Rachel K. ראש השנה‎

The Jewish new year or ראש השנה‎ (Rosh H'Shanah) occurs at some point in the year that nobody can remember, due to the fact that the Jewish calendar follows the lunar cycle. Regardless, most proper Jews or Jew well-wishers take time out of their busy non-lunar schedules to celebrate the Jewish new year!
Traditionally, from what I understand, we eat challah bread, apples, and honey -- signifying a sweet and fruitful new year. That makes a lot more sense to me than drinking champagne and kissing strangers as a giant, glittering ball ascends a pole. Similarly, Rosh H'Shanah is a day of rest. I don't know about anyone else, but I certainly haven't worked more than 12 hours in two months, so you could say I've been pre-gaming for Rosh H'Shanah ever since I retired from the JET Programme. I'm just that good of a Jew. *Cough*.

So, apple slice in hand, I rang in the year 5770 (take that, 2009!) with my Zaydeh, Uncle Oren, Aunt Michele, and many many family friends. We rallied at the swanky retirement condo of Zaydeh's BFF, Mim. They've been especially close since Bubbeh died because Mim's husband died about four years ago on Christmas. She's an extremely quick-witted woman in her late 80's or early 90's with a tinge of a British accent and sparkly brown eyes. She had invited the Sreebny Clan™ along with her two sons, her granddaughter and her granddaughter's boyfriend. We had some wine up in her "crib", which is a lavish, well-decorated space that definitely has the feel of "Grandma Chic" to it. We dined in a dining room stuffed with well-to-do old folks and toasted to the new year with wine (Maneschevitz present, but not well-used).
Mim even baked us a delicious honey cake, which nobody could get enough of, but nobody could eat enough of either.

I've grown up "somewhat Jewish" in that my Zaydeh and Bubbeh have always celebrated Jewish traditions and utilized funny Yiddish words and fed me matzah and gefilte fish for as long as I can remember. At home we did the whole Channukah/hooray for dreidels/let's light a candle or eight sort of thing... but I never went to a synagogue as a kid or an adult. My mother brought me and my sister to her Methodist church for awhile growing up, but we moved so much that we never stuck with a church, much less a specific organized religion.

Now, in my adulthood, I feel like I want to find some sort of community to be a part of. I've never been a believer in organized religion, but I've always had a strong sense of faith in people and in God or whoever might be watching over (terrifying Japanese ghosts anyone?) So, maybe I'll start looking around at Unitarian churches, which I hear are the vanilla of houses of God.

Religious affiliations and confusions aside, it's nice to be around people like Zaydeh and Mim who know how to properly celebrate Jewish holidays once in awhile. It's nice to get a sense of who I am and where I come from with extended family for a change, too!

Rachel K. Arabic Culture

I slept last night! In fact, I slept for about fifteen hours and woke up around 1 in the afternoon. Oops!

Soon after, Zaydeh and I set out for the Seattle Center to see the Arab Culture Festival. We hopped on the Mighty Monorail from Westlake Center and got off at its only stop, Seattle Center.

It was another hot, sunny day today and people were pretty hot and sweaty at the festival. A few kids and some teenagers jumped around in the big, outdoor fountain facing the Space Needle. There were three stages at the festival, two indoors and one outside. We saw bits of belly dancing, 'hip hop' freestyling, and one blonde woman who did a seductive sort of dance with a lit candelabra on her head. Odd.

Still, we were doused in culture and it felt very good after being suffocated in "Japanese Culture" and other mayonnaise-soaked things for two years straight. There were some protesters, claiming that being at an Arab Festival would besmirch our names on Judgment Day. Such protesting evokes the name of Jesus Christ, who similarly used to preach the word of God while crashing someone else's party. Oh wait, he didn't. That was just those three jerk-hats.

Bigotry aside, we visited a Starbucks and sipped on some iced drinks and talked about what buses I should take to get to the apartment in winter when the sun sets at 4pm. The consensus is that Alaskan way is a great place to be, but it's better to be indoors after dark. The piers attract a lot of 'transients', so it can get a little sketchy. Fortunately there are a great many buses, and one such bus even dips down onto Alaskan Way (just for me!)

We came home with a bag full of pita, hummus and baba ghanoush -- a success in my book.

Zaydeh then told a long story about his 'rabid socialist' parents and their days spent owning a co-op in the Bronx. He even said, "I took the subway, which in those days cost a nickel." No onion on his belt, but maybe he left out some details. The story continued on to describe how he had gotten into genius school against his will by taking an examination with a 104º fever and writing about killing chickens. He misread the prompt, "killing time" as "KILLING-time" and the rest, as they say, is history.