Like an old shoe.

They say you can never go home. And they lie.

I'm back in Nebraska for the weekend. My college friend Patrick married his Husker sweetheart, Amanda, last night in a short, but kind wedding at St. Paul's in downtown Lincoln. Aside from a lot of Christy-talk, it was a nice ceremony. The song was strange, as it was about the "beauty of Christ's body." Being me, it made me squirm a little in my seat. I guess there's nothing beautiful about a crucified body, in my opinion. Though I imagine it was metaphorical, I don't get that kind of stuff. The reception that followed was small, beautiful and what I'd hope mine could be. It wasn't ritzy (the steak was delicious, though), but had a flare of class. The music options (some Sinatra, and other big band tunes) were astounding, not to mention that the cake was moist as anything I've ever had. The best part? The jellybeans on the tables. Kudos, my man. Kudos. The bride and groom were dashing, and I nearly cried after finishing my dollar dance with Patrick. There's something about seeing a good friend happy, glowing in what they really deserved that makes you want to cry for them. In happiness, of course. Mazel tov, my friends.

The trip has gone quite well so far.

We went to South Street temple on Friday night, and I can't even begin to describe how fulfilling it was. If there's one thing I miss most in my life, the one thing that if I could top it all off right now and be completely happy, it would be to be able to be with my synagogue family again. It's been more than a year since last I went to temple there, but I fell right back in. Rabbi Emanuel welcomed me to read a bit from the siddur (which was so nice, considering it will be eons before I'm asked to read at our new synagogue in Chicago) and there was a baby name ceremony, so myriad people were there. All of the old friends -- Barb, Deb, the Zlotskys, the rabbi and his family, Sara and her husband -- everyone was there. It seems I've missed a lot in the past year. Babies, engagements, catastrophe at the Conservative synagogue in town (which I INTEND on finding all about, of course). I miss my friends there. I miss the Torah studies and conversation. It's so hard to get to the new temple on Saturdays for Torah study, when it takes an hour and a half by transit to make it there. But it was reassuring, reaffirming, and uplifting to be there again. The place where I kindled my faith and found a home and a family among all the world's Israelites. It will always be my home, and each time I come back is a reminder that no matter how lost and far away I feel, I always have somewhere to go back to.

We hit the Starlite Lounge Friday night, where we ran into Johnny and other old Daily Nebraskan chums. I fell in love with the Tom Collins and relished in the hipness of the place I used to go every Thursday for free appetizers and cheaply priced faux martinis. There was Bison Witches yesterday afternoon for lunch, which I was happy that Ian loved. If I could franchise a restaurant, that might be it. We visited Target and went to the wedding, topping the night off with some Runza to fill our stomachs. If you've never had a Runza burger, then you're missing out. It's another restaurant I'd like to franchise -- if only so I could eat the burgers and fries for the rest of my days. Even Ian, a burger/food connoseur and the toughest critic I know, said it was the best fast food burger he'd ever had (topping Inn-N-Out, among others). Today it was Frenchees and the Coffee House, the latter being a staple of the College Years for me.

Either way, every place felt like home. It's quiet, being summertime with classes out. The college kids make up a big chunk of the heart of this city, which is why when many graduate they move on to Omaha -- it keeps that umph that many miss from college around these parts. But it's flat, and the buildings are low. I took Ian out to my "spot" -- Alvo Road at 14th Street -- where you can see every star in the sky, no matter what type of night it is. Big Dipper, Cassiopia, you name it, it's there. It's a gravel road that leads somewhere, though I'm not sure where. I've always just pulled right in, turned off the engine and killed the lights. It's the kind of place where you can just hold your breath and hear all the sounds of the world. There are few places left like that, and definitely none in Chicago.

When they say you can never go home, they lie. I'm back where I used to be and I feel as though I've never left. I settled right in at synagogue and Bison Witches and among the streets of Lincoln. There are new roads, new people, new restaurants and structures, but it's all the same old shoe. It's comforting and I couldn't be happier to be back. So now I know that the myth is a lie, and I couldn't be happier.

Yes, it's real.

A rabbi (in Israel) decided to annul a conversion -- FIFTEEN years after the fact.

Believe it? You better. Click here.

On B'Midbar (that's wilderness, folks).

The Torah was given to the people of Israel in the ownerless desert. For if it were given in the Land of Israel, the residents of the Land of Israel would say, "It is ours"; and if it were given in some other place, the residents of that place would say, "It is ours." Therefore it was given in the wilderness, so that anyone who wishes to acquire it may acquire it.

(Mechilta D'Rashbi)

I think that just about sums it up. The census taken has some fun traditions to it (such as that the number of Israelites equates to the number of letters in Torah, thus expressing that without one Israelite the mission cannot be accomplished, much like the absence of a letter in a scroll renders the Torah scroll unfit.) I'm finding it harder and harder to focus. Perhaps I need a new venue, or maybe my (not-diagnosed) ADD is getting the best of me.

Shalom, and may you be ever so excited and eager for Shavuot!

A poem.

I'm browsing scholarly journals looking for papers that thrill me or authors that might want to get to know me. In the shuffle, I came across this poem by Jehanne Dubrow. It's about where I got my undergrad, the place I garnered a minor in Judaic studies -- if only they had had a major option. But then again, I suppose this poem says it all. This is excerpted from a 2006 issue of Judaism.

Judaic Studies
University of Nebraska-Lincoln
The department doesn't even fill a floor
but one room at the university,
fluorescents dark behind a frosted door
which answers woodenly to every knock.
No secretary waiting there to call
me puppele, German for little doll,
or feed me raspberry-swirled rugelach,
the sweetness now an eaten memory.
On certain days, Nebraska could be Poland,
the same blond silences of plains, each field
a never-ending corridor of gold.
What happened to the open door? It's sealed,
with every light tumed off, and no one home
except the wind breathing alone, alone.

JEHANNE DUBROW received her MFA in poetry from the University of Maryland, College
Park. She is currently working toward a Ph.D. in creative writing at the University of
Nebraska-Lincoln where she also serves as the senior poetry reader of Prairie Schooner. Her
work has appeared in Poetry, The Hudson Review, Tikkun, Midstream and The New
England Review.

We're taking our time.

I haven't disappeared. I haven't stopped reading Torah or going to synagogue or being who I am.

I have many drafts written that haven't been posted. Many of them become outdated and sit in my blogger account. I had one about the parshah Emor and how if you flip the letters around you get Omer! How appropriate for Emor to be during the Omer. And other things. Important things. Pertinent things.

I find myself reading a lot more. I'm trying to get through Rashi by Maurice Liber. I've been reading a variety of articles and just finished one about the reception of Rashi's take on Adam having "intercourse" with all the beasts before the advent of Eve. I'm poking around at a paper about Maimonides and another about reading R. Gershom. The bonus to working at a university is the free access to billions of journals and texts online :) I'm horribly spoiled!

Ian and I are filling out the papers to join a temple here in Chicago. It will be my first "paid" membership to a synagogue. In Lincoln my membership to B'Nai Jeshurun (South Street Temple) was taken care of because I was (a) a student and (b) did the temple newsletter. It's strange to actually become a card carrying member of a synagogue, especially one that is so incredibly large. The sanctuary is THE most beautiful one I've ever been in. The building is built in the same style as B'Nai Jeshurun, which is a relief. I "grew up" in the byzantine style, which I find the most beautiful and Jewish. The temples that are built in the style of churches put me off, and this is the first place I've ever felt at home. The thing I'm looking most forward to? Volunteering! Adult education! Activities! Community!

So yes, things are starting to come together. Baruch HaShem!

A diversion. Pardon me.

You never know how lonely you can get until the person you love, who you've been living with for just under two months, leaves the state for four days to go two time zones away.

I've known Ian for nearly 3 years (it will be "officially" 3 as of May 14/15 -- I responded to a LiveJournal post of his on the 14th, but he didn't respond to me until the 15th), and I've been (finally) living with him almost two months, though it feels like years. Maybe that's because it's all this kindred spirits finally coming together stuff. You know, that person you always knew you'd be with and that you've always wanted to marry, now just right next to you.

Did I mention he cooks? Not just cooks though. He'll make chicken parmigiana and the most delicious mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned chicken. Brilliant, he is. And I smile more when he's around. I'm more awake and alive. I'm more excited.

I typically get off work around 5:45 and take the quickest possible route home to get to him. Tonight? I pudded around. Went to the store. Went to Staples. Took the long way to the bus. And here I've been since about 8 p.m. Lame-ola. Time just sits still, I guess. It's how I felt in D.C. Alone and aimless.

Boo to that I say. So I'll wait till Sunday. I guess. Man, I got attached really quick.

Why, Russia, must you be so damn high and mighty?

Just because Estonia's government removes a statue to the Russians who liberated and fought for the greater good, it MUST mean that the Jews of the world are glorifying Nazi SS men.

That is, at least, what a Russian woman historian said on BBC radio this morning.

Ugh.

G-d forbid a country wants to rid itself of the memory of decades of occupation.

Sigh. Again, again.

Not that I'd ever vote Republican, but Tommy Thompson just lost my vote. Why?

"I'm in the private sector and for the first time in my life I'm earning money," Thompson told the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. "You know that's sort of part of the Jewish tradition and I do not find anything wrong with that."

He then later decided he needed to clarify with this:
"I just want to clarify something because I didn't (by) any means want to infer or imply anything about Jews and finances and things. What I was referring to, ladies and gentlemen, is the accomplishments of the Jewish religion. You've been outstanding business people and I compliment you for that."

Maybe someone should educate the man on the history of money lending and Jewish finances. Maybe? No, someone should. I mean, the article immediately points out that one of his first actions in politics was to take some hoo-ha trip to Israel in 1988. Big deal.

If your jaw flaps that widely and narrowly, perhaps you should get your face stapled.

A little late on the parashah ... Sh'mini!

Perhaps the most significant aspect of this week's parshah (for me) is the discussion in Etz Chayim regarding kashrut. I'm often asked why I hold on to "archaic" or "outdated" mitzvot like not eating pork or not mixing milk and meat. I have my reasons -- much like everyone else does -- and they vary from person to person. Is it wrong to not just say "Because Torah says so!" ... HELL NO. (My biggest beef with Christianity growing up was that I was discouraged from asking questions. That was also one of my biggest draws to Judaism!)

Before I talk kashrut, I want to mention a few other things in this parshah, which begins with two of Aaron's sons being consumed by flames.

In this portion of the parshah, Aaron raises his hands to G-d and blesses the people before him, which made me wonder if this is where the belief that the 'live long and prosper' hand symbol arose from the priests of Temple Judaism. Leonard Nemoy took the hand symbol (of which I'm sure everyone is familiar) to Star Trek, saying that he remembered making the gesture in shul when he was a lad. I have yet to run across anything in Torah that specifically details the hand signal, but I'm still looking out for it. Curious, nu? Here's a site with some insight: Jewish origins of the Vulcan gesture.

The debate over Nadab's and Abihu's sin (and what it was) is ongoing. Etz Chayim says "Their sin, if any, was a lack of faith, trying to help G-d in a situation in which G-d did not need their help. (Mekh.)" Sages have said the fire was the "fire of ambition" and that the boys were trying to supersede their edlers, while others have said that the brothers were motivated by EXTREME piety. That is, they wanted desperately to be close to G-d and got lost in the effort to attain extreme closeness. Even still, it has been argued that their bodies were not completely consumed and burnt by the fire from G-d, because of phrases later that say the men were carried away by their tunics. Rather, it has been suggested that their souls were completely consumed, resulting in Nadab and Abihu becoming spiritually ruined.

On the same note, within the commentary it says something that I wasn't really aware of, but it regards recent losses (death, of course). Jewish law counsels us AGAINST trying to comfort individuals right after a loss. This goes against nature, considering when someone close to us is hurting we want immediately to help them feel better. But at the same time, there's something strange about doing so ... which makes this little bit of Jewish law pointed.

NOW! For the little morsel I wanted to share. I'm perfectly solid in my reasons for not eating pork, shellfish and beef/dairy combos, among other things. But whenever I can find more satisfaction and law in my decision, I get giddy and it helps the moral effort. Etz Chayim highlights the issue as such: We are commanded not to ingest blood, thus, we should not consume animals and birds of prey that ingest blood, because this puts blood into our food system. Ta da! Brilliant! Additionally, the comments admit that keeping kosher reminds us that there is "a moral difference between eating an apple and a slice of meat." Why? Because one of G-d's creatures had to be slaughtered for the consumption of the meat. Keeping kosher creates a consciousness, which I like.

Okay, that was probably a false buildup, but I thought those two little bits there about kashrut were poignant.

Never again.

Yom HaShoah -- Never again! Never again? (Darfur, Rwanda, ...)

Today is Yom HaShoah. That is, Holocaust Remembrance Day. The world over, are people thinking about it? Remembering? Recalling? Reliving? So few Holocaust survivors remain. And by that, I mean individuals directly impacted by the Nazi horrors. Not Joe Shmo who was enjoying a hot dog in Chicago on State Street while millions were dying in Europe. No. I'm talking the individuals of witness and loss.

Friday at Shabbat services, the sermon was brief, but impactful. The thing is, the rabbi (whom Ian and I weren't particularly fond of -- the shul has three rabbis and we enjoy the other two) related Yom HaShoah to this week's parshah, which includes the death of two of Aaron's sons by fire. The first part of the parshah discusses the "alien fire" that the two sons present on the alter, resulting in their consumption in flames at (most likely) the hands of G-d. Flames, fire and ash. "Shoah" appears in the Tanakh THREE times, and more or less means total destruction or devastation. The rabbi then read a very graphic, touching, horrific portion from Elie Wiesel's "Night." I read the book a few years ago and cried uncontrollably. Thinking about the book or even hearing pieces from it is devastating.

The section she read depicted the hanging of three Jewish prisoners -- one of which was a child. When he was hanged, he remained alive for nearly a half-hour, his weight too small to kill him quickly. He shook and wriggled and the prisoners were made to watch. A prisoner screamed "WHERE IS G-D?!" over and over. Elie Wiesel thought to himself that G-d was there, hanging before them. The rabbi continued on saying "Where was G-d? He was there, suffering alongside us."

But that wasn't enough. It's never enough just to say that, is it? I'd been in a very good mood throughout the evening. Ian and I sat in Argo, traveled North and headed to shul -- I was content. But this sermon shook me, putting me into a state of depression that continues on at this moment. I had two horrible nightmares that night and was depressed all day yesterday. The dissatisfaction from the rabbi saying that G-d was there, suffering ... was just so little, so sad. So unfulfilling. I don't command an answer, a reason, an explanation to the Shoah. It can't be karma, it can't be G-d's will, it can't be that it just happened.

Anyhow, the sadness won't let up. So on this Yom HaShoah, I beg for peace of mind.

Life Lives On

Why is there death in the world? So that evil will not live forever.

Because, since we ate of the Tree of Knowledge, no one walks forward without stumbling, no one climbs without falling, no one does good all his life without causing some damage along the way. Until, at the end, our lives are an absurd muddle of good and evil inextricably bound.

With death, evil dies as well. The failures, the ugly acts and the damage done--all these wither and eventually perish. But the good we have accomplished--and that we truly are -- this lives forever.

--A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe

Death to a legend! Oy!

He won my heart with "God Bless You, Dr. Kavorkian." Or was it "Slaughterhouse Five"? Although it could easily have been "Breakfast of Champions" -- my favorite Vonnegut book. I've read so many of his books, and he defeats J.D. Salinger on my list of favorite authors (cliched? maybe). But Vonnegut is the man who made me love reading. I realized then that literature didn't have to be stiff and archaic. It could be meddlesome and hilarious.

So, cheers to you Mr. Vonnegut. I hope negotiations are going well with your entrance into the netherlands. Your memory is emblazoned on my mind -- permanently. Thanks, you old man.

Hope it did you well.

So Pesach has ended ... and what did the meal consist of this evening at sunset?

Pizza.
Garlic cheese bread.
Coke (with corn syrup).

And I just made cinnamon rolls. I'm happily taking part in the bread and corn syrup once again. It's super.

And there we are.

Tomorrow is fish and chips. Friday night? White Castle (tee hee). Hot dogs on Saturday at Hot Doug's and so on. Yes sir. Yes sir indeed.

Oh, and then there was when we left Argo Tea ... and we were walking down the street ... and this guy who was either soliciting funds for some charity or trying to get us to sign something ...

Him: Do you have a minute?
Us: No, sorry.
Him: ... Are you Jewish?
The boy: Uhh ..... no.

As we walk away, the guy says sort of under his breath "Yes you are."

Then I realized a bit later that I have a button with Hebrew on it on the back of my backpack.

Weird. Why'd he ask? We don't know.

A challenge.

I'm sitting in Argo Tea near Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Just by Water Tower place. I'm at a table among tables crowded with people, headphones in, listening to Explosions in the Sky (my Torah music). My Etz Hayim is open to Ezekiel 37:1-14, reading between talking via GChat with Ian.

An older man with bad teeth appears over my shoulder, and with a thick British accent says, "Greek?"

I pull off my headphones and show him the cover, "No, it's Hebrew ... Torah."

He responds very quickly, as if waiting to quiz someone -- anyone -- with, "Ahh, how many Sabbath days in Passover!?"

I, taken aback at his random quizzing because it doesn't appear as a friendly exchange, but rather a challenge of "what do you know there little Hebrew girl?," respond with, "Well, the first two and last two days are treated as holidays." I, being Reform and in the Diaspora, know there are differences in the traditions. But this is the first thing I say, of course.

Wrong! He chides me, says "look it up! look it up!" and points me to Leviticus. There are TWO days, he says. And of course, in tradition, yes, there are. He then retrieves his Christian bible and reads the verses to me. I respond by mumbling the Hebrew translations and he continues to correct me when I say that the harvest was 'raised up' ... in the Christian bible it says it was waived about, I guess.

Then, almost as an insult he says, "You must be Reform, eh? Maybe someday you'll become Orthodox and really know your stuff!" He then talks about Easter and the crucifixion and blah blah blah. A barista approaches, mouthing "Are you okay?" The guy eventually shuts up and walks away.

It was like he was challenging me. Like he could see a sign above my head that says "Pick on me! I'm the Reform girl reading Torah in a tea shop! Please, quiz me!"

But it's bigger than that. He stood above me and I sat. I was below him. He reciting words from his Christian bible proving he knows better than I about the tradition. But I knew. Why didn't I just say "Listen man, this is the Diaspora, we do things differently. Not everything in the bible is word for word nowadays. It isn't the precision that matters, it's the passion." But I didn't. Why? I felt intimidated. Unprepared.

Why?

It's Good Friday. Beware one and all. These used to be the days when the Jews got nervous and skittish. Blood in matzo and all that. Mrph.

What a day. Chunks of meat in my ranch and getting lectured by the Christian on my own holiday. Slap! Slap! Slap!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Here's the thing: I live with my boyfriend, and it's great. Are we living in sin? Who knows. But there's another roommate. A third roommate. A relative of the boyfriend. A guy who ... well ... sort of has a problem understanding personal objects and space. That is, he eats our food and drinks our drinks. And even when he makes an effort to replace items he has consumed, he sometimes downs it all again without a care in the world. Now, he's a really nice guy, but because of this issue, I've sort of come to my wit's end. Why?

Last weekend the boyfriend and I went to the grocery store, where I procured choice goods that were special for Pesach. Namely, one of the hardest items to procure was salad dressing, seeing as most dressings (if not every single one but the one I happ'd upon) has corn syrup oozing through it's plastic. So I had this special ranch dressing, and I was going to use it on a salad today, when lo and behold, it had been opened last night. There was orange grease all over the cap and bottle (at first, I thought, wings were eaten with this ranch). Then I looked into the bottle ... and there were ... CHUNKS. Of meat. Not chicken though, no ... there were chunks of TAMALE in my Kosher for Passover ranch dressing.

Chunks.
Of.
Tamales.

In the dressing. You know that feeling when a little vomit comes up into your throat? Yah. That happened. Here I am, with my salad, ready to go, and this. Sigh. It was the last straw. I'd made condiments free game, but no more. Oh no more.

This is why I can't do roommates.

This Pesach has been with its weaknesses, I will admit that. And I haven't been perfect. But no bread has been consumed, gall darn't. And that salad was going to be so good. So very good. With leftover chicken from last night. Sigh.

Oh, and I tried to make cottage cheese fritters (sort of like latkes with the cottage cheese), but to no avail. They turned out soggy and not that great. I think next time will require some more sugar for a sweeter taste. I also have to figure out how to make them a wee bit crispier.

Another oh! The meal for breaking Pesach is going to be fish and chips. I'm stoked. Now I just have several days to go. And no salad dressing. Damnit.

The anti-Pesach food.

So my boyfriend is a HEATHEN! Well, not a heathen ... he just isn't observing Passover. So while I nosh on matzo with cream cheese and jelly or charoset ... he's noshing on this. Yes. That's charoset on bread, with cream cheese and a little butter. It's Italian-Jewish fusion, he says. I present to you, Charoset Bruschetta.

Evidently it's really amazing. In a week, you can bet I'll be making some fresh charoset and will be trying this out. I'll admit, it looks delicious. I'm jealous, of course.

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In other news: There is a job prospect on the front. It has nothing to do with Judaism or journalism, and I'm okay with that. It's a stepping stone and a job until grad school. On the positive, though, is that this gig is at the University of Chicago, includes benefits and half-price tuition. Talk about a STELLAR deal. I'd kill for some Hebrew classes right about now. Anyhow, here's to hoping for a job. I love sleeping in, really, but it's getting old. I've been unemployed for three weeks. It's about time I throw myself back into society, don't you think?

Chag Sameach.

I did some cooking. Okay, that's an overstatement. I made charoset and then some matzo pizza with the help of the boyfriend, who made me some delicious mostly-kosher-for-Passover pizza sauce (that is: tomato sauce and paste salt-free, some cherry Manishewtiz and spices). But first, the charoset.
I wish it had turned out a little bit more ... mortar-like. It wasn't as together as I would have liked, but it's delicious. Then came the pizza goodness.

It's merely the sauce, some cheese and your run-of-the-mill matzo.

Seriously, it was delicious. Absolutely, delicious. Basically it tasted like a super thin-crust pizza. I intend on eating it repeatedly throughout the week.

I downed that pizza like a starving child in the Sahara. The rest of the week will consist of some matzo farfel kugel (apple!) and probably some matzo ball soup. All goods that can be found in my kosher-for-Passover cuboard!


I hope everyone else's Passover is muddling about well.

Blessed be.

My last surviving grandfather, John E. Baskette, a survivor of Pearl Harbor and other events of war, passed away today. He was 83 years old.

Baruch dayen ha'emet.

A Seder Recap

Sigh. Chag Sameach friends and foes and bloggers.

So the boy and I headed up to Temple Sholom on Lake Shore for a first-night, community-wide young adult seder. Ian didn't stay because of outerlying factors, but I have some thoughts in general on the evening, because truth be told, the evening was a bust.

1) This was a young adult seder, aimed at people 22 to 40. There were 250 people signed up, and it was held in a gigantic room at the temple with tables seated for seven. It was open seating and ... there was NO MICROPHONE. Now, it started at 7:30 on a Monday. That means most people came straight from work or shortly thereafter. It's the beginning of the week. You don't have a microphone. People were RESTLESS. Talkative. Antsy. The rabbi was talkative, not loud enough, and this caused people to leave before the meal was even served. We hadn't even touched the second cup of wine when dozens got up and left. Why? It was 9:30 and we weren't anywhere close to dinner. Finally, the rabbi speeded it up and the evening ended around 10:30. A three-hour seder with a group of young adults? Most of whom likely were twice-a-year attenders? Ridiculous.

2) The haggadah (The Feast of Freedom edition) was ... well ... wordy. It's a great haggadah, and I've seen longer, but there was no transliteration. There was English and Hebrew, but NO transliteration. This meant about 10 people sang everything with the rabbi and the rest sort of hummed the tune. It isn't like services -- it happens once a year! Because it was a community-wide seder, there were Reform, Conservative, (Orthodox?), Conservadox, Reconstructionist -- you name it. A little help would have been STELLAR. It sucked to not be able to participate, because I could read the Hebrew quick enough. I mean, I can do it ... but not that quick, darn't!
See, there's the English on the left there and the Hebrew on the right ... but nothing else! I will admit that this haggadah WAS sort of nice because it had gleanings and explanations and insights on the margins of both pages to offer tidbits on what was going on. The weird thing, however, was that it sort of ... well ... skipped things. We never ate the egg. Well, our table did, anyhow.

3) Tables were doing their seders willy nilly. I sort of supported this, because it was going along so slowly and everyone was so hungry that it was almost necessary. The problem? Our table wasn't, so we were just hanging out as all the other tables noshed on matzo and charoset. I would have supported two large groups or tables to run their own. The shul I went to last year in Omaha did a great job with the large crowd ... but they had a mic. Then again, there was children there last year.

4) The dinner was not warm by the time we got it, unfortunately. The great thing about it was that there was this great matzo farfel kugel ... man. It tasted like bread pudding, really. Which was sort of a treat, of course. The rest of the food was pretty gross. Luckily, the gefilte fish was DELICIOUS with the horseradish. The charoset was pretty subpar, unfortunately. And we never got through the four cups of wine. Somewhere along the line, a few glasses just didn't appear in the haggadah. Sigh. A bust, really.

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So basically, by 10 p.m. after dinner, there were about 50 people left. I felt really bad for the rabbi (who seemed pretty young himself), but the way things were going, it was inevitable. There was a woman going from table to table around 9 p.m. asking for someone to go tell the rabbi to quit his yabbering. If anything, I felt bad for the rabbi. It made me think ... would I be willing to keep schlepping through it all in hopes of getting to a few people if I were a rabbi? I don't know, really.

I'll end my first-night Pesach seder rant by saying that I did have some great people at my table (a recent film student grad, three med students and a fellow who is a counselor on Birthright trips as well as works for a company that promotes Jewish environmentalism for youths ages 11-13). I got some info from the latter on a great Birthright program and from one of the med students I got an e-mail address. It was nice to meet some other Jews -- hoorah!

I don't know if I'll make it up to Temple Sholom for Passover services tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm a horrible person but something about the bust of an evening sort of makes me want to sleep (although that's what I did pretty much all day, ugh). Tomorrow I will, however, be making charoset. I'm pretty stoked -- considering it's my first time throwing it together.

I hope your seders managed to work out great. I wish I had another to go to tomorrow ... last year's seders were absolutely fantastic. Next year, there will be a seder at home. I want to make it work, and I will.

Shalom and laila tov.