Happy belated Passover

Well last week my bud Aimee and I decided to crash a passover. For some reason we decided we could pass as Jewish--my old roommate thought I was a Jew. she was Mexican. (which all resulted in a lot of weird Anne Frank in Mexico poetry that my professor told me was too politically incorrect to ever see the light of publishing). Aimee, on the otherhand, couldn't look more Sacandanavian.

Anyway, our dreams of kind of benignly blending in died pretty quickly--the rabbi greeted us at the door with big boisterous Hebrew--probably something like "happy passover"--and all we could do was stare at him and giggle nervously before we ran away to a table in the back. I was hoping we could hide amidst one of the families too preoccupied with their ADD children to notice our obvious Gentile-hood, but instead we were joined by Stephanie (a twenty something-very Jewish) and two (fifty something) newly divorced Bachelors--Eli and Moshi--looking for love. I tried hinting to Stephanie that we weren't Jewish by saying this was only my second passover (thank you Brother Ludlow) and that she would have to help us along, but she just said she hadn't done a lot of formal passovering herself and that we could help eachother out (oh crap).

Well real passover is a far cry from the watered down grape juice version of brother Ludlow. lots and lots of long Hebrew prayer songs (lots and lots of mumbling and moving my lips so people don't catch on that I have no idea what is going on), lots of strange ritual food combinations ("take a bite of matzah"-"now take a bite of your lettuce with some horseradish on it"-"now make a matzah sandwhich with the lettuce and horseradish and take a bite"-"now put the matzah on your head and dance like a chicken").

The real delight of the evening was Eli deciding that I would make a great wife number three. How these men interpret my discomfort and complete lack of interest for mutual flirting is always a mystery to me--but it happens enough to keep my wondering.

The good news is that as the evening went on everyone got a little drunker--even Aimee and I on our grape juice loosened up after four hours of insanity--and by the end no one cared that we had no idea what we were doing, the kids and the charismatically childlike rabbi were dancing around the room, Moshi was trying to help Aimee see that her French ancestry really came down through the house of Isreal and I was giving my email address to Eli for free Hebrew lessons. Aimee and I stumbled home, arm in arm singing "DAYENU!" to the night sky--maybe Kristia was right. I felt pretty Jewish.

Meanwhile in Boston town--I am looking to move. checking out South American NGOs for some summer work. doing well.
love you, erin.