News, Views, and Shmooze....

The Ninth of Av

This past Monday night was the eve of Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av, a day of mourning that commemorates the destruction of both Holy Temples. Since I was twelve years old I've, I have observed the day, fasting for 25 hours, listening to the lugubrious chanting of "Aicha," the prophet's harrowing description of the ruin not only of buildings, but of a people.

Some years I've been able to connect more deeply with the tragedy in the prophet's words. Some years, less so. This past Monday, having just returned from Europe less than a week ago, where we visited Auschiwtiz and Tereizin, where almost everywhere you go you are confronted with the painful reality that Europe is a vast Jewish graveyard--this year, it was all too easy to relate to the heartbreaking verses.

Happy New Year

As I'll be spending most of the day in the kitchen, preparing for Rosh Hashana, I doubt that I'll have time to report about yesterday's West Hollywood Book Fair.

So...wishing all of you a healthy, happy New Year, filled withe blessings of peace and prosperity.

"Ma Nishtana?"

To paraphrase Shakespeare, "The Seder's the thing."

After the two Seders and the intense preparation that led up to them, six days remain, but to me (and to most everyone I talk to) it feels as though Passover is over.

Our Seders lasted well into the early morning. We didn't begin the first one until close to ten o'clock Saturday night--we couldn't set the table or the Seder plates until after the Sabbath had ended. And we were over twenty people at the Seder, so it took some time to figure out where everyone would sit. My fault, really. I should have decided  before, but I was too busy whipping egg whites and grating apples.

All the items on the Seder plate, arranged in a predetermined order, commemorate the slavery of the Israelites in Egypt, and the miracle of their redemption. ("Seder" means order, by the way. The entire evening is orchestrated.)

Into small glass bowls I spooned the charoset (a paste of ground walnuts, grated apples, wine, sugar, ginger, and cinnamon that symbolizes the mortar that cemented the bricks the Israelites were forced to make and use to construct edifices for Pharoah) and the "chazeret" (ground horseradish; when prepared correctly, even a tiny amont brings tears to your eyes and can permanently clear your sinuses; ours, sadly and mysteriously, lost its oomph sometime Friday). I placed the "marror" (a bit of romaine lettuce and a piece of whole horseradish; the word means "bitter"), the "karpas" (small pieces of boiled potato to be dipped into the salt water that signifies tears; one of my sons-in-law, following his family's tradition, uses celery), the browned, hard-boiled egg that represents the "korbon Chagiga" (a ceremonial sacrifice). We had a few minutes of panic before we located the "z'roah"--the grilled chicken drumstick (my daughter-in-law uses a lamb shankbone) that symbolizes the Pascal lamb.

Our grandchildren sat at the table for much of the Seder. They sang in unison the "Ma Nishtanah," a four-part song that asks, "How does this night [of Pesach] differ from the nights of the rest of the year?" They were enthralled when our youngest son brought to life the ten plagues that God visited on Pharoah and his people to encourage them to let the Israelites go. He (our son, not Pharoah) turned water into "blood" with the help of red food coloring, pretended to be one of the wild beasts and chased them around the room, rained mini marshmallows of "hail" onto them and the table.

Ours is an eclectic group, and with that comes tension. Some like the Seder to move quickly. Others prefer to discuss the commentaries on the Hagaddah (the booklet that tells the story of Passover). I enjoy the commentaries but want to please everyone, which, I have come to recognize, is impossible. And yet, I keep trying....

Someone had frozen a bottle of Diet Coke (the kosher-for-Passover variety, minus corn syrup) to speed up the chilling process. Someone else opened the bottle...and precipitated a volcano that sprayed a lava of brown liquid all over the table and floor and onto our cream colored sofa and the edges of our (thank God) rolled-up area rug.

The "lava" was blotted. I tripped on the edge of the rug and fell onto the hardwood floor.

Very dignified.

But no lasting damage to the rug or sofa (the "lava" had beaded onto the fabric), or to my body, aside from two bruised knees and a dent in my pride.

Our second Seder was less eventul, more relaxed. The second Seder always is, I think. The kinks are worked out. No frozen soda.

And now we're in the intermediate days of Passover--"chol ha'moed." We can drive and use electricity. I can go online and check my e-mail.

The fridges (our old one is in the garage) are emptying out, and so is the house. Our married daughter and her husband, who live in New York, are skiing somewhere near Vancouver. They'll be back on Friday for the last days of the holiday, as will the rest of our married children with their families.

We've consumed more than a third of the eighteen pounds of "shmura matzo" we imported from New York--hand-made circles of the "bread of affliction" (in their rush to escape Egypt, the Israelites had no time to wait for their bread to rise), made of wheat supervised from the time it has been harvested. The matzo, thin and crisp, is delicious. We eat it plain, or slathered with margarine or butter (and sprinkled with salt) or with cream cheese. (Sprinkle sugar on the cream cheese, and it tastes like cheese cake.)

Or we eat it with the leftover "charoset." I always make mounds of "charoset." Each year someone says, "Why don't we make it during the year? It's so delicious."

But we never do.

Which is the way it should be, I think.

"Ma nishtana?"

Pass Over

I'm assuming, since I didnt receive a phone call from anyone who attended this afternoon's Mystery Writers of America Agents & Editors Party (this year the event, part of Edgar Week, was moved to a cruise ship), that Grave Endings didn't win the Mary Higgins Clark Award.

I couldn't be present because today is part of Passover. Well, technically, I could have flown in for the event, but I wouldn't have been able to eat or drink anything at the event, or on the flight, unless I brought my own food. Rather complicated...

It would have been lovely to win, of course. But it's true what they say--being nominated is an honor. And it's easier not winning in absentia. I'm fortunate to have had several of my books nominated for mystery awards and can summon up the stomach tightening when my category is called, the prickle of excitement and anxiety before the winner is announced, the flash of disappointment that is somehow exacerbated when your fans and friends console you and share their own disappointment in your loss, which is greater than yours.

And you know, I've never done well on boats.

Going Ape for Matzo

Associated Press writer Ami Bentov writes this intriguing post:

RAMAT GAN, Israel - When Passover comes around, even gorillas in Israel keep kosher. In line with many other Israelis busy cleaning their homes to remove bread-related products for the Passover holiday that begins Saturday night, the Safari Park Zoo near Tel Aviv does the same.

Since the zookeepers and handlers cannot touch any leavened products during the weeklong holiday that marks the biblical Jewish exodus from Egypt, the gorillas and other animals are also fed matzo — the unleavened cracker Jews eat to remember that in their rush to flee slavery, the ancient Israelites' bread did not have time to rise.

Accustomed to eating a slice of bread with cream cheese every morning, beginning Tuesday the gorillas and other animals at the safari were fed matzo instead, said Emelia Turkel, the zoo's curator.

"This turns out to be an interesting time for the gorillas and for the other animals because they get a bit of a change in diet," Turkel said. "We call this environmental enrichment, Jewish style."

The zoo has always fed the animals matzo during the Passover holiday, Turkel said, but try to limit their intake to just one or two crackers a day to prevent them from suffering from the most common side-effect of matzo — constipation.

"If they eat too much it does cause stomach problems, so we hope that our public this week will not be feeding their own matzo to the animals," Turkel said.

Watching the zookeepers throw matzos to the excited gorillas — romping in the grassy area after the crackers — visitors to the safari laughed and joked about the holiday tradition.

"I think it's a good idea for them. They're influenced by the Jews here," said Moshe, a visitor to the safari who gave only his first name.

Marooned

Our breakfast room has become an island of "chametz," the depository for all the leavened, non-Passover items we plan to consume or use before the holiday begins in just a few days.

On the table: an almost empty box of Fruit Loops, one and a half bottles of caffeine free Diet Coke, nine bottles of diet peach Snapple, half a rye bread, half a whole-wheat challa, a can of roasted (unsalted) almonds, two small bags of pistachio nuts, three packets of Quaker Oats instant oatmeal (low sugar), biscotti, pumkin seeds, a mini bottle of Pellogrino, three bottles of Martinelli's sparkling cider (they may be a tad old, so I'm not sure how "sparkling" they are), a mini packet of peanuts that I took home from some flight, one-and-a-half chocolate cheese Danish.

On a utility cart: our toaster oven.

In the scrupulously-cleaned-for-Passover fridge, quarantined from the food that is kosher for Passover: half a loaf of seven-grain bread, French Vanilla non-fat creamer (an interesting oxymoron), two pieces of broiled chicken, a salami.

I'm a creature of habit. I need my creamer in my morning and mid-afternoon coffee. I figure that I will have just enough creamer to last until Friday, when the entire house will be "chametz" free. We probably won't finish the bread, and certainly not the Fruit Loops. We bought it for our grandchildren, and I don't even like it. But we are loath to toss anything, in case we run short before Friday. (My friend Judy Gruen writes about her pre-Passover meals.)

It's not as though there's a shortage of kosher-for-Passover edibles in the house. I spent the equivalent of our mortgage payment on Sunday for food to sustain us through the eight days of Passover. And I can live without bread or rice or pasta for eight days.

But it's almost like a game -- rationing  the "chametz," making it last.

And there's always chocolate...

The "Oy" and Joy of Purim

It's 7:29 in the morning. I'm sitting at my computer, reaching automatically for the cup of coffee that isn't there. It's a fast day. The Fast of Queen Esther of Persia, who went without food or drink for three days (and asked that her fellow Jews do the same and pray for her) before she risked her life by going, uninvited, to see her royal spouse, King Ahasverosh, to beg for her life and the lives of her people.

Tonight, I'll break my fast after the reading of Megillat Esther, the story of how the Jews avoided being annihilated by Haman, viceroy to the king. Haman had cast a lot to choose the day for this mass extermination. The Persian word for "lottery" is pur. Hence the name of the holiday, Purim.

Purim has always been officially designated as the most joyous of holidays, and Adar, the month in which it falls, the most joyous month: "From the time Adar arrives, one should be exceedingly joyous." It's a holiday that celebrates survival and friendship, unity and peace. For kids--and some adults who get in the spirit --it's also about costumes, candy, and noisemakers used to drown out Haman's name whenever it's mentioned in the megillah.

Years ago, when our kids were younger, I felt the joy of Purim, but to be honest, I also felt a bit of "oy."

Years ago I would have been in the kitchen, not at the computer, enveloped in a dusting of flour as I baked with our six kids. Chocolate chip cookies, mandelbrot, marble cake mini bundts, hamataschen (literally, "Haman's pockets"; they're triangles made of cookie dough and filled with prune butter or other other jams). The pastries would be added to store-bought goodies (miniature bottles of grape juice; packages of trail mix or nuts, wafers, assorted fruit, pretzels), that we (sometimes--often--just I) would assemble and package for friends and neighbors and the kids' teachers, to fulfill the mitzvah of mishloach manot.

Or...I might have been working on costumes for the kids. The costumes were one "oy." They weighed on my mind long before Adar, but the actual construction was always last minute. And with six children, renting costumes was too expensive. And of course, you couldn't do repeats. Or could you?

Another "oy": The packages to be delivered, and their contents. Baking with the kids was fun, but there was so much to buy, so many decisions to make. Baskets or boxes? Bags? Colorful tissue paper? Easter grass? How much? How many? Some of my friends had themes for their packages. My theme was survival.

The packages, by the way, had to be hand-delivered, the next day. Thirty-plus baskets, delivered to thirty-plus people who lived in different parts of the city. Even Mapquest would have shut down. Also, for some reason, it usually rained on Purim day.

A few years ago one of the Jewish schools instituted a Purim Shuttle. For five dollars per family (or individual) that you select, your name is added to a card accompanying a package that family or person receives on Purim. You're still obligated to deliver one of your own packages, containing two types of food...but not thirty packages, or fifty, or seventy, as some of my friends did.

So now, every February, when I receive the Purim Shuttle list, I check off the names of those people to whom I'd like to extend Purim greetings. And I send a check to the school. And I relax.

But my kids, all grown, some with children of their own, grumble. They aren't fans of the Shuttle. They recognize its practicality: the ease, the convenience, the fact that less food is wasted. But they insist that the Shuttle has stripped some of the joy from the holiday, and some of the essence. They talk with great fondness of Purims past, when we would gather around the kitchen table to assemble the packages, when the doorbell would ring constantly as friends and neighbors delivered  "shalach manot" to our door. When they would go, in costume, to thirty-plus houses and deliver our packages, and be on the receiving ends of smiles and, sometimes, lollipops.

My kids may be right. The more effort you put into something, the greater the satisfaction and reward.

Part of me misses the hustle and the floury kitchen table. The "oy." Part of me is content to watch my children pick up the mantle.

They're predicting another storm, for tomorrow...