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Passover Workarounds

Tonight is the first night of the Jewish holiday of Passover. This is a the holiday that commemorates the Jewish exodus from Egypt and the liberation of the Jews from slavery.  What this means to the non-Jews is that your Jewish friends (c’mon, you have to have at least one, right?) will spend a week either cooking a giant meal, featuring brisket, matzoh ball soup and some gross looking gefilte fish and/or complaining about eating matzoh and inventing ridiculous sandwiches out of two pieces of flat, white crackers. Because they can’t eat bread. And must suffer.

We eat this giant dinner the first two nights  – or at least my family only does two nights – but we are Bad Jews and it’s called a seder. This means “order” (I learned something in Hebrew school!) I won’t go into the whole explanation of Passover and blahblahblah, because I am hardly qualified. If you are totally unfamiliar, go check it out on Wikipedia or something equally reputable.

sederplate

I should preface this whole thing, so I don’t get actual, good Jews correcting me or trying to find a rabbi to complain to or anything, by stating that I am an atheist. I almost feel as if I was raised as an atheist or agnostic, and that most of my immediate family is as well. I never really believed in God, and certainly not as an adult. But, I do identify strongly with my family’s history and culture, and I consider myself to be “culturally Jewish.”

Passover is a really strange holiday to me. I can’t decide if it feels like a LARP or a a civil war reenactors, or something.  We have this whole long dinner, with this ritual plate, where everything is supposed to represent something else. And we sit around a table, reclining (in theory) as we tell the story of our ancestors. Then there is singing, and eating food that is supposed to be bricks and mortar, and food that is intentionally gross (no, not gefilte – bitter herbs and salt water).  And we keep washing our hands and drinking glasses of wine. And then, you get to spill wine on your grandma’s tablecloth as you recount plagues! Plagues!!!! The whole thing is so surreal.  Don’t forget the cup of wine you have to leave out for the guy that’s going to come at night and drink it.  Like, a Jewish Santa Claus who doesn’t leave any presents. Luckily, my family has it down to about 3 minutes, where we tell the basic story, sing parts of “Dayenu” and spill wine for the plagues.  Then, we eat. And eat. And take a break, fight about cleaning dishes and if we need to keep the seder plate on the table, and eat again.

Of course, I just can’t leave it alone, and I am frequently annoyed during the week-long festival of Passover. You see, Jews can’t eat leavened bread (and a variety of other things) during Passover.

“There are numerous explanations behind the meaning of matza. One is historical: Passover is a commemoration of the exodus from Egypt. The biblical narrative relates that the Israelites left Egypt in such haste, they could not wait for their bread dough to rise. The resulting product was matza. (Exodus 12:39). The other reason for eating matza is symbolic: On the one hand, matza symbolizes redemption and freedom, but it is also (lechem oni), “poor man’s bread.” Thus it serves as a reminder to be humble, and to not forget what life was like in servitude. Also, leaven symbolizes corruption and pride as leaven “puffs up”, as in the “leaven of the Pharisees”. Eating the “bread of affliction” is both a lesson in humility and an act that enhances one’s appreciation of freedom.”  – Wikipedia

matzah

So, what irritates me about that? It seems good. Remembering where you came from, a little suffering? All good. What bugs me about observant Jews and Passover is “The Workaround.” You see, people don’t just eat their matzah and suffer. They find ways to make it into something :delicious” (trust me, it never is!) Grocery stores are filled with “Kosher for Passover” cereals and cakes and noodles.  My friends make little matzoh-pizzas and find tons of workarounds to enjoy their little cardboard squares. To me, it’s just a symptom of what’s wrong with religion and observancy. Obviously, people are just following the rules because they are rules. There is no heart in them, and no actual belief in the intended symbolism. So, if you are going to go with the letter and not the spirit of the law, is there really any point in observing? For my family, we do a seder because I think we are all afraid of what it means if Judaism dies out, and it’s a way to connect as a family. But, the older we get and the less children that attend, the shorter and shorter the seder gets. But, after the last glass is dried, we don’t observe. I will eat leftovers until I can no longer take another bite, but I don’t think anyone in my immediate family has any sort of ban on carbs.

There are a few things I like about Passover. I do like the story-telling aspect, and the premium placed on explaining to children why it is we do what we do.  I also dig the search for the afikomen, where you get to rip apart couch cushions and shake down your family for money. Also, some Jews have done this awesome feminist twist involving oranges and cups of Miriam (this is all still a little cloudy to me.)

Are there traditions and rituals that you celebrate that you aren’t sure where they came from? Why do you observe or participate?

(Do you like how I spelled “matzah” at least 3 different, acceptable ways during the course of one post?)

One Fine Day

Wow. I had such an unexpectedly wonderful day today. I mean, I knew I had some good stuff planned, but it was just filled with my favorite things, activities and people.

  • Woke up at 9am after a nice, full 8 hours of sleep
  • Read a bit and lounged around. Caught up with my Google Reader.
  • Took a nice, leisurely walk to the subway. It was a super gorgeous spring day.
  • Met up with friends so that we could travel to our massage appointment. The subway came with no wait, and we had great seats.
  • Had a 90 minute massage. I will never go back to 60 minutes. It was a little too much deep tissue for me, but it’s hard to complain about something so awesome.
  • Went for lunch. We had Korean BBQ in Jackson Heights. I had only had this once before, and it was great the second time as well. I love trying new foods!
  • Lunch was not only delicious, but so was the conversation. Lots of quality discussions.
  • Then we went for coffee at a cute neighborhood place.  Iced coffee and an orange sugar cookie. I love cookies!
  • There were dogs outside, hanging out with their owners. Everyone was friendly, and I got to play with an American Bull Terrier, an English Bulldog and a Golden Retriever. I love puppies!!!
  • Came home (again, a breeze of a subway ride!) and played on the internet a bit. Chatted with my newest friend, the wonderful and talented and e-famous Jamie.
  • Napped with my sweetie pie. Apparently, I snored on his head. We think this is cute.
  • We lounged around a bit and watched some TV. Iron Chef America, Alton and the Food Network. Are there other channels?
  • Walked to our friend’s house for Wrestlemania. What a great show (aside from the Women’s match, which I am too upset about to discuss). I love watching wrestling with my friends. Spent a good amount of time texting another friend with my favorite “Holy Shit” moments.
  • Pizza!
  • Ice cream sundaes!
  • Came home, cracked up with Frank in the elevator. We are ridiculous.
  • Showered with my new exfoliating scrub
  • Completed blog post!

And on top of all this fun today, on Friday night I went to the new CitiField for the first Mets game of the season with my girlfriends. Then to our old stomping grounds of a bar where I bumped into other friends.  And I spent Saturday with my little sister hanging around the city, having lunch at one of my favorite places and had a quick trip to Trader Joe’s.

What more can a girl want?

I’m a Yenta

I am a yenta, it’s true. It’s something I am not always proud of, but is almost undeniable.

For the purposes of this post, I am going to define “yenta” as a gossip or busybody. i think everyone has a little yenta in them – even guys or people who pretend to not care what’s going on with your friends, I believe – secretly do. Just a little bit. It’s part of our voyeurism.  Gossip helps build social ties, and sometimes the fear of gossip keeps us from doing things we know we shouldn’t (unfortunately, that works the other way too.)

I like hearing whats going on with people, and what they are thinking or doing. And despite its negative connotation, not all gossip is mean-spirited. I relish (most) people’s accomplishments and good news as much as the bad. Also, to try to salvage my reputation, just because I like getting the goods, doesn’t mean I always share. Especially if I am asked not to divulge. Trust really is important to me.

But who people are dating (or not), what’s going on at work, who did what to whom? Awesome!  And there is so much gossip out there – sometimes I really have to make sure I am not overdosing.  Celebrity rags (TMZ, Perez Hilton), political gossip (Politico) and just well, my entire blog roll (and Google Reader). I sometimes think I am bad, but really – aren’t blogs, facebook profiles and statuses and tweets just representations of gossip? People want to share (and if they don’t, brush up on your google-fu), and people want to know the minutae of our lives and our thoughts on opinions on everything from politics to the best brand of dental floss.  Is everyone who participates in social networking/media really just gossiping?

What worries me is when I reflexively check the blogs or statuses of people I don’t even like. I don’t know if I just enjoy their failures (Paging Ms. Schadenfreude!) or if its just more useless info to fill my brain. Either way, I am going to make a conscious effort to stop. My first step was not checking celebrity junk as much – for example, I have no idea who Whitney Port is, or who she is dating. My second step was removing a lot of people from my daily reading/friend list/twitter feed. I want to fill my thoughts with things that are more productive, and make more room for the people I genuinely care about, or can learn from.

I wonder if being a yenta has anything to do with wanting to be a consultant, or an advice columnist. Or a reviewer? Hm. I think this may be all related and kind of the ultimate in Yenta-ness. Finding out what’s going on in someone’s business and then having the added bonus of giving your opinion? Heaven!

If you don’t have anything nice to say about anyone, come sit by me .” – Dorothy Parker (or Alice Roosevelt)

Famous Yentas

Double Digits

I will probably eventually write some sort of “Cast of Characters” for this blog, but the basics – I have a mom and 23 year old sister Marisa that live in New York. My parents divorced when I was about 5, and my dad moved to Florida when I was about 11 or 12. He married my stepmother when I was 15ish. My little sister Madison was born on Christmas Eve in 1998.   Talia was born in 2001.

I remember my dad calling me to tell me Laurie was pregnant. I was absolutely floored. I remember hysterically crying – so many emotions, mostly fear and jealousy.  More importantly, I remember getting the call that Maddi was born. I was working at a costume/gift shop called August Moon. I was wearing some silly reindeer ears, a fishnet shirt thing and was standing behind the counter. I got the call that she was here, and that while she was full-term, she was only 4 lbs. , 7 oz. It was at that second that I realized that I loved this tiny little girl. It’s hard to explain.

Anyway, today she is 10. Ten years old. My tiny baby sister is an actual kid. Her life has been a little rough but she really is the sweetest, most thoughtful wonderful little girl on the planet. Most of my decisions in life have kept her in mind – what would she think of me, would she be proud, etc.  When I went through a really rough depression in my early twenties, it was Maddi’s picture that dragged me out of bed. She may never realize how much I love her, but I sure hope she does.

Erica and Madison 2007

Happy Birthday Maddigirl. I love you.

Sunday Morning

Frank’s birthday was Saturday night. We were up late, and had a friend linger until 5am. Frank and I passed out around 5:30-6ish.

At 9:45am, my phone rings. It comes up “Restricted.” This can only be either Chrissy or Grandma Flo. Because I am not thinking clearly, I pick up. (I am sure more Grandma Flo stories will follow…)

It’s Flo.

She wants to wish Frank a happy belated birthday. Two days belated. Before 10am on a Sunday, even though she has been previously told not to call so early on a Sunday. She hears my sleepy voice, and is indignant that I am still asleep. I promise to call her later and fall back on to my drool-pillow and sleep. For another hour.

The phone rings (at the less terrifying 10:45). It’s my other grandparents. The grandparents that I just had a conversation with on Friday and encouraged them to call me, instead of not calling and then giving me a guilt trip until I finally call (usually every 2-3 days.)

I think I have learned my lesson. I will put my needs first and let it go to voicemail. So, I do. But, because I am not entirely cured of my neuroses, I listen to the voicemail, to make sure everything is okay. Turns out Grandma Elaine called to wish Frank a happy belated birthday. Sense a theme here? Anyway, she ends it asking for me to call her back, she needs to tell me something. It doesn’t sound dire, so I fall back asleep.

I sleep for 3 minutes, because the phone rings again. It’s Grandma Elaine! Now, nervous – I pick up – it has to be important, because why would she call again right after leaving a voice mail?  She hears my very awesome sleepy voice, and immediately apologizes, feels guilty and hangs up.

Wonderful. Now I am wide awake. I let a few minutes go buy, and I call her back. The following is an exact transcript of our conversation.

Erica: Hi Grandma. I am awake now – sorry about that. What’s up?

Grandma: Oh, I am so sorry to wake you, I just had to tell you something.

Erica: Okay. What?

Grandma: I was at Publix, and grandpa found spreadable Gorgonzola cheese!

Erica: …… okay…?

Grandma:  It was $6.49! I thought of you!

Erica: Thanks. Why?

Grandma: Because you love parties!

Erica: Grandma, I am not following you.

Grandma: On a Ritz! A little shmear on a Ritz and its a great appetizer.

I think it goes without saying that we of course, have never had a conversation about appetizers or my cheese preferences. Welcome to my blog.

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