Pesach Quiet

Its quiet here in Moishe House London.

After our frantic Pesach cleaning, and our fabulous Bircat Hachammah service, which my other housemates have blogged about, the house is very peaceful. This is compounded by today being Easter Sunday (Christians sometimes think they always coincide, they don't), which, despite Britain really not being much of a Christian country any more, means that everything is closed. Its a strange phenomenon-all the Jews emerge from a 3 day food and sleep fest (2 days yom tov + shabbat) all ready to reengage the world, and suddenly the world is sleepy and bloated from over eating, and, well, shabbat like. Still the sight of the closed supermarket is ameliorated by the fact the door is covered with 2 signs, one wishing customers a happy easter and the other a happy passover (with hebrew texts-noch!). Now one shouldn't get too excited about this; religion ought to be a subversive, anti materialist force, and we certainly don't want to be co-opted by multinational corporations. But the public recognition of Judaism, especially outside the major Jewish areas, which is so common in America, is still quite new to us Brits. As a Jew who think Judaism ought to be loud, proud, brash and above all out of the closet, this is a minor cause for celebration.

Chag Sameach!

gefilte fish with guajillo-chipotle sauce

When people ask me about being a Mexican Jew, I joke that we eat spicy gefilte fish. Which is actually not such a joke – the title of this post is a recipe my cousin Fany contributed to an article on Latin-Jewish cuisine that just came out in Jewish Woman Magazine. The article is timely as we approach Pesach, noting that the story of exile and exodus repeats itself throughout Diaspora history, and wondering how customs and tastes inspired by new locales enrich ancient Jewish traditions and create new traditions to pass on; in this case, the new locales being countries in Latin America. And indeed, the author writes, “local cuisine definitely makes its voice heard at the Passover table of several Mexican families. Some Latinas I spoke to have suggested that this may reflect a special relationship the long-standing, stable Mexican-Jewish community enjoys with its host country. Fany Gerson, a Mexico City–born pastry chef [and my cousin!] deeply proud of the culinary traditions of her native country, explains it differently: ‘Maybe Mexican food is simply so tasty that they needed to translate that into traditional dishes…[it’s] probably the most rich and varied within Latin America.’” I Love this answer, as it suggests a metric for comparing the tastiness of different foods (the fact that Americans adhere pretty strictly to ancient Jewish recipes: oy ve). But more broadly, I Love this perpetual imprint of new places on our customs and tastes – when I eat my mom's spicy gefilte fish in California, I'm tasting both her family’s exodus from Poland and Austria, and her exodus from Mexico. And of course, I Love the possibility of seasoning brisket with tamarind and garnishing Matzo Ball Soup with cilantro, chile, lime, and avocado.

So if you wanna spice up this year’s Passover (hey, some extra spiciness – especially for the unsuspecting – can certainly satisfy the same function as bitterness, Mexican-style), go for my cousin's Gefile fish with Guajillo-Chipotle Sauce. And, spelling it the way Mexicans do, Hag Sameaj!

The Moishe Dilemma

What Happens when the lines between your Moishe House and your home collide?

We're about to find out.

As is the case with most things, everything always happens at the same time.

Jeremy Moskowitz, our regional director, will be visiting the St. Louis Moishe House over Passover.

My parents also decided to come in that same weekend. So did Ross'.

On top of that, I was offered a ride home for Pesach from a good friend, which I had to refuse due to work, and the aforementioned fact that my parents are coming in.

So what do we do with my parents? What do we do with Jeremy? How do we host a dinner that makes everybody happy?

With finesse, I hope. But this is the reality of Moishe House, in which your life is the communities life, and vice versa. These delineations have become blurred to the point that I've been referred to as The St. Lou Jew.

How do you extricate yourself and keep what is personal personal without detracting from the communal nature of this endeavor?

I'm interested in your thoughts