Alberto's Voice

Part 4 - Genesis Peace Tour in Israel

FROM MY WINDOW AT THE Executive Sea Suites hotel, Tel Aviv.

 

It used to be that when I walked off the plane at Ben Gurion Airport I would immediately fall into the rhythm and language of the country. What with the High Holy Days approaching so rapidly and the myriad details and constant negotiations needed on a tour of a group of world-class musicians, and the usual "problems", it has taken me almost a week to attain the same attachment and excitement about being in Eretz Yisrael.

Last night, we performed in the back yard of the U.S. Ambassador's house. Mr. Shapiro has roots in Illinois, Wisconsin, and now Chicago where he and his family live when they are not stationed abroad.  After standing in line for a while, I was able to give him and his wife, Hillary, a "griss" from Gary and Fraeda Porton who are very close friends of his family. It was another fabulous musical experience, although he had to sneak away in the middle of the concert to make his plane to NY for the proceedings at the United Nations...we understood!

Did I tell you about the day that I said goodbye to the gentleman who was critically responsible for bringing Saffron Caravan to the Bedouin community of Chura?  He is a brilliant computer scientist (yes, a Bedouin) who teaches at Beersheva University and is on the forefront of using computers to translate Arabic and Hebrew ancient documents with the use of very coplex software, especially since some of them  are written atop each other....wild stuff.  His name is Jihad, which does not mean "holy war"!  Look it up!

I never thought I would hug a Jihad, and yet, there I we were, saying goodbye. What a world. Israel has won all the wars it has been forced to fight. The only war we have lost is the Arab's brilliant move to make the plight of the Palestinians an international issue. The only "refugees" that have been accorded this status in the last many years.

Let us finally deal with the main theme of our tour; FOOD. Oh, my gosh! The receptions, restaurants, parties and even street food we have been privileged to taste and experience shed a completely new light on Middle Eastern cuisine. Between that and the music that plays everywhere (not always great but often quite loud--- reminding me of the SUV's on U.S. streets with their overblown bass woofers) Israel remains a vibrant, on the go, well to do society that simply needs a few years of peace in which could be created a powerhouse of knowledge and commerce that would even excel the reality of this day.

Shanah Tovah umetuka... may we all share a peaceful and fragrant New Year.

I say shalom to Israel at 5AM this morning, but if granted health I am sure that Debbie and I will be back again and as often as possible.

Musings from Poland #3

Finally, what made the entire experience even more special than it always is, is the Olive Tree. A restaurant opened by a Lubavitcher Hassid, just next door to the Isaac Synagogue, that cooks and runs like a 4 star restaurant. The room is gorgeous and I never had better food in a kosher restaurant. As I write this on United flight 907, I continue to smile from the little farewell for hosted for the staff of the Festival, my hotel (it actually belongs to my friend, Allen Haberberg) and a few friends. YItzchak, the proprietor, arranged a fabulous "milchik" menu ala Greece; an endless parade of bourekas, Greek salad, bourekas, hummus and tehinah, many other dips, onion pizza (fab), did I tell you about the bourekas?!, small dessert danish, and the centerpiece of the evening, flowing bottles of amazing Slivovitz and Vodka. By the way, he has two kitchens downstairs and his truly great food is the "fleischig!" Finally, I had three hours of sleep and Chicago, here I come.

Have a wonderful summer and think about coming with me next time I am invited to the Krakow Jewish Culture Festival!

BUMUELOS AND STEAK

What I missed most about this last Hanukkah was my daughter who was living in New York city but now moving to Philadelphia. What is it about children who when they get their graduate degrees don’t simply move back home but have to find good jobs far away? In any case, I digress.

My second most missed thing last Hanukkah was “bumuelos” (Turkish Beignets). I can smell a “bumuelo” frying at 1,000 paces. Every culture has such a thing. In the case of the Sephardic Jew, it is a golf ball size jewel of fried raised dough, covered in honey and sprinkled with cinnamon. The only reason “latkes” (potato pancakes) were invented is that the Jews in their exile to Northern lands (Poland, Russia, Rumania, Hungary, etc) had an excess of potatoes available. Ah, but the Turkish, Greek, Bulgarian, Yugoslavian Jews got it right.

Hanukkah celebrates the victory of a small band called the Macabees over the Greco-Syrians in a 25 year war that began in 167 BCE. But, it also commemorates the rekindling of a makeshift “menorah” in the Temple of Jerusalem that had been defiled by idol worship. Not only was one vial of the priestly “kosher” pure oil found, but instead of burning for one day it burned for eight, giving the people time to press new pure oil. Thus, we have eight nights of Hanukkah, eight candles on our Hanukkah “menorahs”, and eight nights to enjoy my favorite artery clogging treat, BUMUELOS!  Oh, the steak? Yes, “bumuelos” go very well as dessert following a nice prime rib dinner. Just don’t expect to get to sleep very early that night!

BEING JEWISH ON VACATION

As the nearby Turkish mountain range hides the rising sun the sea is a milky color in the dawn.  The first sign of the new day is the lonely fishing boat gliding out to an early morning quest of finding the day’s catch.  A few minutes later the brightness of the still hidden sun turns the misty dawn into a riot of white yellow and burnt orange sky that awakens a symphony of birds and other fauna to another day in paradise. 

This time it is Samos, Greece, a magnificently beautiful island in the Aegean Sea whose land bridge to Turkey had disappeared in one cataclysm or another and was left to be coveted by Turks, Greeks, Persians and many others over a history that spans many thousands of years. As I write this I look out over our balcony to the palm trees that line a well groomed pool area which abuts a pre-Christian Basilica to one ancient Greek god or another…a typical site if also one that stirs the imagination of a time 4,000 years ago whose people worshiped their deity looking out over the indescribable beauty of sea, fertile land and mountains.

Yes, an idyllic place to recover from the tensions of our every day existence.

I sat under the shade of an old pine forest as our daughter, Belina explored a 5,000 year old tunnel that was one of the first such to direct mountain water through a system of filtration and bring it to the people below. Much too claustrophobic a place for me to attempt and even too daunting for Debbie, Belina found it an easy although not totally satisfying experience to traverse. I was reading my pulp fiction book as a smiling Greek couple approached.   The conversation turned to where are you from, what are your names and such and of course, I revealed that I am a Greek Jew (a somewhat rare being—especially since the Holocaust) here visiting relatives and vacationing for a few days.  

“Have you ever thought about living in Israel?”   I thought this an innocent question and answered as truthfully as I could. “How can a people that have been through the horrors of Nazism act the same way toward the Palestinian people who preceded them in that country?” Oh, it gets better. Paraphrasing, “Were it not for the American government being essentially run by Jews the Israelis would never have established a state in what belonged to the Arabs for thousands of years.” 

It was an intense conversation that demanded greater historical and political skills than I possess to truly counterpunch so many misconceptions. Yet, I seemed to be holding my own and had at least gotten them to admit that Jews weren’t bad people, that we had been through a lot and that when cornered, many others would act in the same “despicable” ways. 

This was not helping my state of mind much (about as much as the sophomoric country/pop singer that entertains in the pool area twice a week and keeps an entire hotel hostage by using a rock concert type sound system to sing to approximately 8-10 people downstairs while we try to sleep through it.) The encounter never did get less than cordial but I was truly ready for them to go up and get stuck in the tunnel.

The final blow came lightning quick and has made me realize how lucky we are to be Jews in Chicago, U.S.A. where despite the ignorance of many we at least have a Congress that understands (for the most part) the role that Israel plays in counterbalancing a Moslem world bent on destruction and on regaining their global foothold on a secular world. “Although we Orthodox believe that the Jews are God’s chosen people, we also know that given peace and security Israel would turn into another America and rule not only the Middle East but Europe as well. After all have you not read THE PROTOCOLS OF THE ELDERS OF ZION?”

A Jew whose roots are Turkish and Greek on vacation in a remote island in the Aegean meets a lovely couple from the suburbs of Larissa, Greece and is quickly reminded that he lives in an ignorant and hostile world. From here on I will avoid political conversation of any sort for the rest of the week and remember that there is yet another beautiful beach and taverna with incredibly fresh salad, fish and fruit that awaits us daily.

We hope you are enjoying your summer as much as we are. Shalom from Greece, and Shalom al Yisrael.

FOOD AND SUCH

What is it that makes us eat in restaurants that often disappoint because their ethnicity is that of our parents or grandparents?  I cannot tell you how many times I have subjected myself to old corned beef, oversalted and over celeried whitefish salad at one kosher deli or another only because my Hassidic friend wanted to eat "mamaloschendike maych'l".  I hope that's close to the correct Yiddish (if a bit comical) for food of my mother tongue.  Oh, yes, and tongue being one of my favorite salted meats I cannot tell you how distraught it has made me at times to taste watery, bland, hardly bothered with deli tongue...a real "shande" (waste or insult--sic)

Ah, but then, you get through those years between eighteen and twenty-five when it seems you will eat anything that is not green (the deli would have to be either green or grey) and realize that it isn't only quantity or availability that counts but quality and flavor.   I must say I do not miss those early years of overindulgence and not enough money to indulge even further.   No, age brings with it a certain farm fresh need that one can hardly find in anything but the food we eat.   Gone are all nighters and late night hard salami.   Here are burrata salads and fine mushroom with black truffle oil risotto accompanied by a lovely red (I only think of white at lunch and almost never drink that early).   What used to be a substitute for something more libidinous is now the raison d'etre.   Much safer, generally, and less expensive in the long run!

Ok, so I am Greek and the word "epicure" was invented by my people (no, not the Jews...my other people).   So, on the pretext of going to visit my 93 year old aunt (whom I love dearly and would certainly be reason enough to go) or visiting other members of my incredibly small family (the Holocaust was not kind to the Mizrahis), in the back of my mind are salads made out of tomatoes grown in heaven, fish flopping in the basket begging to be picked  as our main course, and good and lively friends who despite reaching my age have not given up their gustatorial standards or learned to go to sleep early (feh, yuck)!   Off to the "Patritha" (fatherland) close enough to Israel that the temptation is always there to jump over and visit Yerushalayim for a few days, and to Turkey, the birthplace of my grandparents whose government has proven no friend of either of the two countries I love most.   Somehow, pangs of remorse and anger pass quickly as one eats fresh figs off the tree sipping a little 50 yr Metaxa and listening to waves splash onto the beach.  I wish you the experience as soon as possible

Fois Feu

Let’s talk about a short trip to Paris where I sang in the Synagogue Rue Notre Dame de Nazareth (a curious name for a Jewish place of worship, if I ever heard one), one of the most beautiful sanctuaries I have ever seen.   According to our friend, Peggy,  the real reason I was there was to procure for her a tin of Kosher Foie Gras from the deli on Rue de Rosier, the Jewish Quarter of Le Marais (Fr. “the marsh” the historic center of Paris — also the name of a wonderful kosher steak house in New York).   After the usual, “OH, you do not speak ze French?”, despite my pitiful attempt to do so with a couple of years of college French as well as having sung Faust and many operatic arias in the language – making me an expert…- the tall bearded Hassidic counterman, eyeing me carefully (I am rather large and was dressed very casually—even summerlike) reached into the abyss of his counterspace coming up with three tins that were obviously kosher foie gras and I was thrilled to have come upon them so easily.   The cans were oddly shaped, but I figured that made them more “special.” I could not avoid going into the adjacent kosher patisserie and drinking fabulous coffee with one, or perhaps, two freshly baked croissants- I faint at the memory.

Returning home our friend, Peggy, and my wife were both thrilled at the aspect of kosher French foie gras one evening while sipping champagne.   A few weeks passed and the time had come to eat our meal of meals!   I got a call from Peggy that very same morning asking me what kind of establishment had sold me this stuff!!  It seems that when enough botulism builds up gasses inside the tins, they EXPLODE!   It was then I understood the roundness of the tins!   I laugh now, and despite Peggy’s unbelievable pantry mess, laughed quite a bit then.   But, my feelings for people who take advantage of others are not warm nor fuzzy. Ce qui sera soyez – or Que sera, sera!