Warning: Kapparot are taken very seriously, every single person gets a chicken. You may come home one day to find your house full of said chickens (de-feathered and de-footed, thank God) occupying all manner of container from the pasta strainer to the laundry basket. We had 11 total -- one for each of the 7 children, one for Baria, one for Jakob, one for Lisa and one for me. And then Baria sewed them up. I'm still not sure why.
Suggestion: Don't get home at 5pm from the plage (beach) with Mike when you need to be at synagogue at 5:45pm. You need more time than that to shower, dress and EAT Baria's delicious kitchen (she means chicken).
Warning: Your host mother will say many strange incantations in the name of Rabbi Meir Ba'al HaNes. Don't get nervous -- just go with the flow. She'll eventually bless you in his name that you should be married and become a good journalist or doctor depending on if your name is Sheva or Lisa...though sometimes she gets confused, so the name probably doesn't matter a whole lot.
Suggestion: Bring your own siddur to synagogue. Machzorim are not provided. We got one from Mike.
Warning: Purchase a see-through white blouse to wear (applicable to both genders). They are fashionable, and thus preferable.
Suggestion: Ignore the prohibition against leather shoes. In fact, snakeskin and white leather pumps for women are in vogue. Available for purchase at your local Mango or Zara.
Warning: You will be distracted by (the few) adorable children in town for the holiday visiting their Moroccan grandparents. But you needn't worry about them until 4:30 when most of hte women arrive.
Suggestion: Before you come, try to age as much as possible. Most people are over 70, and you'll want to fit in.
Warning: Be ready for the heat. The sun hits the synagogue straight on through the window beginning around 2pm, and if you're wearing Tzitzit (a Talit) on top of your suit on top of a long sleeve shirt it can get quite toasty. So says Mike. Also there's a power play over the windows and the mechitza curtain (whether or not they stay open) in the women's section. It all goes down in French so I recommend just staying out of the way.
Suggestion: Be prepared for no bowing at Aleinu, and no Unetane Tokef, and no fun tunes. At all. Weird.
Warning: If you speak French you may have your back rubbed and scratched whether you want it or now by Strasbourg.
Suggestions:
- MEN: I suggest setting your watches to Moroccan time. The governor - yes - makes it a habit to come visit "the Jews" on Yom Kippur every year. He was supposed to come at 3pm, between Mussaf and Mincha, but instead came at 5:30pm between Mincha and Neila. Also, men, I suggest learning all of the prayers by heart. Moroccan davening is extremely participatory.
- WOMEN: I suggest becoming a man. The governor shook all of the men's hands individually and warmly, asking how their businesses were faring, seeing how all the children were getting on...and then, as he was leaving, he gave a condescending but gentlemanly wave in the direction of the women's section. The entire section smiled and waved back. Except me. I wanted to shake his hand.
- ALL: Learn Fusha! (This may be the only time I recommend this.) The speech by the Jewish community's representative (you may remember David Toledano) was in slow, beautiful Fusha (!), as was the halting first half of the governor's. I followed both, despite the double-digit decibels coming from the window due to the 8-car entourage double parked on the street outside. The second half of the governor's speech was in much more fluent Darija -- so his audience could understand. It was ingratiatingly sweet, but comforting at the same time. The Jews know that the Muslim government knows about them, likes them, and has their back.
Warning: The shofar comes as quite a surprise (I jumped) in what you might think is the precise middle of Neila (final prayer of Y"K). But its not. Its the end. Be thankful.
Suggestion: Leave the sanctuary at least once to visit the "hang out" room. You won't ever meet all 300 Jews who live in Rabat, but the woodworky ones (60 or so) who come for Y"K are accessible one day a year...you just might need to leave the sanctuary to find them (make your way to the couches).
Warning: You may begin to lose your concentration around 6:30pm or so...there's no break.
Suggestion: Bring food for afterward, Jakob may take his time with Ma'ariv, Kiddush Levana, walking home with the "Shaliach Gadol", in the bathroom, and saying Havdallah. A 25-hour fast quickly (or slowly?) turns into a 27-28 hour fast. But if you didn't remember to bring food, it'll be OK. Baria made a thousand types of delicious cookies to go with the coffee made with hot milk for you to break your fast with.
Warning: You won't be able to sleep if you drink coffee at 8:30pm.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Marriage! (prounced: "Mariyaaj")
We got a talk today from Jakob over our breakfast meal-- actually one of the better, more than 3½-word conversations we’ve had -- about how our biological clocks are ticking. He mentioned that Baria got married at 19, and had 7 kids, Baria’s sister has 8 kids (he said 10, Baria corrected him) and that his own sister got married at 16 and had between 11 and 13 kids (I’m fuzzy on the French details). His last two sons are getting married very soon (we’re going to one of the weddings as I may have mentioned, in November -- in Paris!) Oh, and the kicker: His youngest, 19-year-old daughter whom we've met named Miryam, is engaged to a guy not only she but the entire family’s never met. They have just a picture know a few facts about him: He is 23. He has a big beard. He works with electronics. He wears black and white. He lives in Israel. Did I mention that Miryam does not speak Hebrew? In any case, Lisa better get in the game marry Mike! (I learned how to say that in French so I can annoy Lisa: “Elle va sur marriee avec Mike”!) Anyway, song for the day, from the Julie Andrews and the Von Trapps (who we should all strive to emulate?). Here's a short clip from "Doe, A Dear".
A View from the Balcone; Characters of Life
1) Zohair (AKA homo religiosis) - Our neighbor. I've mentioned him before. Now I'll describe him a bit. He has a longish black beard, a winning smile, and is probably about 32-33. I think he needs a wife. He has two sets of clothing. One, perhaps for Ramadan (?): All white djelaba (traditional long shirt) and all white knitted skull cap. Two, for "chol" (?): When he plays hackysack with his buddies he wears a purply shirt and yellow calf-length pants with, what I call, "Arab tennis shoes" - the kind that is usually black and laces up the side instead of straight and looks purposefully like a European knockoff. He's pretty good...not great. Anyway, we got Baria's scoop on him today. According to her, he doesn't work. He doesn't have the "smarts" for it. We saw him outside our window after dinner talking to Khadija, who was buying water from him. Khadija (whose name is the same as the first wife of the Prophet Mohammad) is the Ben Loulou's "maid"...but she's really part of the family. She's probably in her 50s, and is as sweet as Baria's almond cookies that we ate last night. Anyway, we waved to her from the balcon and she waved back and we said something in Arabic, and Zohair (now we know his real name) was taken aback by the fact that we spoke Arabic and started sort of trying to talk to us, but Baria, giggling like a teenager, rushed us inside and told us - in detail - that he (Zohair) just liked to look around at the girls and basically was a good-for-nothing who didn't want to work. "If he were smart, he would work, because Hashem gave us limbs and minds for one reason: to work." While he does loaf a lot, Zohair doesn't strike me as a "stupid" guy. For now, we have someone else to say hi to when we come in and go out of our Bab. Yay?
2) Aziz (AKA Bob Marley) - So we've seen this guy twice now. The first time last week when we were coming into "town" (Avenue Mohammad V), and we talked - mostly in English - and oday he had his dreads tied in a knot at the back of his head. He had a gaggle of friends with him who had poorer English than he did, so they just stood there (one of whom was wearing nothing but a women's v-neck sweater (!?). This time he chatted with us for a while while we waited for Lisa's language partner, and then told us to come sit with them when she came. We didn't...but I'm sure we'll keep running into him no matter how hard we try to avoid him and his awkward friends.
3) Name Unknown (AKA Strasbourg) - this is a guy we've seen (not met) at synagogue. He affords us endless entertainment based on his a) appearance b) mannerisms c) activities. He looks a great deal like a skinny, ginger version the Harry Potter character Wormtail. He has a constantly startled, mousy look, and scurries around the synagogue talking to people in rapid French, no matter the prayer. Yesterday we saw him rubbing and scratching one of the other mens' back int he middle of Kedusha. Just a generally hilarious - and slightly unnerving -- individual.
4) Mike (AKA Moshe) We met Mike at synagogue on the second day of Rosh HaShana. I introduced myself to a girl who I thought was my age who was sitting next to me. She looked like she could be American and I was just being my Friendly Seattle Self. Turns out, she's 14. And she's from Rabat. And she has a brother who she wanted to introduce us to. This was Mike. Mike is 31. He is not married, and lives the life of a happy bachelor. He works until 3:30 every day, then goes surfing for the remainder of the afternoon, and parties hardy at night. It was not long before he was coming with us to our Internet haven, Cafe Arab (I was convinced from the very first that he was smitten with my roommate, Lisa), taking us in his huge Toyota 4WD truck to the tucked away beaches of Rabat to try and surf with his sister (there were no waves), to swim (a pre-Yom Kippur dip in the Mikve of the Atlantic, if you will) taking us out to El Palentino, the "most swankified club in town" to meet his friends, all of whom are fantastically interesting and successful, paying for us, and just generally showing us a good time -- and Baria approves; he's Jewish! He wants to go jogging with us today...I think we're going to beg off of that one, he's 6'3 and in seriously good shape.
2) Aziz (AKA Bob Marley) - So we've seen this guy twice now. The first time last week when we were coming into "town" (Avenue Mohammad V), and we talked - mostly in English - and oday he had his dreads tied in a knot at the back of his head. He had a gaggle of friends with him who had poorer English than he did, so they just stood there (one of whom was wearing nothing but a women's v-neck sweater (!?). This time he chatted with us for a while while we waited for Lisa's language partner, and then told us to come sit with them when she came. We didn't...but I'm sure we'll keep running into him no matter how hard we try to avoid him and his awkward friends.
3) Name Unknown (AKA Strasbourg) - this is a guy we've seen (not met) at synagogue. He affords us endless entertainment based on his a) appearance b) mannerisms c) activities. He looks a great deal like a skinny, ginger version the Harry Potter character Wormtail. He has a constantly startled, mousy look, and scurries around the synagogue talking to people in rapid French, no matter the prayer. Yesterday we saw him rubbing and scratching one of the other mens' back int he middle of Kedusha. Just a generally hilarious - and slightly unnerving -- individual.
4) Mike (AKA Moshe) We met Mike at synagogue on the second day of Rosh HaShana. I introduced myself to a girl who I thought was my age who was sitting next to me. She looked like she could be American and I was just being my Friendly Seattle Self. Turns out, she's 14. And she's from Rabat. And she has a brother who she wanted to introduce us to. This was Mike. Mike is 31. He is not married, and lives the life of a happy bachelor. He works until 3:30 every day, then goes surfing for the remainder of the afternoon, and parties hardy at night. It was not long before he was coming with us to our Internet haven, Cafe Arab (I was convinced from the very first that he was smitten with my roommate, Lisa), taking us in his huge Toyota 4WD truck to the tucked away beaches of Rabat to try and surf with his sister (there were no waves), to swim (a pre-Yom Kippur dip in the Mikve of the Atlantic, if you will) taking us out to El Palentino, the "most swankified club in town" to meet his friends, all of whom are fantastically interesting and successful, paying for us, and just generally showing us a good time -- and Baria approves; he's Jewish! He wants to go jogging with us today...I think we're going to beg off of that one, he's 6'3 and in seriously good shape.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Shana Tova/Eid Mubarak Finale
Right. So today I'm starting out with the music because I want to give you the full effect as you read and look at the pictures. Traveling to and from Marrakesh is really what The Kinks meant when they tell you to "Take A Walk on the Wild Side". It's a mazy mess of carpet, jewelry, lamp and leather shops, snake charmers, hashish dealers, orange juicers, tourists, horse carriage drivers, and flies. Lots of flies. I'll leave it to the pictures to speak for themselves.
Oh, and these pictures backwards in terms of order. I'm going to go through them here backwards, and I suggest you do as well:
First: Lisa in our smokey first class compartment on the train at 5:45am
Awesome: A picture of us with a weaver in the Kasbah (old city) of Marrakesh. He invited us into his home, and his friend (who lives above him)'s wife made us tea (which we happily consumed and couscous (which we sadly decline). The next picture is him showing us how he works. We stayed and chatted for more than an hour. His stuff is gorgeous.
Next: 4 pictures in sequence of the roof of our fantastic $25/night hostel. We went on to the roof for the call(s - there approx. fifty thousand) to prayer and to watch the sunset. It was beautiful, haunting, and charming all at once.
So: We went to the Jardin Marjorelle, a beautiful, brightly colored, exotic garden planted by a Frenchman. Fountains, cacti, intricate latticework, in blues, reds, greens, made it the best 30 dirham we spent in Marrakesh.
The next two are from the train home -- we got stuck in 2nd class because it was Eid al-Fitr (end of Ramadan, as you know) and everyone and their uncle was going home from their family visits. So we actually managed a compartment, but it was so hot at 3pm that we ended up standing for about 3 of the 4 hour train ride. After teaching our compartment English via my Al-Kitab Book III, Ch 2 Arabic flashcards, we moved to the door (which was left open the entire time...very safe. Note the sign above the door in the picture), talked to two Casablancans, were stuffed into corners by mothers and their big bags, fathers with their little children, got a bit overly friendly with a gaggle of police offers from Sale, and, since we were leaning against the bathroom door, learned about the bowel movements of a good chunk of Morocco's travelers. The last picture is one of the sunset from the train. It was a long, sticky ride, but it was a communal, educational, and culturally rich experience.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Shana Tova/Eid Mubarak
So where was I....ahh yes, Friday night:
FRIDAY NIGHT:
A guy I know from Penn who is on a different program here in Rabat, joined us for dinner. He had gotten in touch with me the day before, and Baria had been more than happy to set one more place at our holiday table. Jakob was thrilled - a son! So we all go home together, sat down in the living room (special! not the regular dining room) - and Jakob immediately grabs the alcohol: Beer for the girls (none for Baria) and a stiff glass of J&B whiskey on the rocks for Yosef (my friend), and another hefty one for himself. And that was just the beginning.
So we're shmoozing and boozing during we have the first course of salads which involves a few new ones (spinach, artichoke, dates) and then the (previously mentioned) "rosh keves" which, I'm told by a new Jewish Moroccan acquaintance of mine, may NOT have been brain, but might be cheek meat...Either way, I'm glad Yosef was there or I might not have tried it, recovering vegetarian that I am. Anyway, the meal was progressing grandly and Jakob was starting to feel...happy. By the time we had eaten the main course was over and we were eating our Fruwi (fruit, our desert), Jakob wanted to sing. And Yosuf was more than happy to join in.
So we sang...and danced (Jakob and Yosuf mostly) for a good 45 minutes, if not more. We sat on the couches and tried to find mutual songs in mutual languages. We stood with our hands over our hearts for Hatikva, swayed for Alouette, and Jakob dipped Yosef through a tango, and tried to kiss him...twice. Jakob is an adorable, lovable man every day, but this night was clearly Jakob at his most entertaining. I'm excited for the wedding.
That night we walked Yosef back to his Bab, but on the way back we were followed by two Moroccan males. They persisted for 10 minutes with their "Hello, how are you?"s and their "Bon Soir"s and finally I'd had enough. I turned around and said - sternly - "SHUMA!" (Shame!). It did no good. I did it again. And again. Lisa took a turn and tried out her newly learned Arabic curse words ("Go F* yourself" was her epithet of choice). To no avail. Finally, after one of the two began to caress my arm, I turned to a cab driver who was standing by his cab and pointed to the guys following us and said, loudly, "Shuma!" That worked. The cabbie gave them one look, and they were done.
SATURDAY:
We went to shul, and there were a million women! But ZERO Machzorim. It was crazy. I don't know how the men followed. I happened to have a siddur, but even so, it was very difficult to follow the whole service. They skipped things, added things, and all the men and even some of the women who weren't talking or staring into space or jumping around after their kids, somehow knew where we were and what was going on. One thing that really threw me for a loop was that they didn't do the bow-all-the-way-down-to-the-ground part of Aleinu, which to me is so essential to Rosh HaShana...Lisa and I were both sort of shocked. There was no speech, no wasted time, and we got out at noon. Yosef came again for lunch, and we had another lovely, less drunken, time. (Baria didn't allow more than one glass of whiskey. "Morning!" she said.)
NOTE TO MOM: On Shabbat day/Yom Tov we forgot the beets! It was just like home, when we always forget the beets. We also had a pomegranate Saturday night for our shehchiyanu whose taste conjured up images of our own shining, happy, family-filled Yuntif table.
SUNDAY:
Sunday was less eventful, except that we met some more woodwork Jews who came to hear the Shofar (which they obviously couldn't blow yesterday since it was Shabbat). We went to the beach and met more American students from the other main study abroad program that's here in Rabat. Between our Arab Cafe Internet-hangout, the beach, and prior acquaintances. I think we know most of them now.
OK whew. That's a lot for you to digest -- literally. I'm going to go to bed because I have to get up in 4 hours to get to Marrakesh, but I'll leave you with the song by Sergio Menedes featuring John Legend called "Please Baby Don't" (sorry it's a live version -- but at least its from Philly!) which has been stuck in my head all weekend, and never fails to put me in a good mood.
FRIDAY NIGHT:
A guy I know from Penn who is on a different program here in Rabat, joined us for dinner. He had gotten in touch with me the day before, and Baria had been more than happy to set one more place at our holiday table. Jakob was thrilled - a son! So we all go home together, sat down in the living room (special! not the regular dining room) - and Jakob immediately grabs the alcohol: Beer for the girls (none for Baria) and a stiff glass of J&B whiskey on the rocks for Yosef (my friend), and another hefty one for himself. And that was just the beginning.
So we're shmoozing and boozing during we have the first course of salads which involves a few new ones (spinach, artichoke, dates) and then the (previously mentioned) "rosh keves" which, I'm told by a new Jewish Moroccan acquaintance of mine, may NOT have been brain, but might be cheek meat...Either way, I'm glad Yosef was there or I might not have tried it, recovering vegetarian that I am. Anyway, the meal was progressing grandly and Jakob was starting to feel...happy. By the time we had eaten the main course was over and we were eating our Fruwi (fruit, our desert), Jakob wanted to sing. And Yosuf was more than happy to join in.
So we sang...and danced (Jakob and Yosuf mostly) for a good 45 minutes, if not more. We sat on the couches and tried to find mutual songs in mutual languages. We stood with our hands over our hearts for Hatikva, swayed for Alouette, and Jakob dipped Yosef through a tango, and tried to kiss him...twice. Jakob is an adorable, lovable man every day, but this night was clearly Jakob at his most entertaining. I'm excited for the wedding.
That night we walked Yosef back to his Bab, but on the way back we were followed by two Moroccan males. They persisted for 10 minutes with their "Hello, how are you?"s and their "Bon Soir"s and finally I'd had enough. I turned around and said - sternly - "SHUMA!" (Shame!). It did no good. I did it again. And again. Lisa took a turn and tried out her newly learned Arabic curse words ("Go F* yourself" was her epithet of choice). To no avail. Finally, after one of the two began to caress my arm, I turned to a cab driver who was standing by his cab and pointed to the guys following us and said, loudly, "Shuma!" That worked. The cabbie gave them one look, and they were done.
SATURDAY:
We went to shul, and there were a million women! But ZERO Machzorim. It was crazy. I don't know how the men followed. I happened to have a siddur, but even so, it was very difficult to follow the whole service. They skipped things, added things, and all the men and even some of the women who weren't talking or staring into space or jumping around after their kids, somehow knew where we were and what was going on. One thing that really threw me for a loop was that they didn't do the bow-all-the-way-down-to-the-ground part of Aleinu, which to me is so essential to Rosh HaShana...Lisa and I were both sort of shocked. There was no speech, no wasted time, and we got out at noon. Yosef came again for lunch, and we had another lovely, less drunken, time. (Baria didn't allow more than one glass of whiskey. "Morning!" she said.)
NOTE TO MOM: On Shabbat day/Yom Tov we forgot the beets! It was just like home, when we always forget the beets. We also had a pomegranate Saturday night for our shehchiyanu whose taste conjured up images of our own shining, happy, family-filled Yuntif table.
SUNDAY:
Sunday was less eventful, except that we met some more woodwork Jews who came to hear the Shofar (which they obviously couldn't blow yesterday since it was Shabbat). We went to the beach and met more American students from the other main study abroad program that's here in Rabat. Between our Arab Cafe Internet-hangout, the beach, and prior acquaintances. I think we know most of them now.
OK whew. That's a lot for you to digest -- literally. I'm going to go to bed because I have to get up in 4 hours to get to Marrakesh, but I'll leave you with the song by Sergio Menedes featuring John Legend called "Please Baby Don't" (sorry it's a live version -- but at least its from Philly!) which has been stuck in my head all weekend, and never fails to put me in a good mood.
Lead up to Shana Tova/Eid Mubarak
So this doesn't happen every year, in fact it only happens once every dozen years or more. As Rosh HaShana ebbs away, Eid Al-Fitr begins. And they might even have fallen on the same day, since Muslims still do the old-school-check-the-moon-to-determine-the-beginning-of-the-month thing. Implications: Ramadan is over, and I have two more days of weekend! So its off to Marrakesh tomorrow morning. My roommate and I are getting up at 4:45am to catch a 5:45 train and sleep on it for its 4-hour duration. We're staying until tomorrow night and we'll get to see Eid in action instead of sitting on our Jewish mother's balcone in Rabat.
PREFACE:
This Rosh HaShana held not a few incidents that bear recording in this blog. I will begin chronologically, from last Sunday. It was a rough week.
SUNDAY:
I spent Sunday at the Oudais -- that wonderful garden area overlooking the sea. Lisa and I sat there for 3 hours or so during which time a parade of beautiful little girls and their grandfathers meandered through. I guess its the thing to do when you're a grandfather.
MONDAY:
Uneventful. Gym was normal. Nice.
TUESDAY:
I got a cold.
WEDNESDAY: I woke up in a blur of haze and daze, but I went to the gym after class anyway because, well, I'm paying for my 20 minutes of cardio three times a week, and I better get my money's worth. But I was miserable. I had planned on taking it easy, but of course I worked myself pretty hard and then by the time musculation rolled around I was feeling like death. But I picked up my bedraggled body and did the musculation, and I did it well. But then, as I was coming back I was looking down to get a tissue, and I walked straight into a barbell. I heard a CRACK, saw black and doubled over, thinking I'd broken my nose. I hadn't. But I did have a nice black eye and cut on the bridge of my nose for a couple days. I made up a good story about how Musculation Man tried to punch a creeper who followed me to the gym but punched me instead. Everyone bought it. But I couldn't keep it up for long. I wasn't in good shape.
THURSDAY:
I was very sick. But I came to class anyway, and I even gave a presentation on one of the readings. I went home, ate some of Baria's weird barley soup to try and clear my sinuses, failed to clear them, got a fever (100.9 F. Baria was worried. I thought I had swine flu), and stayed in bed instead of going to the art gallery show with the rest of AmidEast. Cry.
FRIDAY:
I was better, but the sickliness was sticking around so while Lisa went to the gym I passed out on the wicker chairs outside, ripped my pants on the wicker, and crinked my neck from holding it the for too long in a position one might think was inspired by Picasso. When we got home we showered and got ready for the Chag, and went to shul -- which had fewer women, but maybe triple the men than it does on a normal Friday night.
Oh, forgive me for the pause, but I need to interject here with a short list of strangely awkward, and necessarily bizarre things I have (on occasion forced myself to) consume in the recent past.
From least gross to grossest:
1) Tea made from "Verveine" (French) or "Quisu" (Arabic), a dried plant substance that Baria told me would be good for my "Grippe" (cold). A spot of saccharina, and I was ready for bed.
2) 1,000mg Acetaminophen soluble tablets. Baria insisted I take at least 3 a day. One with every meal. I probably dissolved 7 or 8 of these huge tablets in about a half a cup of water, brace, chug, wince, and hope I'd feel better.
2) A tiny applypear fruit that is apparently very expensive and only eaten once a year - Rosh HaShana.
3) Orange juice that had the distinct aftertaste of gasoline. I was at Bert's and I swear it tasted like neft (Arabic/Hebrew for the stuff you put in your tank). I was just trying to a good dose of Vitamin C! Like I said, it was a rough week.
4) Glan (French pronounced "Glon(d)") AKA Blota (Arabic) - its a sort of tasteless nut thing that comes from a tree. We had to peel it and somehow consume it while pretending to enjoy it.
5) Sausage - we actually ate intestine-encased ground beef on Tuesday after watching Baria deep fry them. It made me feel feel...viciously and sickeningly carnivorous.
6) Liver? I don't know whether or not I ever actually ate this - but I saw Baria preparing it in the kitchen. She took huge chunks of the raw stuff, sat them on top of a grill that sat on top of a flame that sat on top of a propane tank. But it didn't show up anywhere in our meals that I could detect...My new spy novel is to be dubbed: "The Mystery of the Disappearing Grilled Liver".
7) Lamb Brain - "Only on Rosh HaShana". They had the ENTIRE head of lamb ("Rosh Keves" insisted Jakob) on a plate at the table. And we ate the brain. Let me repeat: WE ATE THE BRAIN OF A LAMB.
I don't have the energy after that list - and I can imagine that you don't either - to write about the actual night/day/night/day that was my Rosh HaShana in this post. Stay tuned for Part Deux. For now, based on my mood of the moment: Gravity, by Embrace.
PREFACE:
This Rosh HaShana held not a few incidents that bear recording in this blog. I will begin chronologically, from last Sunday. It was a rough week.
SUNDAY:
I spent Sunday at the Oudais -- that wonderful garden area overlooking the sea. Lisa and I sat there for 3 hours or so during which time a parade of beautiful little girls and their grandfathers meandered through. I guess its the thing to do when you're a grandfather.
MONDAY:
Uneventful. Gym was normal. Nice.
TUESDAY:
I got a cold.
WEDNESDAY: I woke up in a blur of haze and daze, but I went to the gym after class anyway because, well, I'm paying for my 20 minutes of cardio three times a week, and I better get my money's worth. But I was miserable. I had planned on taking it easy, but of course I worked myself pretty hard and then by the time musculation rolled around I was feeling like death. But I picked up my bedraggled body and did the musculation, and I did it well. But then, as I was coming back I was looking down to get a tissue, and I walked straight into a barbell. I heard a CRACK, saw black and doubled over, thinking I'd broken my nose. I hadn't. But I did have a nice black eye and cut on the bridge of my nose for a couple days. I made up a good story about how Musculation Man tried to punch a creeper who followed me to the gym but punched me instead. Everyone bought it. But I couldn't keep it up for long. I wasn't in good shape.
THURSDAY:
I was very sick. But I came to class anyway, and I even gave a presentation on one of the readings. I went home, ate some of Baria's weird barley soup to try and clear my sinuses, failed to clear them, got a fever (100.9 F. Baria was worried. I thought I had swine flu), and stayed in bed instead of going to the art gallery show with the rest of AmidEast. Cry.
FRIDAY:
I was better, but the sickliness was sticking around so while Lisa went to the gym I passed out on the wicker chairs outside, ripped my pants on the wicker, and crinked my neck from holding it the for too long in a position one might think was inspired by Picasso. When we got home we showered and got ready for the Chag, and went to shul -- which had fewer women, but maybe triple the men than it does on a normal Friday night.
Oh, forgive me for the pause, but I need to interject here with a short list of strangely awkward, and necessarily bizarre things I have (on occasion forced myself to) consume in the recent past.
From least gross to grossest:
1) Tea made from "Verveine" (French) or "Quisu" (Arabic), a dried plant substance that Baria told me would be good for my "Grippe" (cold). A spot of saccharina, and I was ready for bed.
2) 1,000mg Acetaminophen soluble tablets. Baria insisted I take at least 3 a day. One with every meal. I probably dissolved 7 or 8 of these huge tablets in about a half a cup of water, brace, chug, wince, and hope I'd feel better.
2) A tiny applypear fruit that is apparently very expensive and only eaten once a year - Rosh HaShana.
3) Orange juice that had the distinct aftertaste of gasoline. I was at Bert's and I swear it tasted like neft (Arabic/Hebrew for the stuff you put in your tank). I was just trying to a good dose of Vitamin C! Like I said, it was a rough week.
4) Glan (French pronounced "Glon(d)") AKA Blota (Arabic) - its a sort of tasteless nut thing that comes from a tree. We had to peel it and somehow consume it while pretending to enjoy it.
5) Sausage - we actually ate intestine-encased ground beef on Tuesday after watching Baria deep fry them. It made me feel feel...viciously and sickeningly carnivorous.
6) Liver? I don't know whether or not I ever actually ate this - but I saw Baria preparing it in the kitchen. She took huge chunks of the raw stuff, sat them on top of a grill that sat on top of a flame that sat on top of a propane tank. But it didn't show up anywhere in our meals that I could detect...My new spy novel is to be dubbed: "The Mystery of the Disappearing Grilled Liver".
7) Lamb Brain - "Only on Rosh HaShana". They had the ENTIRE head of lamb ("Rosh Keves" insisted Jakob) on a plate at the table. And we ate the brain. Let me repeat: WE ATE THE BRAIN OF A LAMB.
I don't have the energy after that list - and I can imagine that you don't either - to write about the actual night/day/night/day that was my Rosh HaShana in this post. Stay tuned for Part Deux. For now, based on my mood of the moment: Gravity, by Embrace.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Characters in the Life; A View from the Balcone
1) Zohair (AKA homo religiosis) - Our neighbor. I've mentioned him before. Now I'll describe him a bit. He has a longish black beard, a winning smile, and is probably about 32-33. I think he needs a wife. He has two sets of clothing. One, perhaps for Ramadan (?): All white djelaba (traditional long shirt) and all white knitted skull cap. Two, for "chol" (?): When he plays hackysack with his buddies he wears a purply shirt and yellow calf-length pants with, what I call, "Arab tennis shoes" - the kind that is usually black and laces up the side instead of straight and looks purposefully like a European knockoff. He's pretty good...not great. Anyway, we got Baria's scoop on him today. According to her, he doesn't work. He doesn't have the "smarts" for it. We saw him outside our window after dinner talking to Khadija, who was buying water from him. Khadija (whose name is the same as the first wife of the Prophet Mohammad) is the Ben Loulou's "maid"...but she's really part of the family. She's probably in her 50s, and is as sweet as Baria's almond cookies that we ate last night. Anyway, we waved to her from the balcon and she waved back and we said something in Arabic, and Zohair (now we know his real name) was taken aback by the fact that we spoke Arabic and started sort of trying to talk to us, but Baria, giggling like a teenager, rushed us inside and told us - in detail - that he (Zohair) just liked to look around at the girls and basically was a good-for-nothing who didn't want to work. "If he were smart, he would work, because Hashem gave us limbs and minds for one reason: to work." While he does loaf a lot, Zohair doesn't strike me as a "stupid" guy. For now, we have someone else to say hi to when we come in and go out of our Bab. Yay?
2) Aziz (AKA Bob Marley) - So we've seen this guy twice now. The first time last week when we were coming into "town" (Avenue Mohammad V), and we talked - mostly in English - and oday he had his dreads tied in a knot at the back of his head. He had a gaggle of friends with him who had poorer English than he did, so they just stood there (one of whom was wearing nothing but a women's v-neck sweater (!?). This time he chatted with us for a while while we waited for Lisa's language partner, and then told us to come sit with them when she came. We didn't...but I'm sure we'll keep running into him no matter how hard we try to avoid him and his awkward friends.
3) Name Unknown (AKA Strasbourg) - this is a guy we've seen (not met) at synagogue. He affords us endless entertainment based on his a) appearance b) mannerisms c) activities. He looks a great deal like a skinny, ginger version the Harry Potter character Wormtail. He has a constantly startled, mousy look, and scurries around the synagogue talking to people in rapid French, no matter the prayer. Yesterday we saw him rubbing and scratching one of the other mens' back int he middle of Kedusha. Just a generally hilarious - and slightly unnerving -- individual.
4) Mike (AKA Moshe) We met Mike at synagogue on the second day of Rosh HaShana. I introduced myself to a girl who I thought was my age who was sitting next to me. She looked like she could be American and I was just being my Friendly Seattle Self. Turns out, she's 14. And she's from Rabat. And she has a brother who she wanted to introduce us to. This was Mike. Mike is 31. He is not married, and lives the life of a happy bachelor. He works until 3:30 every day, then goes surfing for the remainder of the afternoon, and parties hardy at night. It was not long before he was coming with us to our Internet haven, Cafe Arab (I was convinced from the very first that he was smitten with my roommate, Lisa), taking us in his huge Toyota 4WD truck to the tucked away beaches of Rabat to try and surf with his sister (there were no waves), to swim (a pre-Yom Kippur dip in the Mikve of the Atlantic, if you will) taking us out to El Palentino, the "most swankified club in town" to meet his friends, all of whom are fantastically interesting and successful, paying for us, and just generally showing us a good time -- and Baria approves; he's Jewish! He wants to go jogging with us today...I think we're going to beg off of that one, he's 6'3 and in seriously good shape.
2) Aziz (AKA Bob Marley) - So we've seen this guy twice now. The first time last week when we were coming into "town" (Avenue Mohammad V), and we talked - mostly in English - and oday he had his dreads tied in a knot at the back of his head. He had a gaggle of friends with him who had poorer English than he did, so they just stood there (one of whom was wearing nothing but a women's v-neck sweater (!?). This time he chatted with us for a while while we waited for Lisa's language partner, and then told us to come sit with them when she came. We didn't...but I'm sure we'll keep running into him no matter how hard we try to avoid him and his awkward friends.
3) Name Unknown (AKA Strasbourg) - this is a guy we've seen (not met) at synagogue. He affords us endless entertainment based on his a) appearance b) mannerisms c) activities. He looks a great deal like a skinny, ginger version the Harry Potter character Wormtail. He has a constantly startled, mousy look, and scurries around the synagogue talking to people in rapid French, no matter the prayer. Yesterday we saw him rubbing and scratching one of the other mens' back int he middle of Kedusha. Just a generally hilarious - and slightly unnerving -- individual.
4) Mike (AKA Moshe) We met Mike at synagogue on the second day of Rosh HaShana. I introduced myself to a girl who I thought was my age who was sitting next to me. She looked like she could be American and I was just being my Friendly Seattle Self. Turns out, she's 14. And she's from Rabat. And she has a brother who she wanted to introduce us to. This was Mike. Mike is 31. He is not married, and lives the life of a happy bachelor. He works until 3:30 every day, then goes surfing for the remainder of the afternoon, and parties hardy at night. It was not long before he was coming with us to our Internet haven, Cafe Arab (I was convinced from the very first that he was smitten with my roommate, Lisa), taking us in his huge Toyota 4WD truck to the tucked away beaches of Rabat to try and surf with his sister (there were no waves), to swim (a pre-Yom Kippur dip in the Mikve of the Atlantic, if you will) taking us out to El Palentino, the "most swankified club in town" to meet his friends, all of whom are fantastically interesting and successful, paying for us, and just generally showing us a good time -- and Baria approves; he's Jewish! He wants to go jogging with us today...I think we're going to beg off of that one, he's 6'3 and in seriously good shape.
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