Singing

A Passover Seder without my own family, for the first time. I missed everything about it, including the things I thought I would never miss.

Here I was invited to celebrate at my uncle Itomar's home. He lives close to Kikar HaMedina, which is as close as Tel Aviv gets to Paris for shopping. The walk there took me precisely 31 minutes (as Google Maps predicted). I had been told that for the Passover Seder night, since pretty much everyone celebrates, the country becomes one huge parking lot. Maybe that is the case elsewhere, but what I saw was a very quiet city, no buses of course, very few cars on the road. Only a few people out, walking their dogs. The city that never sleeps wasn’t sleeping but wasn't out either. All stores were closed, including the cafes (a first). The air was fragrant with the smell of orange blossoms. Sometimes, as I walked past open windows, I could smell the chicken soup.

Orange Blossoms filled the air

I enjoyed the Passover Seder at my uncle's home. There were 30 people there and about 15 kids, ages ranging from baby to early teen. We sung the songs and took turns reading the Haggadah; it was beautiful to hear how it can be read without an accent and without hesitation (I begged off reading; I didn’t want to make so many hungry people wait for me).  When the time came to search for the afikoman, it was mayhem, but my uncle seemed very calm so I thought he didn't mind the kids tearing up his place. Which they did. The food was wonderful. Itomar's wife is Sephardic so <gulp> rice was served too. They also had all my favorite foods, charoset (made with dates; who knew!), homemade gefilte fish, chicken soup with matzah balls, two types of meats... Life is good.

In Israel they celebrate only one night, so I made sure I tasted everything.

It was interesting to see the families’ composition. Most secular Israelis have three kids (statistically, the fertility rate is 2.9 children; in comparison, Canada’s is 1.9; the US rate, 2.06; Chile’s is 1.94) and everyone at the Seder had three. Most people invited live in Tel Aviv or in an immediate suburb, but one family drove all the way from the Negev where they live in a moshav right on the border with Egypt (a 2 hour ride to Tel Aviv for them, and they weren't fazed by it).

Overall, the Seder was pretty secular, which I was expecting, and I was OK with that. Throughout, I was thinking: They all have served in the Army; there is even a Lieutenant General in this room. And that is good enough to keep us going.

At the start of the Seder, I asked Itomar's daughter sitting next to me what "Next year in Jerusalem" means to her. She told me they never get to the second part of the Haggadah. So I guess that settles it for her.

This morning I asked a business associate the same question. He is, on his mother’s side, a 4th generation Israeli, and on his father’s side, the son of a Holocaust survivor. He looked at me puzzled and said, "I am in Jerusalem." So I asked him about Jerusalem as a symbol of Maschiach coming. He retorted, "I don't believe in Maschiach. I live in Israel". So that settles it for him.

Then, I read in the Jerusalem Post that they asked the same question of the US ambassador to Israel (who happens to be Jewish).

Q: When you say “Next year in Jerusalem,” what are you thinking? Is it Jerusalem, the capital of Israel? 

A: I am thinking about the interconnection of the Jewish people to Jerusalem, which I certainly feel personally.  It is a holy city for Jews; it is a holy city for other people to. That’s why we say it, that’s why we like to spend time there. As a matter of US policy, I can’t improve on what the State Department spokesperson said.

And I guess that settles it for the State Department.

Israelis often eat something they call Aruchat Esser, "the 10 am meal," which as best as I can tell consists of a sandwich. So for Passover, I now see that a few stores sell matzah sandwiches ready to go. No, I am not tempted.

Mazah sandwich for sale

On King George Street, the morning after: Someone who forgot to stop drinking after the requisite Four Cups

Earlier in the week, I had found a huge synagogue tucked away in a small street just two blocks from my apartment so this past Saturday I went there. (No, I did not fall this time). The rabbi had the most amazing voice, a tenor, and the high vaulted ceiling made his voice resonate very loudly. I loved that. It was not an anglo shul so the prayer books were only in Hebrew. There were not a lot of people there. I do not get it: such a huge building.

For lunch I was invited for a Pesach lunch by the sister and husband of my brother in law Aaron in Toronto. I had spent a Saturday afternoon with Malka and Nisim walking in the Tel Aviv Port, but now I got to meet their lovely daughters, their husbands (and husband to be) and the two grand-daughters. Aaron’s mother was there as well.

The children and their families come to the parents’ home every Saturday to eat lunch and spend a relaxed time together.  It was such a pleasure to be with them, as they all seem very comfortable in each other's company and were very welcoming. The food was exquisite, all fresh salads; roast; Bulgarian leek dumplings. All home-made. They are Sephardic so there was also <gasp> rice, but I managed. They picked the fresh mint (“nana”) off the windowsill container – and a caipirinha (or was it a mint mojito?) has rarely tasted this good. I also tasted cava, pink sparkling wine, which in my sheltered life I had never tasted before and now highly recommend. At the end, I was ready for my shabbes shluf.

The family lives in Nes Ziona, which was founded in 1883 by a Jew who bought the land from the Templers. It is south of Tel Aviv and about 10 km inland from the Mediterranean. On the way there, we stopped in Jaffo at the home where my brother in law and his sister were born (Nisim described it as “one of Israel’s major landmarks”). The home is now owned by the Anglican Church and we couldn’t go in, but I hear from Debby that the floors are all Arab mosaic tile, absolutely beautiful, with a view of the Tel Aviv beaches from the top. 

In front of “one of Israel’s major landmarks”

It was a nice stop, made more interesting by the fact that we ran into an old Arab-Israeli long-time neighbour of the family, who was very happy to see us (well, not me; Nisim) and asked about Madlena’s health and wanted to reconnect with her.

Nisim & Malka's family

...and now we switched photographers.

Nisim & Malka's granddaughter was very talented using my iPad

I have figured out a quick way to tell locals from tourists: Tourist always choose to sit in the sunshine; Israelis, on the other hand, are preparing for the long haul, and whenever possible choose to sit in the shade.

 The weather has definitely turned for the better, and now I have completely forgotten about the rainy days when I first arrived in March. I look at my raincoat taking up space in the closet and wonder what that item is used for.

On Sunday afternoon, my friend Natania visited from Jerusalem, and it was really like old times. We sat for a few hours in my neighbourhood café and I felt so comfortable talking with her – as if we were still back in Chile (And yes, we first sat in the sunshine and then moved to a shadier table. She is a local).

"Illuminated" with Natania

On Sunday evening, Rafi’s cousin Avi invited me to the Days of Song Festival at the Holon Theater, an annual music festival. So, continuing with my decision not to turn down any reasonable invitation or new experience in these three months, off I went on the bus.

The theatre is located on Kugel Road (you’ve got to love a town that names a street after a sweet egg-noodle casserole… Just kidding; but Avi took me seriously on this and told me it is named after Holon's first mayor, Dr. Haim Kugel. I stand corrected, but still prefer my version).

Outside the Theatre, the warm-up act

Israelis love music and singing, and this was a tribute evening to a famous local composer, Moni Amarilio (link to MySpace here) who has composed over 450 songs. 

Stage

At first I thought I would be bored out of my mind: 1960s ballads I had never heard (I was hoping for Jerusalem of Gold so I could have a good cry, but no luck); composed by someone I have never heard of; sung by singers I have never heard of either; all in a language I pretty much don’t understand. 

Boy, was I wrong! To begin with, they actually projected the lyrics of each song -- with nekudot! – so I could read and follow along (no one was singing karaoke, mercifully). There was so much love in the air. People seemed so happy, swaying to the songs and breaking into applause in the middle, clearly reminded of sweet memories. At times it was weird as I felt like I should remember these songs -- which I have never heard.   I feel so fortunate to have been there, the only tourist for miles and miles.

Lyrics, but not to sing along

Avi drove me back and I was home at midnight. 

The city that never sleeps wasn’t sleeping, every café was full, and young people mingled and chatted and smoked in the warm night air.