Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Happy Paris Moment #3
Today for lunch, Alex and I meet in the Marais to check out the Jewish quarter’s famed falafel. The Rue des Rosiers, cobblestoned center of Jewish Paris, buzzes with little kids wearing kippot and bearded Orthodox men in motorcycle helmets. Croissants, baklava and challah are stacked in the windows of kosher boulangeries.
A young Hassidic boy clutching a lulav and etrog stops us in the middle of the road, smiling. (Oh right, Sukkot, how could I have forgotten?) He asks if we are israelite. I’m not sure if that means Israeli or Jewish, so I say no.
“Mais ta mère, elle est juive?”
Well, yes, my mother is Jewish, I answer, wondering if he wants to sell me his Sukkot goods. How do I explain that I’d have nowhere to put them?
He presses the lulav in my hand and tells me to repeat after him. Baruch atah Adonai… I can’t stop laughing, and neither can Alex, who hasn’t the slightest clue what is going on with the kid and the leaves.
The prayer is over, but little Menachem isn’t done. Now he places the citron in my other hand and insists on saying the shehechiyanu. Okay, I’ll do that. Why not?
A tangle of Hebrew and one confused friend later, the kid tells me to shake the lulav and citron. I do. Then he takes them back, flashes one last grin, and saunters off to find the next unsuspecting Jewish falafel-seeker.
(In case you were wondering, Happy Paris Moments #1had to do with an accordion player responding to my mental request for the theme from Amelie, and # 2 was a surprise conversation that ended in Arabic. Woohoo!)
A young Hassidic boy clutching a lulav and etrog stops us in the middle of the road, smiling. (Oh right, Sukkot, how could I have forgotten?) He asks if we are israelite. I’m not sure if that means Israeli or Jewish, so I say no.
“Mais ta mère, elle est juive?”
Well, yes, my mother is Jewish, I answer, wondering if he wants to sell me his Sukkot goods. How do I explain that I’d have nowhere to put them?
He presses the lulav in my hand and tells me to repeat after him. Baruch atah Adonai… I can’t stop laughing, and neither can Alex, who hasn’t the slightest clue what is going on with the kid and the leaves.
The prayer is over, but little Menachem isn’t done. Now he places the citron in my other hand and insists on saying the shehechiyanu. Okay, I’ll do that. Why not?
A tangle of Hebrew and one confused friend later, the kid tells me to shake the lulav and citron. I do. Then he takes them back, flashes one last grin, and saunters off to find the next unsuspecting Jewish falafel-seeker.
(In case you were wondering, Happy Paris Moments #1had to do with an accordion player responding to my mental request for the theme from Amelie, and # 2 was a surprise conversation that ended in Arabic. Woohoo!)
Thursday, October 8, 2009
ceci n'est pas un post
Bonjour a tous -
This blog isn't dead! It's only sleeping. Whenever I have too many things to say, I come out with nothing at all. So I'll prioritize, and write small things. Later.
This blog isn't dead! It's only sleeping. Whenever I have too many things to say, I come out with nothing at all. So I'll prioritize, and write small things. Later.
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