The
Brownsteins in the Land of Israel
Chapter 16:
Home in Jerusalem for Passover
April 16, 2004
Dear
Friends,
Thank
you all for the wonderful feedback you gave me on my last chronicle, "Learning
to Read Between the Lines". I am always surprised. Before
our Feature Presentation, a few points of interest.
As
some of you may know, I am a bit of a fan
of the World
Champion Portland Trailblazers. (Champs
in '77 still counts for me.) As you
also may know, my family and I moved to Israel before the start of the 2003-2004
NBA season. And, finally, as some
of you might have noticed, for
the first time in 22 years the Blazers have failed to make the playoffs.
You figure it out.
My
dear friends David & Carol White have a son, Matthew, who won First Prize in
High School Poetry at the 5th Annual Holocaust Writing Contest.
We are very proud of Matthew and if you wish to read his winning entry, click
here.
Next,
several months ago, my dear childhood friend Tom Fields-Meyer asked me to do a
Flat Stanley for his cousin Abby in Boston.
For those of us who did not know what a "Flat Stanley" is, Tom
told me I was to go around Jerusalem and take pictures of myself in front of
famous places. Click
here to see what I sent to Abby.
Just
before Passover we like to get our hair cut because we can't cut our hair for at
least a month after. I always enjoy
taking my son Yehuda for a cut. Now,
you can enjoy it too by clicking
here.
Alan
Dershowitz, who is not known to be one who believes that the sky is falling, has
suddenly experienced something that is making him rethink that conclusion, at
least as far as American Jewry is concerned.
Click
here for his short article.
Steve
Martin wrote an extremely funny parody that contains the purported script notes
from a Hollywood producer to latent anti-Semite Mel Gibson after reading his
despicable movie script, "The Passion".
It is good to see a non-Jew speak out in such an engaging way about
something that should outrage everyone. Click
here for that.
Along
the same vein, I was sent a cute list of things that are peculiar to Israel.
My favorite is... Click
here for the list.
My
dear friend Rabbi Shraga Simmons (whose wife Keren just gave birth to a baby
girl, Hanah), sent me this link
to a program called "The Homeland Security Threat Monitor".
The simple job of the program is to tell you the Homeland Security status
(in America). The program is no
less contrived than is the notion that these levels make any difference at all
in the safety of America.
The
following "Quotation Of The Day" was sent to me by my new friend Marc
Annis of Calabasas (rural Los Angeles) "We may hate Americans.
We may hate them with all our hearts.
But all men are creatures of God." Spoken by Muhammad
Khalifa, objecting to the mutilation of the bodies of four Americans killed
in Iraq.
Also,
I have been getting a lot of great feedback for my Jew
Of The Day page. My dear
(feminist) friend Rachel Andres was bugging me that I didn't have enough women,
so please take a peek and let me know what you think.
I
have a novel that I just finished and am looking for volunteers to give me
feedback. If you are interested,
please click here.
And
finally, a reporter from the Haaretz Newspaper here contacted me in Israel about
doing a story about these chronicles that my wife and I have been writing. These are no longer just our little secret!
Click here
to see what they said.
Feature
Presentation
Home for Passover in Jerusalem
Virtually
every year since getting married, my wife, Sara, and I have spent Passover with
my fabulous in-laws, who live in Paris. Often
we were together in Los Angeles, but we also ate Matzah in their home and also
here, in Israel, five years ago . But
this year, because we live in the Land of Israel, our annual tradition
became a bit more complicated.
Without
going into too much detail, those of us who live in Israel have a slightly
different holiday schedule than do those in the Diaspora.
For example, if you
live in Jerusalem, the holiday of Purim is celebrated the day after it is
celebrated everywhere else in the world.
Also, for several major holidays, we
here have fewer days than do Jews in the Diaspora.
As for Passover, the rest of the world starts their eight-day celebration
of the Exodus from slavery in Egypt with two "special" days (with most
of the restrictions of the
Sabbath). Each of these first two nights features a traditional Seder
where we retell the story of the Exodus. Also,
the last two days of the full eight day holiday are these "special"
days, yet without the Seder. But
those of us living in Israel only celebrate seven days of Passover, with one
Seder night at the beginning and only one "special" day at the end.
So, to make a long story short, we needed to find a way to accommodate
all of our needs, meaning a way for my in-laws to have two Seders and the
correct services.
So this year we decided to spend Passover here in Jerusalem at a hotel
that had appropriate services and meals for everyone.
Nonetheless,
even though we weren't going to be home for Passover, the preparation for
Passover -- cleaning all the chametz
(bread and other things made from grain) from the house -- is a special joy that
my wife still undertook. Than, on
the
night
before Passover, we went though the traditional "search
for chametz". After
"hiding" individually wrapped pieces of bread, we turned out the
lights (and, of course, we turned on the video camera for posterity) and a child
(say, a big sister) holding a candle ceremoniously "discovers" the
last vestiges of bread. Then
another child (say, a little brother) ceremoniously sweeps the little chametz
package into a paper bag with a feather, being sure to clean all around the spot
where it was found for any chametz dust. (Since
my son's favorite movie is Dumbo, this "magic feather" idea was
perfect for him.) When all is
found, the bag is safely put away until the morning, when it is ceremoniously
burned.
So, on the morning before the first night of Passover, out to
the backyard we went to
incinerate our
remaining chametz. I must tell you,
I never
would have
imagined encountering the aroma that greeted us. When we went outside it
was as if the entire city had been burning
bread. It was as if we were
in a city of Jews. It was as if we
were at home in Jerusalem for Passover!
After arduously loading up the Kia minivan,
we started off on our intense 20-minute journey for the big cross-city trip to
the Promised Land, the
tallest spot in the sovereign City of Jerusalem -- Crown Plaza Hotel (a Holiday
Inn on steroids). While struggling
to load the back of the minivan with far too many suitcases, we all had in mind
how our forefathers must have felt as they left Egypt in such a hurry that the
bread did not even have time to rise. Hence,
matzah. (Our bottled water had
become almost too warm to sip.) Along
the way, the rich aroma of burning chametz continued to fill our eager nostrils.
At one point I found myself staring at a huge bonfire filled with charred
Captain Crunch and Double Filled Oreos. Unfortunately,
due to my lack of focus, I suddenly found myself on the wrong side of a sea of
traffic --
five
lanes from the other side, from safety, from liberation -- with no place to turn
or retreat. With some of my fellow
travelers in the car complaining that we never should have left home, and with
others asking if I had just taken them from relative safety to perish in the
desert of carland, I got a premonition. Raising
my arm out of the car, I authoritatively motioned for the waters to part.
And before you could say "holy plagiarism", the street was
miraculously clear and we found ourselves in the hotel parking lot singing a
song of praise to the Almighty.
Our family was generously greeted at the hotel by our friends
the Stepens and their kids, the Lazars, visiting from Long Island. These
returning characters you might remember from my chapter, "LA
Trip: Stranger than Fiction". The
Lazars were the kind souls who rescued me from the Great Northeastern Power
Outage. I mostly mention them
because Avi -- the father -- tells me that he only prints out my chronicles for
his family to read when he is mentioned in them. I
also mention this great family because of the masterful way Avi led the Seder
that night. Indeed, not a single
word was left unsaid or undiscussed.
On the second day of Passover (the first non-special day for
us), my wife and I decided that I would take the kids someplace fun while she
hung out with her parents, who were enjoying their special bonus Diaspora day.
Sara didn't have to ask me twice; I was thrilled to leave because, to be
honest, I was already getting a little tired of the Crown Plaza Hotel.
Don't get me wrong: we got a great deal at the hotel and I knew it wasn't
the King
David or Inbal.
And, of course, in most cases, you get what you pay for.
So what was the problem? Well, as
it turns out, this once mighty hotel atop the city seems to have lost
some of its, well, pizzazz. Originally
built as a Hilton many years ago, friends here tell me that the tower was very
important to the city because it was so prominent and visible.
But now it is simply a very dated 21-story rest stop owned by Holiday
Inn. And, believe me, it is truly a
Holiday Inn. The toilets are the
slow American type. The built-ins
are falling apart. I could hear children in the hall running and screaming at
all hours. The smell of floor
polish and other petrochemicals constantly permeated my senses.
And even our 14th-floor room door showed unmistakable signs of
having been damaged during a theft. So,
needless to say, I couldn't have been happier to venture out with the kids.
Sara suggested several places of would-be fun, all of which
seemed to me to be way too crowded. Instead, I suggested something a little less asphyxiating:
taking the children back to the Jerusalem Zoo.
So, off we went, with a backpack full of sunscreen, caps, boiled eggs (snitched
from the hotel breakfast), and of course, matzah.
Maneuvering the Kia into
the
vicinity
of the zoo, we encountered a roadblock, which is not news here. In fact, with the country on the highest alert possible for
terrorist attacks, it was actually more of a surprise that we hadn't run into a
roadblock earlier. Ten minutes
later at the front of the line, I was told that the zoo was full of cars (and
probably people, too) and was given a flyer that directed me to park my car at
"The Teddy" (the Teddy
Kollek Stadium, named after Jerusalem's most famous mayor), and then instructed
to mount a bus-shuttle to the zoo.
Post-shuttle, admission paid and safely inside, Yehuda, my
5-year-old, quickly became bored of the animals. I said, "but sweet-boy, that's all they have here. It's a
zoo!" Not seeming to care what I had to say, he let it be
known many, many, many times that he
desperately
wanted to take the tram around the zoo. It's
a pretty corny ride -- just perfect for Yehuda.
But, unfortunately, because the zoo was so full, there was no room for
the sidewalk train. As
you might have guessed, Yehuda was very unhappy about this.
Very. And he let everyone know
about his vast disappointment. So I tried to use reason with him.
Then I tried reverse-psychology on him.
After that didn't work, I drew the last dart from my pathetically
inadequate quiver of fatherly tools: "Let's go get some ice cream!"
The next time that doesn't work with my kids will be the first it doesn't
work.
But have you ever looked at the ingredients of
chocolate-covered ice cream on a stick? What
are the chances that some chametz is
not
used, like, say, corn syrup? So I
feebly approached the vending cart and asked in Hebrew if everything being sold
is Kosher for Passover, expecting to be laughed at.
Giggling, the vendor said, "Betach, baby!" -- which means,
"of course, sir". Still
not quite sure that this kid with the yellow Mohawk was quite as stringent as we
require, I asked to see a package. And,
sure enough, it was all certified as Kosher for Passover, including my Diet Coke.
With that out of the way, the kids and I spent the next few hours looking
at animals and discussing why they couldn't have more ice cream.
The next day I decided would be a little more tame.
So I called Shraga Simmons (who is Aish.com and is
HonestReporting.com) to arrange a visit with him and a half dozen of his little
rabbis at a park near his house in Modiin, about a half-hour drive from
Jerusalem. Knowing how much better
the drive and trip would be if the kids had full stomachs, I went where any
normal person would go to fill their kids: the local mall.
Unfortunately, most of the places I would have taken the kids were closed
because the owners probably didn't think it was worth the expense to become
Kosher for Passover for just a few days. But
one particular place did have its doors wide open: Burger King!
Both of the other times I had gone there I was amazed that the King was
kosher at all. It wasn't just that
they couldn't serve cheeseburgers; they also couldn't use lard for their fries
or
use anything else that one might have expected.
But we saw the Passover certificate and had eaten fine meals there
before, including non-dairy ice cream. I
suppose I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was.
Business is business.
The Passover menu was distinctly limited, however.
Basically we had a choice of matzah, hard-boiled eggs, horseradish, and a
shank-bone. Just as I was about to get three shank-bone "ecstatic
meals", the worker pointed to the overhead menu; I realized that I could
actually still get a burger and fries, or even "buffalo wings".
When the food arrived, we found the burgers were covered with buns made
from matzah-meal.
And who would have guessed that each "ecstatic meal" came with a little red, plastic
brick that reflected either our bondage in Egypt or the feeling in our guts
after several days of matzah. The
fries were great; the bun was, well, a nice try.
Back on the road, we passed through heavily defended enclaves
and sobering checkpoints. These
were not the same roadblocks we had encountered inside the confines of the city,
where the soldiers are generally chatting it up between cell-phone breaks.
Here, in the middle of the West Bank, I saw soldiers behind sandbags with
M-16s aimed and ready.
We got to the park, played soccer with Shraga's kids for
30-minutes, and came back to the hotel for a well-deserved swim.
The next day all six of us went to a lake near Tel Aviv and
rented a rowboat. This was quite a
kick for my kids -- seeing me row for an hour while they ate hard-boiled eggs (swiped
from the hotel breakfast). Near the
end of our trip around the incredibly green, murky lake, while we were stopped
for a moment, four boys in a foot paddleboat saw fit to ram us gently.
No damage was done, but it was pretty rude to ram a row boat with kids
and old people aboard. However, it
was not nearly as rude as when they did it again.
This
time, however, I allowed myself the luxury of informing the adolescents of my
feelings. Knowing that I had just
positively impacted their behavior, and thus, their lives, by teaching them
right from wrong, I turned to my wife, kids, and in-laws and started to row
again. And then, just as my pride
began to dissipate, my new friends in the foot paddleboat hit us a third time!
There is a bit of a disagreement in my family as to what exactly happened
at this point. My children are of
the considered opinion that I accidentally splashed the boys with an abundance
of disgusting lake water, but that they deserved either to be splashed or
drowned. My wife, however, suggests
that a person who grew up on lakes and with oars probably took perfect aim,
delivering about a gallon of well-deserved gunk on top of the startled and then
screaming young men. I am not sure
which theory is correct. About an
hour later, the kids were back in the hotel's very clean swimming pool.
The
seven days we spent at the Crown Plaza were great, but, as I said, that had
little to do with the accommodations. Sure,
I got my 8,000 calories a day. My
kids loved the pool and buffets. And
I really didn't mind too much being beaten in the board game called Risk twice
by the Lazar children. (Well, maybe
just a bit.) The only issue was
with the hotel itself. So on the
last night of Passover, when thinking about my return home, I was far from
heartbroken.
That night, with the kids and Sara asleep, I went out to the
balcony for a little non-off-gassed air. Quietly
I stood, looking over the city. It
was not the view I would have initially chosen; I could not see the Old City or
my neighborhood. Nonetheless, I
must say, with all sincerity, that the moment at hand was worth enduring the
many mild imperfections of the once-great tower.
Looking down directly in front of me, I saw the sparkling new Foreign
Ministry building, where I had held a meeting with a new friend six months
earlier, discussing ways I might help improve the situation here.
Just to the left of it was the gorgeous new Supreme Court building.
Behind that was the Knesset, the Israeli Parliament.
Looking out, it occurred to me that I was finally familiar with my new
surroundings, after 9 months here. Way
down the hill I could see "The Teddy" where we had parked a few days
earlier. To my right I could clearly see a building where I had
created a video for HonestReporting.com during Chanukah.
And,
most stirring of all, I looked out across the nearby Menachem Begin Freeway at
the Renaissance Hotel, where my family and I had settled for our first three
days as immigrants in July. I
remembered how utterly lost we were and how foreign these same roads were.
I recalled arriving in the middle of the night, laden with the 15
suitcases and boxes that held the belongings that we lived with during our last
month in L.A. after our lift had taken everything else.
I will sooner forget the week of toxic odors that emanated
from Holiday Inn, than I will forget the warm spring breeze at that moment when
I found myself at home in Jerusalem
Anyway,
thanks for reading between the lines this far.
I
appreciate and look forward to your comments and greetings.
As
you know, we are in the middle of a membership drive, so please get me the
e-mail addresses of people whom you want to add. (Let them know ahead of
time, so I don't get in trouble with the spam police).
Please
stay tuned for Chapter 17: “The Dentist.”
All
the best,
Rich
Brownstein
PO
Box 8130
91081
Jerusalem
ISRAEL
Phone:
011-972-2-6733-491
CURRENT
DISTRIBUTION: 430 worldwide
NOTE:
No
Happy Meals were harmed in this story.
All
characters are purely fictional.
If
you want to add someone to this list, or remove yourself, just e-mail rich@brownsteins.net
and let him know.
Please
freely distribute to those with too much time on their hands.
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