I know I said that my next post would be of more general concern; about how our apartments are, etc. But I HAVE to write about what happened last night first, because it was so wonderful and because I’ll probably forget the important details as more and more time goes by. Last night, Helena and I went to Rosh Hashana services at a synagogue near the Keramikos area of Athens. We almost didn’t go, because we had arranged to meet at “the big stairs” near our metro stop, but apparently there were a lot of those, so we took a much later train than we had expected, and Helena was worried that she’d miss Rosh Hashana. To make matters worse, we got off one stop too early and couldn’t connect to our other train, so we had to wait for the same train we were just on to come through again.
When we got to the Keramikos, Helena only had vague directions for how to get to the synagogue itself, so we asked a couple that was holding a map, in the hope that they were tourists. They spoke in Greek accents and the man apparently passed by the synagogue all the time, for he gave us detailed directions. When we arrived at the synagogue, we headed straight inside but were stopped by a man in a neon green polo shirt who asked to see our I.D. We had expected this, because we knew that this was one of the oldest and most famous synagogues in Athens, and we presented our passports. He asked us if we were from America, and then asked if we were Jewish. I was worried they wouldn’t let me in, but Helena quickly answered “Yes!”, adding a note of shock to her voice as if to say, “duh, why would you ask that” and fortunately he didn’t ask me too. I didn’t want to have to explain that I wasn’t Jewish but was just trying to learn about a new kind of ritual and was there also to support my friend, although I doubt it would’ve been that big of a problem. He also asked us what we were there for, and Helena said, “to celebrate Rosh Hashana?” like that, with inflection, and he just laughed and waved us insisde. Someone pointed out the way around the side of the synagogue to where the women’s entrance was. It was an orthodox synagogue, so we sat on the upper balcony and weren’t sure if the seats were assigned, but there was an American girl there who said we could sit just anywhere. There were also a bunch of CYA girls who we saw walk in a little while later. The service, when it started, was entirely in Hebrew (and maybe Greek, I couldn’t tell) but I meditated throughout most of it. Helena had on a yarmulke and her prayer shawl, so the other CYA girls were looking at us quite a lot. When the service was over we walked downstairs and out of the building, and were told that the Rabbi had invited us all back to his house for dinner. He said it was right around the block, so we went. I was skeptical; how could everyone in the synagogue fit into his house? I was nervous too; everyone there was either orthodox or reformed jewish, and only a few people there spoke English, that I could tell. After walking for about 20 minutes (what happened to right around the block?), we arrived at a hotel-like building. We went into its large dining room, and Helena, myself and the American girl from the synagogue were seated at the Rabbi’s table. We chatted with the others at our table, and then the food was served. There was a prayer to go with every food; pomegranates, lox, apples with honey, leek pie, chicken, vegetables… everything had symbolism for the Jewish new year, and eating’s always fun when there’s symbolism behind the food! So the meal was great, and the company was fun. I had a really great conversation about religious toleration with an Israeli guy named Rehavi, and there was an American grad student sitting by Helena who told us a funny story about how she had met the Greek Prime Minister at a football game. There were two Israeli guys across from us, who didn’t speak Greek or English, and one of them started flirting with Helena for a while. We got a ride home, at about 11:30, from a French man named Dani. Being in a car on the road in Athens was the single most terrifying experience of my semester so far, we’ll just leave it at that. Greek drivers are SCARY. But we got home okay, and I crashed into bed like a rock.
Exploring Greece With Lewis & Clark
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3 comments:
I'm grateful you didn't bring your camera. This sounds like the kind of adventure that can only be captured in words. Kudos on your adventurous spirit regarding food and ritual, on your determination to catch the right train, on your embrace of Rosh Hashanna, and on surviving the car-ride. (Stay off those roads, girl!!) Much love, as always ~ your Pa.
Aah... Rosh Hashana in Greece!
These days there is security even in our little Minneapolis congregation at the Jewish holidays, so I'm not surprised that you were asked who you were.
Jamie (and Savannah) and I generally attend services on the evening before the holiday, and then spend the day in appreciation in one form or another, or occasionally, if the year is frantic, working as usual.
This year we ate apples and honey with Mia and River, our god-grandchildren, who naturally had more interest in a picnic of fruit than in traditional symbolism, but how wonderful to share in the sweet new year with sweet new children.
A couple of years ago we spent Rosh Hashana on the banks of the Mississippi downtown eating apples and honey, bread and figs, and drinking wine, in the company of some Jewish Quaker-school friends and a few drunken Indian homeless people. It was wonderful to meet at the river like that with the homeless folks at this rare moment of complete compatability-- our goals were to measure time by the flow of the water and the angle of sunlight and the colors in the leaves and brush, and, as it happens, to drink on a weekday afternoon. Our conversation was also compatable-- we talked Catholicism and Judaism and native spirituality, striving and being, politics, history, and families.
I appreciate hearing that on the occasion of new years you also convened with strangers, to talk, sing, drink, and eat, until the day was over and it was time to go home.
-Lois
Aah... Rosh Hashana in Greece!
These days there is security even in our little Minneapolis congregation at the Jewish holidays, so I'm not surprised that you were asked who you were.
Jamie (and Savannah) and I generally attend services on the evening before the holiday, and then spend the day in appreciation in one form or another, or occasionally, if the year is frantic, working as usual.
This year we ate apples and honey with Mia and River, our god-grandchildren, who naturally had more interest in a picnic of fruit than in traditional symbolism, but how wonderful to share in the sweet new year with sweet new children.
A couple of years ago we spent Rosh Hashana on the banks of the Mississippi downtown eating apples and honey, bread and figs, and drinking wine, in the company of some Jewish Quaker-school friends and a few drunken Indian homeless people. It was wonderful to meet at the river like that with the homeless folks at this rare moment of complete compatability-- our goals were to measure time by the flow of the water and the angle of sunlight and the colors in the leaves and brush, and, as it happens, to drink on a weekday afternoon. Our conversation was also compatable-- we talked Catholicism and Judaism and native spirituality, striving and being, politics, history, and families.
I appreciate hearing that on the occasion of new years you also convened with strangers, to talk, sing, drink, and eat, until the day was over and it was time to go home.
-Lois
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