aya

Happy Thanksgivukkah!

This historic convergence of calendars will not occur for another 70,000 years. Smarter people than me will  reach into Talmud, gematria and midrash and come up with a profound, inspirational, cosmic message. All I want to do is serve a respectable dinner.

My kitchen consists of a 2-burner stove, a microwave and a toaster oven; I had to schedule my cooking accordingly. I managed to make everything except the dessert. No way was I going to attempt to bake a pie in the toaster oven. Cooking the turkey was enough of a challenge. I started Tuesday, making the sweet potatoes, stuffing, braised red cabbage, corn, and with a nod to where we are, stuffed tomatoes. Sid's mission was to find canned cranberry sauce, which he was able to do easily since there's been such an infusion of all things American. The hurdle was trying to find a can opener. 99% of the canned food here comes with a pop top, so traditional can openers are more or less obsolete. The apartment came with the kind that's used in the army or for camping which is more or less useless. I tried several stores in the shuk before I found a normal can opener. Don't even ask what it cost. I just hope we use it more than once.

I made the turkey Thursday morning because I had no idea how long it would take. It was something of a struggle to get it into the toaster oven and it actually came out nicely. I resisted the obvious (serving latkes as a side dish) in favor of that other Hanukkah favorite - soufganiot (Bismark donuts) that have gone modern. Once upon a time all you could get was jelly donuts, and they weren't that good. Now they come with every imaginable filling, and as a measure of how far this country has come gastronomically, they are not at all greasy.

Dori brought 2 friends to share our Thanksgivukkah dinner, so 5 of us were crammed around our table. It was lovely in so many ways. The girls are delightful, each on her own path. We enjoyed listening to their banter - I don't know how long it's been since I've had the opportunity to listen to three 18 year olds talk about their lives and futures. I was glad they ate (and they did eat), but we still have plenty of leftovers.

The weather continues to be unseasonably warm. Hot, in fact. It was 91 in Jerusalem on Wednesday, it cooled down to 80 on Thursday, and it's in the 70's today . That in itself is plenty to be thankful for except for the fact that water is a scarce and precious resource in this country and it can't rain till it gets colder.

For your viewing pleasure, here's our Thanksgiving dinner. May we all live and be well to celebrate many more happy and delicious holidays in peace, health and security.

The Great Hoummous Debate


Debates have an interesting role in Jewish history. As far back as the ancient Greeks, Jews have been challenged to debates to prove the validity of their beliefs. At this time of year the Latke-Hamentaschen debate, started at the University of Chicago many years ago, is a popular event wherever Jews gather to light Hanukkah candles.

There's another, far more parochial debate, that goes on in this country: Which restaurant makes the best hoummous. The debate even made it to the august pages of the WSJ not long ago. Regrettably one of the worthiest contenders was not included in the Journal's survey, and without any doubt it was the best. I determined this just a couple days ago, when we finally made it to Abu Shukri.

This is a story that goes back over 40 years. When I came to live in Jerusalem I was introduced to a hole-in-the wall hoummous joint on the Jaffa Gate plaza by one of my ulpan classmates. It was owned by the Maatouk brothers, and this little stand, selling fresh OJ, hoummous and felafel, supported 2 families. The hoummous was fabulous, made the traditional way with a mortar and pestle, drizzled with olive oil, dusted with chopped parsley and a touch of paprika for color. It was served with warm pita, accompanied by olives and colorful pickled vegetables, and instead of a cherry on top, one or two felafels. The Old City back then was a great place for young Americans to hang out, so I was there regularly and struck up something of a friendship with Daoud Maatouk, one of the brothers who owned the place.

One of the little known facts about the post-Six Day War era in Jerusalem was that the Old City, when it came under Israeli control, had to comply with municipal safety and hygiene standards. When it was ruled by Jordan, from 1948 to 1967, there were no standards. Raw sewage flowed down the streets, electric wires dangled everywhere, no refrigeration or ventilation. It was a rude awakening for a lot of people, but it cleaned up an area badly in need of a clean up, making it sanitary and safe.

One day I went to the hoummous place and Daoud was upset and worried. His place had been inspected and he was told he didn't have adequate ventilation because his ceiling was too low. Unless he could fix that he would have to relocate. The problem was, he was on the ground floor of a 3 storey building and couldn't raise the ceiling. With a primo Jaffa Gate location, this wasn't something he wanted to give up.

At the time I happened to be wired into City Hall. I said maybe I can do something to help. So I made a call, found out who Daoud needed to talk to, made an appointment, accompanied him to City Hall, and left him to see if he could work things out. Looking back, I can only imagine how much trepidation he must have had.

About a week later I went to find out what happened. He couldn't have been happier. A city engineer came to look at the space. Altho there was no way to go up, there was nothing to prevent him from going down in order to accomplish the same goal. Since he was on the ground floor he was able to dig out a lower level which gave him the required ceiling height and he could continue to operate his restaurant. Problem solved. And we became blood brothers.

Over the years whenever I visited Israel I made it a point to visit Daoud. He treated me like family, and I really felt a bond. Then one day I walked into the restaurant and instead of Daoud greeting me, I saw his photo on the wall. I was greeted by his sons Younis and Mohammed, boys I knew when they were little, who took over the restaurant after Daoud passed away. I wouldn't have recognized them, but they knew me and knew what I had done for their father. The gratitude went from generation to generation. And over the years I continued to visit whenever I was in town. Younis ran the front, making the OJ and felafel, Mohammed ran the kitchen in the basement that had been excavated so many years before. The hoummous and felafel were as good as ever; their father taught them well.

Then about 2 years ago I went to the restaurant and saw Younis' photo on the wall next to Daoud's. I was in shock. Younis was only 45; complications from surgery. Mohammed had moved to the front, making the juice and felafel. I don't know who he hired to make the hoummous, but it was still as good as ever. He seemed a little overwhelmed. He had always been the guy running the kitchen; he didn't have to deal with the public.

A little over a year ago my niece Jenny was in Israel on the Birthright program. I told her to be sure to stop in. When she returned she told me she couldn't find the place, which was hard to understand since it was the only hoummous stand in that area and pretty hard to miss. So on my next visit, in February of 2013, I went to the Old City with a good appetite and the expectation of having what I always considered to be the best hoummous in Israel.

The restaurant was gone.

In its place was a gift shop. I asked the owner what happened to the restaurant and all I got out of him was they sold the space to him. He didn't know any more than that. Couldn't tell me what happened to Mohammed. I was unimaginably upset. This was the end of a beautiful friendship, and we didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.

So what does this have to do with Abu Shukri and the great hoummous debate? I never went to Abu Shukri, even tho it was and (according to the WSJ and other experts) continues to be reputed as being one of the best hoummous places in the city. I once heard Daoud make a somewhat disparaging remark about Abu Shukri, and maybe out of a sense of loyalty to a friend, or a sense of fear that I'd like the competition more, I never went there. But on Sunday, after Sid and I went on a fantastic walking tour of the Old City, we went there for lunch. It was something I had to get out of my system after all these years.

The hoummous was only OK, the felafel mediocre, the pita cold, no olives, no neon pink pickled turnips and cauliflower, just plain pickles (from a can) and sliced tomato and onion.

So rest on your laurels, Daoud and Younis, and Mohammed wherever you are. Maatouk's hoummous is still the best.

We seem to be at the end of the earth.

Dori spent last night with her friend in the Jewish Quarter. She got to our apt at 1130 this morning, and off we went. The purpose of our little trip is twofold: seeing the kibbutz she will call home for the next 2 years (and delivering the suitcase full of winter clothes we brought for her) and taking a little trip.

The kibbutz, Ein Dor, is located about 15 minutes east of the thriving metropolis of Afula, which is a fairly large (by Israeli standards) city in the Jezreel Valley. Sid lived in Afula for several months back in 1971; now Dori lives nearby. We stopped on the way at Abuloubous, Dori's favorite hoummous restaurant. I can see why she's crazy about it; it was excellent, and the felafel wasn't bad either. The portion was so big I couldn't finish mine, even with Sid's help, and I'm still (at 9PM) full. Then on to the kibbutz, which was the first founded after Israel became a state in 1948. The kibbutz world has undergone a seismic change in the last 15 years. Very few still follow the original communal model. The first thing to go was the children's houses. Then communal dining was offered for lunch only. Then private housing and rental housing. So Ein Dor has a "neighborhood" of private homes owned by outsiders who aren't members of the kibbutz. It's a great idea for people looking for affordable single family houses.

Dori's accommodations are not in the area of the nice single family homes. It's a dorm for 25 teenagers, with a common room in the middle, a large kitchen (with 2 microwaves, 2 toaster ovens, a panini maker and a 2-burner cook top), a small kitchen with just a sink and fridge, a boys' wing and a girls' wing. Two to a room. And I don't think it's been cleaned since they moved in 3 months ago. But, after all, they are teenagers. They will be in for a very rude awakening when they get into the army and have to maintain their barracks.

We stopped in to meet her host family. They do live in the nice neighborhood, in a large (by any standards) house overlooking the kibbutz fields with views of Mt Tabor, the Circassian village of Kfar Kama and Kfar Tavor. It's lovely. The family are delightful and have taken welcomed Dori as one of their own. These are the people she shares shabbat and holiday meals with, the ones she goes home to on her weekends off. She is in good hands.

It gets dark around 4PM at this time of year. We were still full from lunch so dinner wasn't on our agenda and we didn't want to be traipsing around on dark roads going nowhere in particular. We dropped Dori off at her dorm and then headed to our hotel, with the overly ambitious name of Pearl of the Valley.

The best thing I can say about this place is that it's only 5 minutes from the kibbutz. And it's clean. The room is spartan, which we are used to since we have stayed at kibbutz hotels often enough. But this isn't a kibbutz hotel. In fact we've been trying to figure out what its purpose is. It really is in the middle of nowhere, next to a gas station. I think we are the only guests. There is no restaurant or bar, no place to walk to for a meal or drink. The only shopping is the mini-mart at the gas station. I'm glad I'm not hungry.

There is a wonderful Hebrew expression: telefon shavour (broken phone). It means some kind of mis-communication. There was something of a telefon shavour about a washer/dryer in this apartment. You would think it's a yes or no; either there is or there isn't. But nothing is that simple. According to my emails with the management company that handles this apartment, yes, there is. According to the landlord, no there isn't. And indeed it would be hard to hide appliances of that size in this space, and when you look you can't find any. But even that's not quite right. On the phone the landlord said there's no w/d. He also apparently forgot (or maybe he never agreed in the first place) about the toaster oven he was supposed to provide. I said I have emails confirming both and would be happy to forward them to him. He said he would look into it. When the landlord came here to meet us a few days after we arrived, he did bring a toaster oven. A very nice toaster oven that I can actually use for cooking (and plan to make our Thanksgiving turkey in it). Then I said we need to settle the issue of the washer/dryer. He tried to get me to agree to use the laundry across the street. I don't mind doing that for linens and towels, but I have issues with strangers doing my underwear. So it turns out there is a washer/dryer in the basement store room (which is almost as large as the apartment) and he would make an exception and let us use it. This to me was more important than the oven. The first 3 years I lived in Israel I did pretty much everything by hand. 40 years later I don't want to be doing the same thing, nor do I want to spend $20 every time I need my clothes washed. When he showed me how to operate the machines he kept repeating that the washer wasn't so good and he didn't want to be held responsible if any clothes got ruined. I assured him that most of what we brought wasn't valuable enough to ruin, and the good clothes would go to a dry cleaner. He also reviewed the quirks of both machines, including pushing two 25 gallon drums of cement powder against the front of the washer because it migrates during the spin cycle. What he neglected to mention is how long it takes to do a load. We are used to high speed US washing machines that take half an hour. I know European machines take longer; even tho they are smaller capacity most of them take at least one hour. This one is particularly slow and inconsistent. The first time I did a load it took 3 hours. The second time was 2 hours. The third time was 3 hours. The dryer, which is a Bosch and has a sensor that automatically stops the machine when the clothes are dry, takes about 45 minutes.

The food in this country never ceases to amaze, as does the shopping experience. No matter how many supermarkets there are, nothing comes close to the Machane Yehuda shuk (produce market). The sights, smells and sounds are hard to capture. The merchants still try to drive customers to their stands with the same tattoos used by their fathers and grandfathers - beautiful tomatoes, citrus just delivered, grapes from the Golan, fresh Arava dates, the best halva in Israel, cucumbers 4 shekels (exchange rate at the moment is 3.5 shekels to the dollar) a kilo, pita just out of the oven, fish from the Sea of Galilee - if it was any fresher it would be swimming. Produce, bulk spices, dairy products, olives, pickles, breads and pastries, salads, meat, fish, chicken, housewares, even clothing are piled high and beautifully displayed. It's not always crowded and a smart shopper would go at the beginning of the week. But Israelis are obsessed with the idea of fresh, so most people do their shopping on Fridays when it's so crowded you can't move. The shuk has also become a place to go for dining and entertainment. The cafe chain Aroma opened a restaurant in the shuk a few years ago, which paved the way for a variety of restaurants and cafes. This trend hasn't seemed to impact the felafel stands which continue to do a brisk business.

The reason we are in Israel at this time is because of the bar mitzvah (in 3 parts) of our oldest Israeli grandson, Nir Argaman. Part One was this past Monday, when he was called to the Torah for the first time. The service was held in a small synagogue that was founded by his great-grandfather, not far from the shuk. We were told, variously, to be there at 730 or 800AM. The location information we were given was "behind the Mashbir Department Store" and "near the medical clinic". Not exactly exact. We had an address and google maps works very well here, but the street didn't appear on the map. We were able to get directions, but since the street name didn't appear on the map, all we had was arrows pointing to unidentified streets. We had enough of an idea, and like most unidentified places, everyone in the neighborhood knows where it is and is happy to give directions. We got close and were wandering around when someone in perfect English asked us if he could help us find something. We told him the name and address of the synagogue and he pointed to a narrow street and said go down there and take the first right. We did so, but unfortunately there was no street sign, none of the houses had numbers. We continued to wander aimlessly until Nir's father came out to find us. Someone told him a couple was wandering around the neighborhood and he figured it had to be us. I asked why there was no street sign. He said they haven't gotten around to putting one up, but everyone knows where the synagogue is.

Everything went off in typical Israeli fashion. It was somewhat chaotic, a little noisy, the 3 photographers were all over the place, the caterers brought the food in before the service was over, I got pelted with a piece of candy that would have put my eye out had it hit one inch lower, there was signing and clapping. Most important was Nir did well. He led part of the service and chanted part of the Torah reading. Everyone was pleased and proud.

Part Two was this morning - a shabbat service followed by lunch for about 30 people at Grandparents Eli and Batsheva Hasanov's house. This required a lot of preparation, and I spent Thursday cooking with Batsheva. She and Eli had done a lot of advance preparations, but certain things have to be made at the last minute (so they would be fresh). I had my sleeves rolled up and my cooking clothes on, and was ready to do whatever.

When Eli picked me up from the train station Thursday morning he gave me some bad news. One of their dearest and oldest friends had succumbed to cancer the day before. I knew him tangentially. This really put a damper on the upcoming celebrations, and the mood was subdued and the conversation more about the Big Questions than how much garlic to chop. At one point Batsheva said something about having to do some more shopping in the afternoon, but I didn't think there was any more to it than the shopping.

Around 2PM she said she was going to take a shower and get dressed. Again, I didn't think anything more of it it than she didn't want to smell like fried onions when we were shopping. When we left she said we had to pick up a couple of people. Again, I didn't think anything of it other than we were taking some people with us. As we collected the 3 other passengers and the talk turned to the deceased, I asked Batsheva where we were going and she said to the funeral. Telefon shavour.

This was my second funeral in Israel. The first one was when I lived here in the early 70's for a neighbor whose death raised some questions, which is a story for another time. Jewish law requires that a body be buried as soon as possible. In this country that can be as little as 3 hours, but mostly within 24. The reason it never dawned on me that the funeral hadn't yet taken place was because the death occurred Tuesday night so I assumed that when Eli picked me up on Thursday it had already occurred.

Funerals in Israel are fast, no frills and visceral. People show up in whatever clothes they happen to be wearing at the time, which means a lot of jeans and tee shirts.We gathered in a fairly large room (there were about 250 people) and it got pretty crowded. There was a lot of crying and wailing, and one of  the mourners had a very loud near breakdown. The tallit-wrapped body was brought in on a stretcher and laid on a bier. 3 of his 12 grandchildren and 1 of his 5 children delivered eulogies. A few prayers followed and then it was time for the interment. Again, in typical Israeli fashion, the enormous Givat Shaul cemetery didn't have adequate parking so cars were parked on what should have been a traffic lane which resulted in a traffic jam lining up to drive to the burial site. Because this is such small country and land is so scarce part of the graves are built on stilts three stories high. The interment is quick. The grave is opened, the body placed inside, covered by bricks and the soil replaced. Because the depth is only about 3 feet, this process doesn't take much time. That left the concluding prayers and consoling the mourners one more time.

Then we went shopping.

The store we went to is relatively new, conveniently located near the cemetery. I hadn't seen anything like it before in Israel - a supermarket with wide aisles and large shopping carts. Everything came in large quantities, just like Costco. They even carried some Kirkland products. But in typical Israeli fashion, no thought was given to the amount of traffic the store would generate, so the access road is narrow and parking is inadequate, resulting in a perpetual traffic jam outside the building.

Then back to Batsheva's for more cooking. The 4 hour hiatus really set us back, and the mood was somber so we didn't get nearly as much done as we should have. We were more interested in talking about the Big Questions. The fact is, life does go on and we were preparing for an occasion that focuses on the future, not the past, the transition from childhood to adulthood, one of many junctions on the road that ultimately leads us to Givat Shaul. No matter how often we say it, the importance of celebrating and being thankful for the good times can't be said often enough.

This morning went off without a hitch. Nir read Torah, everyone was proud and happy. There was too much food and it was wonderful. We all had a great time being together and celebrating one of life's happiest occasions. I end this post with a brief conversation that put everything in perspective. I was holding our newest Israeli grandchild, who is 2 months old. I told his mom that when he is bar mitzvahed Sid will be 92. None of knows how much time we are allotted in this life. We need to number our days wisely.

Dori's Visit

Wednesday, Nov 13, 2013.

I should have written this yesterday, when it was 11/12/13.

If I had a dollar for every time I walked or drove by the LA Mayer Museum of Islamic Art I would be able to buy one of the overpriced apartments in this neighborhood. Like the Eiffel Tower is to Parisians, for this Jerusalemite the museum was one of those places that constitute the backdrop of the city, to be visited one day when all other options were exhausted. Apparently that day was last Sunday.

To put a little context behind the visit I have to go back to Thursday night, around 830PM, when Dori (wearing a 40 pound backpack) arrived at our apt. It was great to see her; she looks wonderful, happy, optimistic about her future, excited about her military assignment (which she still hasn't received but has every reason to believe it will be what she wants). We chatted for about an hour, during which time she showed me how to upload photos, then was off to see friends. I was glad to see how well she has adjusted to life here, and how well she's (literally) navigating her way around.

Friday was more of the same for her - she was with friends which is exactly what an 18 year old should be doing. I was busy putting the finishing touches on my Shabbat preparations. The sun sets early (around 4PM) and everything had to be ready. We went to Friday night services at one of the most amazing congregations on the planet (not an exaggeration) - Shira Hadasha, which translates as a new song. It's hard to describe the spiritual character of the service. The emotional impact of the prayers, the singing, chanting, humming, are hypnotic and transforming. For about an hour you are in a spiritual space that is disconnected from everything temporal. Utterly amazing and the best way to enter Shabbat.

It was early when we got home (about 630PM) but it felt much later because it was so dark. Considering what I had to work with, which was a 2-burner cook top, dinner was an accomplishment. The only things I bought were a grilled chicken and apple strudel. I made everything else (chicken soup w/ kneidlach, rice, carrots, leeks).  Dori was falling asleep by the time we finished eating, went to sleep and didn't get up till about 10 the next morning.

I had been pestering her about when she had to leave on Sunday. She was debating between meeting her group Sunday morning in Tel Aviv, where they had some kind of program planned, or meeting them Sunday afternoon in Latrun, where they were doing some kind of overnight/pre-basic training. While she was making up her mind I needed to look for options. She hadn't yet seen the Herod exhibit at the Israel Museum nor had she ever been to the Islamic Museum, which is only 2 block from here. Ultimately she voted for Tel Aviv, and left us around 10AM on Sunday morning.

So that left us with a decision of our own as to how to spend the day. We decided to go to the Islamic Museum. It was outstanding. It's small but well planned, laid out in 6 sections divided historically and geographically. The art is a synthesis of everything from the Koran to the Silk Road. You can trace the evolution of the Islamic world thru the multi-cultural influences that have been integrated into it's artistic expression. What was surprising was the appearance of representational art, both human and animal, that is prominent well into the 19th Century in some parts of the Islamic world, notably Iran. The cherry on top, however, was the exhibit on time pieces. The collection belonged to the father of the woman, Vera Salomons, who funded the Museum. I didn't know that watches were invented in the 1300's. This collection had pieces going back to the 1600's, and every one was literally a work of art. The signature piece was a watch that was commissioned for Marie Antoinette - a crystal (i.e. see-thru), multi-function watch that apparently she never actually got to use since she was long dead by the time the watch maker finished making it. I won't attempt to describe the collection or how beautifully it was displayed because I can't do it justice. Like so many things in Israel, it just defies description and has to be seen to be believed.

November 2013

Yes, it's been a while.

This trip will be known as our change of life trip. We are doing something new and frankly a bit - no a lot - daunting. We are in Israel for 3 months. Never having done something like this doesn't prepare you. There are a lot of firsts: First time being away for an extended period of time. First time being in such a TINY flat. (Actually it's not my first time. My first flat in Jerusalem back in 1970 was 1/4 the size.) But it's quite an adjustment  for us since our home in Chicago is about 10 times bigger. First time figuring out how to manage without a fully equipped kitchen with every gadget and appliance imaginable.First time sharing a closet and dresser. First time maintaining regular office hours, 8 hours away from the office. First time using a Magic Jack, which is possibly the best invention of the last decade. First time in close to 40 years experimenting in  living here again. I'm not unaware of the irony of entering Israel on my brand new Israeli passport for the first time in nearly 40 years.

So where does the change of life idea come in? Without question we are at a crossroads. This trip will figure prominently in how we organize our lives in the future. We have been talking about spending part of the year here and part of the year in Chicago. The idea was eventually to work up to 8 months here and 4 there. On a practical level it makes more sense to do 6 and 6, mostly for tax reasons. This is the test drive.

We've been here a week. I think we're getting over the shock of how small this apt is. As former boaters we are used to tight spaces and utilizing storage space to the max. It's amazing how much stuff you can fit into limited closet/cupboard space when done properly. But we brought 6 suitcases (+ 2 carry-ons), which is a lot of stuff. We had to pack both summer and winter wardrobes. It's been in the low 80's since we arrived on October 31; eventually we will get seasonable weather which is cold and damp. The damp can be just damp, which is bad enough, or rain, which the country desperately needs, or snow, which is a 3-ring circus. The landlord has been kind enough to let us put our suitcases in the basement storage room. My carry-on is serving as a nightstand. It fits perfectly between the bed and the wall, to give you an idea of how narrow the space is. One of the suitcases is for our granddaughter Dori who made aliya in August and is coming to visit us for a few days. I'm not sure where we will store her. (That was a JOKE, people. Lighten up.)

We've spent a great deal of time provisioning the apt. I brought a few household items that I knew were a lot cheaper in Chicago and after all we did have 6 suitcases. What we didn't have was an inventory of the apt. When we got here we made a list, a fairly long list, of things we needed to buy. Example: there's no storage space in the bathroom so we needed containers for our bathroom things. There's no book case or extra table in the living/dining/kitchen/den so we needed containers for our computers, papers and files. That sort of thing. Plus more dishes. I certainly didn't want to spend a lot of money on things we're just using for 3 months so we bought cheap plastic. It's adequate for the purpose, and we need places to put our stuff so it's not all over the place.

Between trips to various shops we've been busy sampling the cultural cornucopia of Jerusalem. So far:

We attended a performance of the 14th International Festival of the Oud (a stringed instrument that looks like an overweight mandoline which figures prominently in Greek and Mideastern music). It was fantastic. The ensemble included 3 guitar players, 2 drummers, 1 EWI player, 1 sitar and 1 oud. The music was a synthesis of desert and Mississippi Delta. Amazing. The EWI (electronic wind instrument) is something new for us. It's long and flat and sounds variously like a flute, clarinet, sax and trombone.

We went to a lecture on the Hospitalliers who morphed into the Knights of Malta. The subject is one that fascinates me. Unfortunately the lecturer was way past his sell by date and I have to give his presentation a C-. I'll see what Amazon has on the subject.

On the other hand, the following day we went to a lecture that was supposed to be about Rav Soleveichik. Besides the subject, what motivated us to go was the lecturer, Artie Fischer, who had been our high holidays cantor for several years. It turned out that the newspaper printed the wrong topic, and in fact the subject was Shimshon Raphael Hirsch. While I have nothing against that venerable rabbi, I would not have gone out of my way to hear a lecture about him. We were very pleasantly surprised by how much we enjoyed the presentation. This was the first in what will be an on-going series covering the rabbi's first published book "The 19 Letters". We barely got to the first letter because the time was taken up with background and context. Rabbi Fischer was excellent. It's a shame he didn't give the talk about the Knights.