Thursday May 23, 2013

Curious and Carefree

These are two traits that have helped my writing. Curious and Carefree. However, it is also a trait that will lead me into trouble, or worse, into positions of authority and responsibility. Let this be a warning (or an inspiration) to those that would explore the world around them. I will explain a bit of the inner workings of my mind with an example from this morning.

I started the morning with my first chavruta (Torah study partnership) with Rabbi Eliezer Shemtov, the Chabad Rav who has been a pillar of the Jewish community for over 28 years. After the thrilling study of Tanya (perhaps the most important text of Chabad Hasidism) I took a bus towards work.

It was a different line than the one I’ve typically taken and I got off close to the office but wasn’t sure if I needed to go a block south or north. I looked south towards the hazy sea in the distance. I looked north and noticed a park I’d never seen before. You guessed it – I went towards the park despite the sense that the office was towards the south.

The park was cute and I quickly realized I was going in the wrong direction, but continued anyway to explore the park. It took me to the main street of 18 de Julio. I then noticed a congregation of police motorcycles in the middle of the intersection with their lights flashing. I walked towards them, getting further and further away from my office.

As I approached the police I heard the constant blasting of a bus horn. I passed the police ensemble and proceeded west on 18 de Julio. Small flyers littered the empty main street. I saw large flags waving in the distance. I finally reached the source of the horn blasting. A line of buses was parked on 18 de Julio while another line of traffic was attempting to cross the main street with limited success and much frustration.

I passed the loud intersection and reached the crowd. I normally have an instinctive distaste for crowds. There are probably a host of reasons. I fear a mob mentality. I fear the danger of being trampled despite the trampeler’s best intentions. I fear that people chanting angry slogans can easily turn into people doing angry things. However, despite the black and red flags and the angry rhetoric shooting from the loudspeakers, my curiosity overcame my mob-phobia.

First of all, how dangerous can a mob be where a significant percentage of its members are carrying tea? Yes. Montevideo must be the biggest Tea-Totting Town in the world and I really want to elaborate on the custom of constant drinking of what they call Matte, to the point that people are regularly walking around with a thermos under their arm and in their hand carry a special mug with the Matte leaves and the special straw that looks like the stem of a smoking pipe.

There was something festive about this demonstration. I discovered afterwards that today was a teacher’s strike, which amounted to a day off. Most people were respectfully facing the speaker’s podium several blocks away, but the majority were talking with their friends, buying food from the many streets vendors that were having a field day and of course, sipping Matte.

I kept moving through the crowd, taking pictures of Matte drinkers (future post) until I came within sight of the podium. Impassioned speeches were delivered that were highlighted with small fireworks from time to time and the jeers, cheers, applause, disinterest and Matte-sipping of the crowd.

For a moment I felt like I was in a scene from Ferris Buller’s Day Off where he takes over the parade. I had a momentary thought of approaching the podium, introducing myself and offering to say a few words about teacher’s rights as the Chief Rabbi of the country. I decided that I didn’t know the political ramifications well enough, nor what they were protesting about and what might have been a fun publicity stunt, could have signaled the support of the Jewish community of the death penalty for truancy or something of the sort.

I turned back and started to make my way to the office, keeping an eye out for interesting pictures. Then I came face to face with a momentarily frightening, yet an exciting modern and poorly known representation of civil disobedience.

I stood in front of “V”. For the few sci-fi geeks out there, you may recall the movie (based on a comic book – all good things come from comic books…) “V” is for Vendetta. So there was “V” with his grinning and thereby scary mask, all in black garb. It’s well enough for strange things and costumes in the movies. I did not expect to see “V” live and so was taken by surprise, despite the thematic appropriateness of the venue. I got over the shock rather quickly, as “V” was about two feet shorter than the movie version and I think she was female, though hard to tell under the black loose garment.

My New York instincts kicked in and I quickly walked past “V”, fearful of the potentially contagious effects of any nutcase walking the streets. By the time I stopped to think what a great picture it would make, she was already out of camera sight.

I finally made it to my office to deal with more mundane issues of Jewish identity, divorce and mediation between Jewish litigants, which as I’ve stated before I will not discuss in any further detail. All in a days work.

Wednesday May 23, 2013

Pasta Heaven

In the heart of the neighborhood of Pocitos, on Avenida Libertad off the corner of Espana sits La Spezia, a pasta house that has been around for 75 years and has been run by three generations of the Speranza family, immigrants from Italy. Even before you walk in the door you realize this place is special. In a town that is more likely to have graffiti on the walls, they have an unmarred mural by their entrance with a painting worthy of Michelangelo.

Inside, the store is spotless, with a pleasant smell of fresh pasta being made. What is of particular interest to me today is the run of kosher pasta La Spezia is preparing. Our trusty mashgiach (supervisor), Moshe Silberberg arrived early to clean all the equipment, utensils and surfaces that were to be used for the kosher run. Not that these things were dirty, for La Spezia runs a very clean operation – however, they are not necessarily as thorough, diligent and exacting as Moshe is, nor are they particularly troubled by mixing meat with milk or others rigors of kosher requirements – nor should they be.

Moshe makes sure that all of the ingredients that are being used are kosher and also that all products are fresh and from new packages or bottles. Then, like a hawk, he watches the continuous process of pasta-making, insuring that from beginning to end everything is kosher. The ingredients, the utensils, the equipment, the surfaces must remain exclusively kosher.

One might take such a situation for granted, or assume that once the process has been set in motion there should be little to worry about. One would be wrong. Less than a foot from the kosher line is a container of treif (non-kosher) sausages waiting to be included in a later run of pasta-coated meats. It would be far too easy for non-kosher ingredients to be inadvertently mixed in the kosher run, or for non-kosher utensils and equipment (really non-kosher) to be used. Hence the need for full, constant, close supervision during these special runs. Hence also the added expense of the kosher La Spezia pasta as compared to the exact non-kosher versions.

Not to besmirch in any way the quality of the non-kosher La Spezia products. I had the opportunity to spend time with the owner, Juan Pablo Speranza, grandson of the founder. He unabashedly stated that their products are made with love and I believe that is completely true – and that it affects the taste of the food. I then told him of my love (and longing) for my wife’s chicken soup and chulent. I didn’t elaborate on the chulent – it’ll probably just be easier to invite him over.

I have been in many businesses and factories over the years. La Spezia has probably around 30 workers, most of them preparing by hand large batches of pasta in multiple variations and combinations. You look at the workers and there is a quite joy and determination about them. The place is bright and airy and filled with an undertone of happiness and the scent of fresh, delicious food. Juan Pablo is proud to be able to provide his quality products to kosher consumers as well and is happy to assist in the creation of further kosher products.

He then wishes to give me a gift of kosher frozen pasta, ravioli and other pasta-based products. I ask him to wait until my wife arrives as she will appreciate it much more knowing how to prepare it. I’ve been told it has to do with boiling water, but I’m content to limit myself to food that can be cooked by pushing a minimal amount of buttons on the microwave, or at most the instant add-boiling-water, wait-two-minutes, mix-if-you-must variety. Anything beyond that pushes my domesticity way beyond what my mortal cooking mind can grasp.

He looked at my quizzically. I guess Italians learn how to make pasta from a young age. He then smiled politely and promised to give the present to my wife upon her forthcoming visit to the palace of pasta. May it happen speedily in our days. Amen.

Tuesday May 14, 2013

Ingredients of Trust

Picture this. The Chief Rabbi of a country, one of whose main responsibilities is the Kosher certification and supervision of products in the country. I finally went to a local supermarket for the first time. Now those who know me may remember that I am particularly poorly domesticated, and that supermarket shopping is fairly low on my list of transferable skills. Thankfully, a member of the community graciously offered to accompany me on my inaugural visit to this prosaic though life-sustaining establishment.

This woman keeps a Kosher home and knows by heart most of the products that are Kosher. As opposed to Israel or the US, there are no signs, logos or any other distinguishable feature to designate that an item is Kosher. However, for the odd items that are not part of their usual purchases, she was able to look up via her smartphone the online list that I’m responsible for.

So here I am, the guy responsible for Kosher products, with no idea as to what I can buy, relying on a woman, who is relying on a list of products that someone that I rely on in my office (Moshe Silberberg – highly reliable) says is okay.

Perhaps by coincidence, this woman’s family was commemorating the Yartzeit of her husband’s mother that day. As part of the commemoration, the family sponsored this year, as they have in previous years, the printing of a new booklet with an updated list of the Kosher products available (under the auspices of yes, my office). By another coincidence I was asked to speak in the synagogue instead of the regularly scheduled Rabbi. I choose to speak about some of the theological aspects of keeping Kosher (before the impromptu supermarket outing) and how keeping Kosher is a foundation of Jewish life, that on one hand separates us from the other nations, but on the other hand unites us as a people. But last night I realized something else that keeping Kosher does – it builds trust.

Chag Shavuoth Sameach and may everyone enjoy their Kosher cheesecakes!

Reader feedback, from my good friend Egbert Pijfers of Norway on the halacha of not cooking meat with oil that was previously used to cook fish:

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Sunday May 12, 2013

The Seduction of Insanity

There is something scarily compelling about insanity. I was walking from my hosts beautiful apartment, overlooking the ocean, towards the Maimonides synagogue where I was to give my inaugural sermon. I was walking across the street from the Rambla. Suddenly, a few meters in front of me, bags and bottles clang onto the busy street. Cars honk their horns and my first instinct is to assist.

But then I saw the man who had dropped his things and in a fraction of a second I understood he was homeless. Perhaps more than homeless (or perhaps the two unfortunately often go together) – he was deranged. He was shoeless and the only possessions on his thin tanned body were a pair of shorts and a baseball cap worn tightly at an abnormal angle. The youngish man (20-30s?) had an unkempt thick dark beard and the hair that stuck out of his hat seemed as he may have tried to cut it himself in the past.

My New York/Caracas/Rio de Janeiro instincts kicked in and I kept walking rapidly, passing and distancing myself from the troubled man. He picked up the things that he had dropped and then proceeded to throw them again at the fast-moving incoming traffic of the Rambla. Cars screeched, honked and barely avoided the man and his garbage in the middle of the road. The man repeated the exercise, yelling at the cars and the world, like a mad conductor directing a discordant symphony of metal and trash.

I kept walking, but had trouble pulling my eyes away. I was agonizingly curious as to what the man’s fate would be. Would some less than alert driver run him over? Would he fight with someone? At the same time I didn’t want to remain close to this obviously dangerous man.

I kept moving and reached the Maimonides synagogue. There was a crowd of around 120 people, more than had been in the synagogue in many years. I had made calls before Shabbat to a list of people inviting them. Synagogue members also made calls to their own list and there was also a Bar-Mitzvah this Shabbat which always brings more people. Perhaps inspired by the insanity I had witnessed, I tried something different for my sermon. I called up the Bar-Mitzvah boy to the podium at the beginning of my talk. I announced that he represented the camp of Israel in the desert. I then called up his father, mother, brother and uncle and had them represent East, West, North and South respectively. They became living and fairly successful visual aids for my sermon, based on something I wrote on the parasha (which you can conveniently read about here on my blog). Not sure what trick I’m going to do next time…