National Pickle Month

 

    I recall early July of 1974, when I arrived in the United States.

I grew up in Israel, a dual citizen of both countries. I had no memory of my ten-month visit to the USA when I was two years old, and so for me this was a get-acquainted-with-America summer.

 

One of the first things that struck me was a billboard that stated—ready for this?

July is National Pickle Month

I asked the American with whom my friend and I stayed what made it “national.” Was this a joke?

“Congress decreed it so,” she said.

Really? Like, they have nothing better to do?

I remember realizing something about my other county: it was playful, whimsical, and a wee bit silly. Having grown up in a country where the government’s work is serious existential business, the United States seemed downright Disneyland-goofy.

 

Yes, there were ongoing hearings that culminated for the first time in U.S. history in a president resigning only a month later. There were protests and divisions over the pain of a war the nation had just lost, (despite calling the end of our involvement in Vietnam a “peace agreement”) and so on.

 

But congress still had the energy to declare a National Pickle Month.

 

Something about this still sums America for me.

 

So, in addition to celebrating this pickle before it ends, I thought I’d list a few more such garnishes below. Let’s celebrate while we still have the energy to jitterbug in those parties:

January 4: National Spaghetti Day🍝

February 5: Shower with a Friend Day😳

March 1: National Pig Day 🐖(hey, it’s also my birthday)

 

A comprehensive list can be glimpsed here.

But to me, National Pickle Month reigns supreme.

Writers as Liars

April Fool’s, and it got me thinking about spy stories.

“Heh?” I imagine you’re saying. “Why?”

April Fool’s is a day of sanctioned pranking, deceiving, and let’s just say it, lying.

Spies, too, are sanctioned to lie by professional code. They lie to their loved ones about what they’re really doing. They lie to people they meet on assignment because they are spying on them. They even lie to their superiors about the small infractions they may have inadvertently committed on the job. They are trained to lie all the time. Don’t ask me how I know because I know it for a fact and I am not lying about that. But maybe I am.

I’ve only written one story (a novel for MG) with spies in its center. The theme of the story is lies, deception and betrayal. Not your usual glamorous depiction of brave action for a great cause, around which most spy novels are centered. Betraying people you know or meet is not noble.

Writers are constant liars also, even as we couch it as fibbing or stretching the truth. We conjure stories and insist none of the characters have relation to living or dead people. That’s a lie. We write memoirs and insist it is as it was, which is a lie because a good story needs to mute or enhance and also mainstream the telling.  We conjure and make believe and become so adept at it that we occasionally confuse ourselves.

It’s all in service of humans' endless fascination with other humans.

But one day a year, we do this openly and rejoice at this life art.

I hope your April Fools is worthy of its delightful possibilities.

Not even what I wrote here.

All the Reasons to Like PURIM

The Jewish holiday Purim, celebrating the Jewish people’s (once again) salvation from mortal threat, starts tomorrow evening.

How do I like thee, Purim? Let me count the ways~~~ (Apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

            *The chance to wear a goofy costume

            *The scroll of Esther is a hoot. J   Look it up and re-read if you don’t believe me

            *Hamantaschen, when made right, are delicious

            *Getting baskets of goodies (MISHLO’ACH MANOT) is fun, and giving such is even more fun

*It’s religious-observant “light,” perfect for the family I grew up in

*Jews are commanded to get seriously tipsy, which makes everyone daffier

*It falls right around my birthday

*And just for good measure, again— COSTUMES!

So even if you’re not Jewish, it’s a good time to join us.

{Greenpoint, Brooklyn, New York—

Only the children are in costumes there^}

CELEBRATE!

August Days

Nothing much happens in August.

August is when the Parisians leave Paris for calmer grounds.

August is when the well-heeled English go to the country to do little other than drink gin-fizz.

August is when school children sit by the lake and learn to throw stones that will skip the water’s surface. Any other learning will wait.

August is HOT.

I remember coming for a family visit to Israel in the summer of 2005. I was greeted by my sister at the airport, and her second sentence was, “you have a lot of courage to come in August.”

It was hot.

So, dear ones—let your minds rest, let your feet up, and keep the chocolate in the fridge. Don’t struggle; let August be August.

 It’s what it is, and then it’s over.

PURIM, the Festival of Lots

As written in the Book of Esther, it means a "lot.” Purim is the plural form of the word `Pur', and thus means "lots.” The festival is called Purim because of the lots cast by Haman. The word Pur is also related to the Hebrew word `porer,' which means to dismantle, break, destroy, or break into crumbs.

 

Purim is around the corner. It has few reverberations outside of Synagogues and Hebrew schools in the United States. But when I was growing up in Israel, it was THE HOLIDAY for us kids. Think of it as Halloween for dress-up and merry making, and then take out the ghoulish creepers. Unless you consider the historic back story, which is re-told and re-read in synagogues at that time, and includes the first of many hateful men who set out to kill all the Jews.

 

When the miserable haters bent on destroying us are part of a people’s reality from time immemorial to today, we don’t need skeletons and zombies to make merry. Besides, this is a story of triumph over adversity. I still remember the end of the story, with its joyous exclamations about Haman being hung from a tall tree along with all his children. I remember NOT being too happy about that, but I got over it with some delicious Hamantaschen (literally, cookies shaped like Haman’s ears) and the promise of competing in Best Costume with a prize to boot.

I did win first prize once, in fifth grade. For the life of me I can’t understand why. I can only assume my “Mad Man in Pajamas” was so pathetic it was a pity-prize.

 

While we ate our rectangular filled cookies, the grown-ups were commanded to get so drunk they could not tell the difference between the evil Haman and the pious Mordechai. That’s the same as between the bad and the good, and the injunction to drink was a commandment, not a suggestion, folks.

 

Add to it that this holiday is named for “lots,” and extend that to the lottery, gambling, and other vices-- and you get one happy party. That it sometimes fell on or near my birthday didn’t hurt.

 

What can I say? I miss it.

 

  

My Turn…

Yup, I get one!

I get to be silly.

 

I was (almost) born on February the 29, which would have made me one quarter of the age I am now

 

You think?

 

Hint: thinking is free

♫♫©♫♫