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Sep. 14th, 2007 05:37 pmI've seen so many family members from all three branches that I watch the cracks in the walls for them to leak through. I have done so many get-together-and-celebrate New Year things that I'm in danger of turning into a honeycake.
Tomorrow I will be kidnapped by 2 sets of friends (sequential kidnapping, not simultaneous) and only returned to all my sprawling extended family in time for Dr Who.
The story that keeps recurring over and over is the footy grand final one. I don't know if I've told you this tale.
In 1966 St Kilda (big Jewish community by Aussie standards) finally got to the footy grand final (real football, Aussie rules). The match was scheduled for Yom Kippur. The holiest day in our calendar (and, incidentally, one of the days of the ACT Readers' and Writers' Festival this year). St Kilda had just one Jewish player at that time.
He went to his rabbi and asked "Should I play?"
"No, it's Yom Kippur."
He went to another rabbi.
"Should I play?"
"It's your decision."
Now, in the 1960s, St Kilda was at the bottom of the ladder far too often, so the decision was not an easy one. The player decided not to miss the grand final. A whole heap of urban legands have developed in the Jewish community here about how he got to the grounds and whether he fasted and a bunch of other things. Mum has been collecting them and tells them to anyone who has her as guide in the Jewish Museum.
I was a child of five in an Orthodox family and had no choice but to be in synagogue that day. It wouldn't matter how many rabbis I consulted, "Go to shul" would have been what I was told.
I remember that afternoon really, really clearly. I remember playing outside near the palm tree. I remember the rabbi's beard. I remember the men coming and going and coming and going and the congregation fretting. I remember the man with the beard getting more fretful than all his congregants and announcing that it was not proper that folks should go to their cars to turn on the radio just to find out the footy score and that he would announce the score from the pulpit. Mum says he only announced the final result, but I remember at least one interim announcement, too. I was very impressed that the rabbi had caught all these grown-ups out and told them off, but I was even more impressed that turning on the car radio was regarded as work. Maybe my grandmother was right when she wouldn't let us even pick up a pencil on religious days? (I was very respectful of my grandmother for a while after this.)
Anyhow, the congregation behaved, but we were all aware of the time. When we were all certain the game must be finished, there was another great ferment. Finally, the rabbi made his announcement. St Kilda had won by 1 point.
Tomorrow I will be kidnapped by 2 sets of friends (sequential kidnapping, not simultaneous) and only returned to all my sprawling extended family in time for Dr Who.
The story that keeps recurring over and over is the footy grand final one. I don't know if I've told you this tale.
In 1966 St Kilda (big Jewish community by Aussie standards) finally got to the footy grand final (real football, Aussie rules). The match was scheduled for Yom Kippur. The holiest day in our calendar (and, incidentally, one of the days of the ACT Readers' and Writers' Festival this year). St Kilda had just one Jewish player at that time.
He went to his rabbi and asked "Should I play?"
"No, it's Yom Kippur."
He went to another rabbi.
"Should I play?"
"It's your decision."
Now, in the 1960s, St Kilda was at the bottom of the ladder far too often, so the decision was not an easy one. The player decided not to miss the grand final. A whole heap of urban legands have developed in the Jewish community here about how he got to the grounds and whether he fasted and a bunch of other things. Mum has been collecting them and tells them to anyone who has her as guide in the Jewish Museum.
I was a child of five in an Orthodox family and had no choice but to be in synagogue that day. It wouldn't matter how many rabbis I consulted, "Go to shul" would have been what I was told.
I remember that afternoon really, really clearly. I remember playing outside near the palm tree. I remember the rabbi's beard. I remember the men coming and going and coming and going and the congregation fretting. I remember the man with the beard getting more fretful than all his congregants and announcing that it was not proper that folks should go to their cars to turn on the radio just to find out the footy score and that he would announce the score from the pulpit. Mum says he only announced the final result, but I remember at least one interim announcement, too. I was very impressed that the rabbi had caught all these grown-ups out and told them off, but I was even more impressed that turning on the car radio was regarded as work. Maybe my grandmother was right when she wouldn't let us even pick up a pencil on religious days? (I was very respectful of my grandmother for a while after this.)
Anyhow, the congregation behaved, but we were all aware of the time. When we were all certain the game must be finished, there was another great ferment. Finally, the rabbi made his announcement. St Kilda had won by 1 point.