Sugar Frosted Coating

Many places in Israel got snow over the past 48 hours- the Hermon should be full of skiers by this time. Even some parts of the Negev got snowed upon. Last night, it snowed in Jerusalem- not a common occurrence. It kept snowing into the night.

Panic accompanied the snow, with some restaurants closing down early, and traffic becoming slow and congested everywhere the flakes fell. In other cities, Taxis make a fortune when sidewalks are covered in wet slush. Jerusalem cabbies are hard to find when it snows- if only because they know Israeli dirvers loose thier minds in snow. I this may have to do with the following exchange (I can't prove it, but it's probably true):

Driving Student: Okay, I downshift. But what if it was snowing?
Driving Instructor: Snowing? What? It never snows here.
Driving Student: It did last year.
DI: No it did not!
DS: Yes it did... hey, do you even know how to drive in the snow?
DI: I'm sorry, our time is up for today. Get out.

That could explain the panic. Day Care? Closed. Pizza Shop? Closed. Scooter borne delivery messengers who spit in the face of death and drive the wrong way in rush-hour traffic to deliver pizza? Not to be seen.

The flakes actually did not stick to roads, nor did an amount fall that would faze Bostoners, Torontonians, or Chicagoists.

Enough stuck for people to play- and more than enough fell to confuse the hell out of the local cacti.

So this morning, Jerusalem stil had a lovely white coating. Hopefully it will melt in time for lunch; if not, I'm cooking at home.

A Hanukah miracle from the 11th floor?

Leaving Israel for a family trip (post to follow) definitely generated mixed emotions. On one hand, its great to see other great cities in the world. On the other hand, to leave Jerusalem is difficult to do, especially during a holiday. Sure enough, before we left some of the streets of Jerusalem had displays of lights in blue and red hung from lampposts for Hanukah. Sufganiot have been available every where- including bagel shops and pizza places- since October.

What we would be missing would be the remarkable sight, we had been told, of endless blocks in Jerusalem were each window (or gate and doorway as is more common in Jerusalem) would have its own chanukiah. The whole city, it seemed, would be awash in the amber glow of Chanukah lights. We would only have one evening to see this after our trip; Thursday we would be free to wander, but the Friday after our return would see us at home with guests.

Thursday saw our exit from Machne Yehudah, the market to which Jerusalemites flock (for great produce, cheap wine, fresh baked breads and numerous treasures, edible and not) into the surrounding streets. We discovered some blocks where glass cases just outside the doorway held an array of oil lamps, one for each member of the family. These spaces were idyllic, small sections where the night was warmed by Chanukah lights, and no home was lacking.

Of course, the reality is that there are non-practicing Jews in Jerusalem, and many homes were dark, or lit solely with the actinic flash of the television to the exclusion of these ancient Hanukah lamps. Even in the areas with observant residents, there is variation among those who light. Who, when, where the lamps are placed; these things are not uniform.

So there was no great revelation in Jerusalem for Hanukah. We did not see the city unified with dancing flames shimmering in every window and doorway. We ourselves lit different sets of lights, some just for pirsumei nissah, the proclamation of the miracle of Hanukah. We lit ours up here on the 11th floor, facing another building, where it could be seen.

Thursday saw us lighting our small candelabra and enjoying the view, but then moving on to latkes and sufganiot and songs. But Friday night smuggled in a miracle right under our noses . Since on Friday nights, Hanukah lights must be kindled right before Shabbat, we looked out to see that the building down the way was dotted with lights at the same time we lit our own. In the shadowy time between day and night, when shadows fade but the sky is not yet dark, candle light shone out so clearly from those nearby windows. Those who did light a chanukiah in that building were lighting at the same time.

Then we looked down the block. Was that a street light? No, the hue was more amber than orange. More lamps of oil or paraffin. Two, three, four windows in that building- and was that one more chanukiah at the doorway? The next building had more. On the horizon- those other buildings- yes, their windows were full of tiny candle lights. Our view of the city was dappled and dazzled with the warm glow of olive oil and candles. It was impossible for us to find a building where there was no Chanukah lights. At dusk, the city was chanting blessings and lighting lights; you could almost hear the gentle murmur of these blessings washing over Jerusalem at that moment, rich with nostalgia. We really could see block after block, window after window, house after house lit with amber beacons to commemorate the freedom bought at so dear a price by those glorious brothers from Modin.

Traditionally the miracle of Hanukah is that the light lasted for eight days; but after this Hanukah, it seems somewhat erroneous. Apparently, the light of Hanukah has lasted for far longer, because we saw that light shining in unity in a myriad of windows just before Shabbat. How’s that for a Hanukah miracle?

Come here.

Video stores count Friday and Saturday as one day's rental. After all, the store is closed for Shabbat. Don't watch on Shabat? Don't worry, you don't loose out.

A three day rental on wednesday night is due back... Sunday. Welcome to Israel, baby!

Don't Come Here

"How long have you been a student here?!?" exclaimed the passport inspector?
Sleep deprived and slightly giddy, we are all happy to be back from a short trip out of Israel.
"Since august," replies my Sister-in-law.
"WHAT? Why didn't you take care of this before? You have been learning on a tourist visa all this time?" The guard is bitter and remorseless.
"Well, yes. I tried getting an appointment in November, but then the Misrad Hapanim [interior ministry] went on strike. "
"They were not on strike!" She looks up at all of us. 36 hours without sleep (sure, we'll take a discount flight at 2 A.M.) has left us all with a silly smile on our faces. "I don't know why you are all smiling. There is nothing funny about this."
"I have an appointment in January," she tells the guard calmly.
"January?" The woman is now all warmed up, and is just full of bile.
"That's the earliest I could get an appiontment!" says my wife's sister.
The inspector stamps her passport without looking down at her hands. "You have one month. You better get this taken care of."

Welcome to Israel.....

Rule Twelve Strikes Again! ( A late word about Thanksgving in Israel)

Thanksgiving is often a tough time for Anglos (Israeli residents from the UK, Canada or the US). Students and recent olim from the U.S. in particular find the last weeks in November debilitating in a powerful way; we are used to the change of seasons and the short vacation that the end of the month brings. We find ourselves preparing internally for the homecoming that Thanksgiving usually brings. Instead, the weeks flow ruthlessly forward towards Hanukah. There is no X-mas shopping season, no parades, no red and green bunting, let along any pictures of turkeys and “Indians” or pilgrims. The only change is the appearance of sufganiot- beignet style doughnuts- in most bakeries.

The Hebrew University Hillel has held a Thanksgiving dinner for its students for a few years now. Endowed by a donor and the UJC, the meal is held in a hotel. It was a buffet dinner priced at 40 shekels. At that low price, my love and I decided that we could accept the invitation of our friend and have our own turn at cooking north-American autumnal foods for Shabbat itself. The HU Hillel has planned the evening to have some entertainment during the meal. We think it will be a decent time. We enter to see a drum kit and a some amps set up for later on.

Rule twelve: Never let Israelis plan it unless it is a war.

Rule ten: Never invite the French.

We walk further into the ballroom, and notice the large buffet of salatim, classic israeli salads that are laid out for dinner. Cabbage salad type one seems close to coleslaw, while version two is purple cabbage and three seems to be nothing short of Yemenite with cumin and turmeric. Cucumbers, tomatoes, babagannouj, and of course, huumous are all heaped up on platters. Only now do we realize that Rule Twelve may have been violated in a brand-new fashion, because nobody we know has ever eaten Yemenite cabbage salad for thanksgiving. Sure enough, we learn that the Hillel at HU left the planning to the Israeli UJC staff, who have the same command of the concept of the thanksgiving holiday as I have command over Yeshiva University- which is to say, none.

As I stare in disbelief, that cabbage salad with the cumin is saying “Mah? Atah lo rotzeh salatim? Lamah?” -What, you don’t want salads? Why not?

Our friend guides us to our table and introduces us to someone we met in our hometown. Also at our table are some young American students and of course, three Frenchmen. Each one could not have filled out the stereotype of a French man any better; first was the sleazy European making his moves on women right and left; speaking of left, the second was ranting about something philosophical the whole night, and finally, the fashionable Frenchman wearing a white suit long after labor day. All of them complained about the lack of wine (two bottles per table). So they went and took wine from other tables in this way:

“Bonsoir ! Are you, ehh, done avec du vin ? Jes? No? Okay, I will just take dees.” Six more bottles were brought to the table- and drained. Rule ten was broken, and all during the d’var Torah (yes, they had one, but God was not mentioned, so it may not even count), I was sure it was going to be a bad thing. But I forgot about rule eleven.

The salads were served. The bread was broken. We talked, the d’var was given. The hot buffet was served.

One man carving turkey for 250. A Thirty minute line results. Why? See Rule Twelve.

Sweet potatoes drowning in more oil than the Saudis. Why? That’s right, See Rule Twelve.

Schwarma and rice. NO, I AM NOT MAKING THAT UP. The buffet included schwarma and rice. Did that Israeli UJC team say in a meeting “No, they can’t want roast turkey only! Let’s give them a real taste of home. Let’s give them…Schwarma!!!” Yes, See Rule Twelve.

Cranberry sauce made with raisins. Why? See Rule twelve. Again.

No green beans. No green vegetables of any kind. Why? Rule Fifteen. Just kidding- See Rule Twelve.

No squash. No Pumpkin. They are in season here in Israel, but See Rule Twelve for an explanation on why they were not served.

No corn. See Rule Twelve.

No cornbread. See Rule Twelve.

No Cornbread Stuffing. No mushroom stuffing. No chestnut stuffing. No stuffing or dressing of any kind. Why? See Rule Twelve, dammit.

To review: Turkey? Yes. Other associated foods? No. And then, dear readers….and then… there are moments in life so bizarre, people will think you are making them up. But I promise you that I am not lying that as soon as people had their food and were digging in, out came the entertainment.

Three mimes.

That’s right. Mimes. White face paint, suspenders, top hats.

At this point, you might think I had lost my mind. But sadly, this was real. They came to the center of the floor and proceeded to do something; at times it could have been a play about the pilgrims, and at other times it could have been a woman trying to seduce an “Indian.” Or maybe it was a turkey. And then there was this thing with a carrot taking the place of an egg that did not hatch. What did it all mean? How in the hell should I know! It was a group of freakin’ mimes!!!

Apparently, said one HU Hillel leader, “Israelis think mimes are the most sophisticated form of entertainment. They did not believe me when I said this was a bad idea. I had to beg them to do without the stilt-walker.”

Rule ten: Never invite the French.

Rule eleven: Unless, of course, there are mimes.

As the rest of us sat in shock, the three Frenchmen smiled with delight, and began to cackle as the performance began in earnest. Nobody can mock mimes like the French! There comments seemed to be along the following lines:

"Sacré Blue! (Heavens!) ! Est-elle pour violer environ cette dinde? (Is she trying to rape that turkey?) C'est la chose dummest depuis les Américains élus cela débile de Bush ! (This is the dumbest thing since the Americans elected that idiot Bush!)"

Eventually, the horror passed and the mimes went away and the French stopped making rude comments. But then the band came out.

Two guitarists. One Drummer. And one Tuba.

Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you – BOOM PAM!!

They were very good- hey, we bought their CD- but greek-arab/ soulvakian/ klezmir fusion rock is not the thing for a thanksgiving dinner. I’m not sure what live music would have worked, but all of the sudden, there was a great band playing music your might hear at a Jewish wedding- in Kurdistan.

After the buffet of salads, after the d’var Torah, after the long line for turkey with raisin sauce, after the mimes, you would have thought the students would have been fed up. But instead of mocking the band, or ignoring them, people got up and danced like a bar-mitzvah re-enactment. It was the horah in circles, the trash compactor dance (two lines squeeze in and out, then two more), mayim steps and cherkezias to the rhythm. Circles formed inside of circles. The French were right in the middle of it, giving it their all. It may not have been pure thanksgiving, but the HU students acted with menschlikhiet, being thankful for what they had. And so they danced.

We hope your Thanksgiving day was one filled with foods that you love and the people you love. Ours was one where we learned a lesson: those kids showed that you can be thankful without turkey and paper pilgrims. That being said, we left before dessert, because any more Israeli Thanksgiving and we would have lost our minds.