to that degree. Many well known practices are really the result of minhag which must be followed: the not eating of legumes on Passover is a minhag of Ashkenazic Jews ("Ashkenazic Jews" refers to Jews of European extraction and is not identical with "Minhag Ashkenaz" which is a tradition of people specifically from Germany, as opposed to, for example, minhag Polin for Jews from Poland. Both are Ashkenazic but still differ in some liturgical practices) and is considered pretty firm as a practice. [strangely, the minhag of adopting some prohibitions related to mourning during the Omer period between Passover and Shavu'ot can be altered year-to-year in terms of which days one applies it to, so the notion of a minhag's being fixed sees not to apply.
Many traditions are passed down from father to children and the abrogation of a practice received from a father might even require a religious exemption/voiding of a vow, an actual rite, assuming one has parental permission or some other mitigating factor. This is not stuff to be taken lightly. However, I do not feel comfortable with what exactly counts as a minhag and what doesn't, and I have a bunch of other questions about them, so if you have answers, let me know:
1. Is one bound by a parental minhag if the parent adopted it without any particular reason? [this begs the question of how we adopt a minhag if we have no communal or familial tradition -- if it is ever by simple diffusion and convenience, is it then binding on later generations?]
2. Is a subtle liturgical change (a girsah) tantamount to a minhag? There are many situations where different siddurim (prayer books) even ones which are all, ostensibly, from the same general tradition, have slightly different wording (the absence of a prefatory letter "hei", the shift from "b'fi" to "b'feh", the use of "yitgadel" vs. "yitgadal", "latet" vs. "leeten", "hameichin" vs. "asher heichin") or even more substantial wording changes ("ne'ima kedosha" vs. "ne'ima. Kedusha", "ishei yisrael - ut'filatam" and "bracha hameshuleshet - batorah") which bring up grammatical and meaning differences.
3. If I have my particular liturgy based not on explicit instruction from a parent but because of the habit of having used a specific text, does that make that combination of words my "minhag" or just my practice? Am I not allowed to choose a siddur which would have me say prayers that my father doesn't say because he uses a different siddur or use wording different from his practice?
4. In my Ashkenazic siddur, there are sections that are labeled "minhag Polin" and "minhag Ashkenaz" indicating that liturgical shifts ARE (nominally?) considered "minhag". Is choosing to say one or the other as binding as any other minhag? There are also sections (daily vidui/confession) which are NOT labeled as minhag, but presented as normative practice (as opposed to the Artscroll which says that the Ashkenazic practice is NOT to say daily confession). Mine also includes the phrase "morid hatal" but doesn't tie it to any specific group, just indicating that "some say" it. If I have adopted the siddur, have I adopted all the concomitant liturgical practices? Are they "my minhag" now? Are insertions the same as variations in terms of minhag? Are single word insertions the same as paragraph or full-prayer insertions?
5. Is not having the minhag to do something the same as having the minhag not to do that thing? If someone in my shul adds in "bizchut avraham/yitzchak/ya'akov avinu" during the repetition of the Amidah service and I like that, may I simply start saying that, or does the fact that I have inherited no tradition TO say it the same as having a tradition NOT TO say it? Is it easier to adopt than to drop a minhag?
6. If there was a standard practice in my school, or something done by my rebbe in school which I copied (not because of any research but because it filled the void of [passive] instruction or I was exposed to it from the age of 3 before my father explicitly taught or demonstrated his practice) does that become my minhag? What if it eventually contravenes the tradition of my father?
7. Are practices which are listed in codes of law as "minhag chassidut" -- a practice of piety, such as checking tefillin during the month of Elul, the same (as binding in the future) as another minhag? May I not adopt it if my father hadn't adopted it? Must I do it if he did do it?
8. Are other aspects of behavior considered minhag? Is dress minhag or just a communal practice? What about moving my head in a circle during the saying of the Sh'ma. Some people touch their tefillin at certain points during prayer while others don't. Are those actions minhagim and binding?
Maybe this stuff is obvious to you, but I am at sea, here. Any input and discussion is invited, welcome and appreciated.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
A good, old fashioned rant
Warning -- this is just a rant. An absolute and angry rant aimed at nameless people (I assume they have names, but since I don't know who they are, I can't name those names so I use the shorthand "nameless" -- work with me) who have offended my sensitivities.
I'm at work right now (right now being when I am typing this, not any random time when I or you read this) and there is a platter which has leftover food from an event held here last night. The kitchen prepared these mini-muffin things: corn, chocolate chip, bran and like that. There were 4 left. Now, understand -- I wasn't going to eat them. I am on a strict diet of not eating anything which would make me happy so I was staying far away. But when I walked by, I noticed that someone (some nameless one) had taken the tops off the muffins and left the bottoms, in their little paper cups, sitting on the platter.
Before you start referencing Seinfeld episodes, please be aware that this is real life. In real life, someone walked by and broke the tops off for consumption and left the rest just sitting there as if he or she was doing the rest of humanity a favor by, after mangling food, leaving it for others to pick at. That is simply disgusting. Who does that? [note -- not rhetorical. Please tell me who does that so I can smack that person in the head]
Sure, I felt bad about throwing them out because I don't like wasting food. So I didn't. But fortunately, someone else did, after we commiserated about how horrible a behavior it was of that nameless person to break the tops off and leave the rest behind. Offensive and horrible.
So I turned the corner and walked into the local kitchenette to try and recover from the shock and there I saw a platter of double chocolate chip cookies. Again, I wasn't going to eat them because I might crack a smile, but I did look at them very intensely. I noticed that a bunch of them had pieces broken off of them. THIS IS EXACTLY THE SAME THING! Don't break a piece off of a whole cookie so you can eat your little bit and then leave the rest just sitting there! Here's what bothers me -- who doesn't eat a whole cookie? When I want a snack, I limit myself to only 7 or 8 cookies. In a pinch, I can survive with only 3 cookies. But fractions? Bad enough I am confronted with cookies that have some random fingerprints on them, but apparently I am surrounded by people who are unable to eat cookies in units of "1" and that's really offensive. What's up with just having a bite or a piece? Not everyone agrees with my sense that the one pound bag of peanut M+M's is a single serving but a cookie? A little, 2-inch in diameter (yes, I actually measured for the sake of accuracy) cookie needs to be broken in pieces and eaten incrementally? And if you have to break off a piece, break from a cookie that already has a piece taken out, not from another whole cookie! You all make me sick
So stop touching my food, eat like a human being and make sure to measure your cookies before you get angry about them.
I'm at work right now (right now being when I am typing this, not any random time when I or you read this) and there is a platter which has leftover food from an event held here last night. The kitchen prepared these mini-muffin things: corn, chocolate chip, bran and like that. There were 4 left. Now, understand -- I wasn't going to eat them. I am on a strict diet of not eating anything which would make me happy so I was staying far away. But when I walked by, I noticed that someone (some nameless one) had taken the tops off the muffins and left the bottoms, in their little paper cups, sitting on the platter.
Before you start referencing Seinfeld episodes, please be aware that this is real life. In real life, someone walked by and broke the tops off for consumption and left the rest just sitting there as if he or she was doing the rest of humanity a favor by, after mangling food, leaving it for others to pick at. That is simply disgusting. Who does that? [note -- not rhetorical. Please tell me who does that so I can smack that person in the head]
Sure, I felt bad about throwing them out because I don't like wasting food. So I didn't. But fortunately, someone else did, after we commiserated about how horrible a behavior it was of that nameless person to break the tops off and leave the rest behind. Offensive and horrible.
So I turned the corner and walked into the local kitchenette to try and recover from the shock and there I saw a platter of double chocolate chip cookies. Again, I wasn't going to eat them because I might crack a smile, but I did look at them very intensely. I noticed that a bunch of them had pieces broken off of them. THIS IS EXACTLY THE SAME THING! Don't break a piece off of a whole cookie so you can eat your little bit and then leave the rest just sitting there! Here's what bothers me -- who doesn't eat a whole cookie? When I want a snack, I limit myself to only 7 or 8 cookies. In a pinch, I can survive with only 3 cookies. But fractions? Bad enough I am confronted with cookies that have some random fingerprints on them, but apparently I am surrounded by people who are unable to eat cookies in units of "1" and that's really offensive. What's up with just having a bite or a piece? Not everyone agrees with my sense that the one pound bag of peanut M+M's is a single serving but a cookie? A little, 2-inch in diameter (yes, I actually measured for the sake of accuracy) cookie needs to be broken in pieces and eaten incrementally? And if you have to break off a piece, break from a cookie that already has a piece taken out, not from another whole cookie! You all make me sick
So stop touching my food, eat like a human being and make sure to measure your cookies before you get angry about them.
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