There are about 64 cauliflower fritters, a big pot of Persian rice, a bunch of flowers and two boxes of presents in the back of Talia's yellow car. Leil haseder (Seder night-or Passover) is upon us, and like Christmas, the tension has been mounting. Shops have been steaming up with clouds of focussed israelis dragging round overladen trolleys of food. In the train stations young girls with sweet smiles give out chocolates, and skinny young teenagers in army uniform sleep exhausted on trains as they make their way home for the festival from their army service.
Many people get a week off work. Security guards at railway stations wish you 'Hag Sameach' (happy festival) after they check your bags, and women in buses still talk about which part of the family they're spending the festival with. It's strange, for once, knowing that what you're doing in your own home is reflected in what is being done by many others.
The meal itself, at my cousin Iris's, is very similar, but with a different cast of characters. We follow the haggadah which is all in hebrew. Despite everyone except me being a hebrew speaker, people are still asking 'where is it', what bit do we do now? and 'when do we drink the second cup of wine?' I seemed to think that the wonderful confusion that surrounds the ritual around Pesach the world over would be be eradicated, but no, we still don't quite know what we're up to, or the whole tune to all the songs. But I love that. It's a way where different family traditions bump gently next to each other, and somewhere, plied with wine, a new recipe for charoset and a hell of a lot of chicken, you meet and laugh about it.
The house is cool and airy, and feels like a home. Chaotic, busy but loving. Jokes fly between some of the guests and I struggle to follow. Dor, Iris' autistic son, stands up and whoops at odd intervals, and her five year old giggles shyly when he does the singing. What strikes me most is the feeling here of acceptance of people. Very much each to his own, in his own way. Perhaps I'm being starry eyed. But the vibe tonight was good.
After the meal, like families everywhere after a festival, we sit with slightly glazed eyes, bloated by good food and alcohol in a haze of satisfaction. We sit outside on sofas which my cousin has decorated like a bedouin tent (kids trampoline making a great low table covered with scarves). A few smoke cigars (unusual) and black muddy coffee is drunk. My uncle with his new poet hat, looks abit like a nouvelle vague artiste from 1960s france, sat on the sofa in the garden covered with scarves.
We continue with songs from the book, and israeli songs that people sing while staring into pleasant memories. For my benefit a few beatles hits are trooped out, although Moshe's teenage niece knows the words a lot better than me..
We've sung, we've eaten, we've remembered our freedom, and true to form we've video'd almost every minute of it.
It feels warm in all senses of the word. I grew up loving pesach, it was a time for relaxing and letting go. This time has been no different.
The house is cool and airy, and feels like a home. Chaotic, busy but loving. Jokes fly between some of the guests and I struggle to follow. Dor, Iris' autistic son, stands up and whoops at odd intervals, and her five year old giggles shyly when he does the singing. What strikes me most is the feeling here of acceptance of people. Very much each to his own, in his own way. Perhaps I'm being starry eyed. But the vibe tonight was good.
After the meal, like families everywhere after a festival, we sit with slightly glazed eyes, bloated by good food and alcohol in a haze of satisfaction. We sit outside on sofas which my cousin has decorated like a bedouin tent (kids trampoline making a great low table covered with scarves). A few smoke cigars (unusual) and black muddy coffee is drunk. My uncle with his new poet hat, looks abit like a nouvelle vague artiste from 1960s france, sat on the sofa in the garden covered with scarves.
We continue with songs from the book, and israeli songs that people sing while staring into pleasant memories. For my benefit a few beatles hits are trooped out, although Moshe's teenage niece knows the words a lot better than me..
We've sung, we've eaten, we've remembered our freedom, and true to form we've video'd almost every minute of it.
It feels warm in all senses of the word. I grew up loving pesach, it was a time for relaxing and letting go. This time has been no different.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you're selling real estate or cookery books you might not get anything out of this, but thanks for commenting anyway.