Seders Belong at the Pesach Table. Right?

The Tu B'Shevat Seder -- is it a racket?

Discuss. I'm serious, too. I've participated in a seder for Tu B'Shevat the past two years, and I guess it just seems artificial to me. Am I lame for not getting into it? Am I missing something? Or is it a racket?

Pesach Reflections, Part II

I know this is long, but bear with me. The Pesach Miracle comes toward the end, as well as a question about those of you filling out the poll on your matzo toppings ... keep reading!

With a free day before the Second Seder in West Palm, Tuvia and I decided to trek out to the ocean. After all, my one trip to the Atlantic was amid a horrible rain storm in freezing cold weather, so I was looking forward to a beautiful day dipping  my toes in the ocean and collecting seashells. I'm not a big beach bum kind of person, but the vastness and blue of the ocean mystifies me! So we schlepped out, and I convinced Tuvia to dip his toes in the water. The beach was super crowded with families and the water was a little too chilly in my mind for swimming. The sky was clear and blue, the water matched in brightness, and colorful boats floated in the distance. We headed back in toward Tuvia's aunt's house for the second seder, stopping to change first out.

We arrived, and the night mimicked the previous night in many ways. The seder was very short, with few people carrying on for the second half of the seder (in truth, it was the same three people -- Tuvia, myself, and his cousin). It bummed me out a lot, but what can I do? The meal was good and the conversation was interesting. The crowd was mostly the same, save a few new neighbors and a semi-distant relative and his wife. There was philosophical conversation about what happiness is (oy, not going to even go there) and the evening sort of lulled around the living room as people trickled home. The hugs and warmth that were given to me by Tuvia's family is incomparable to anything I've ever experienced. I felt so welcomed by the family, like a true member of the family. Oh, and the dog? Yes, the dog ate the afikomen -- twice. And Elijah never came! Oy. Next year in Jerusalem!

On Friday morning, we got up and schlepped to Tuvia's grandma's place for one last goodbye and a breakfast of matzo brie and matzo pancakes. I've never had matzo brie before -- I tried to make it once and failed miserably -- and bubbe's was absolutely OUTSTANDING. I have yet to make any here yet, but I fully intend on making some tomorrow before the second chag! We said goodbye to his grandmother, headed to his aunt's for some more goodbyes to the cousins and everyone, and headed off to the airport.

On the way to the airport, my anxiety about the iPod incident continued to boil. I'd called the credit card company the night before (despite the chag) to find out if there was anything they could do -- most credit card companies have purchase protection for about 90 days after the purchase for lost, stolen or damaged items. The woman on the phone was kind to relate her own lost item (the bottom of a car seat, really?) and apologize that nothing could be done. So heading to the airport, my anxiety started to build again. I kept thinking -- maybe someone found it? Maybe someone turned it in? Maybe it will magically be there? After all, we were boarding at the same gate we de-boarded from.

We checked in, went to the gate, and there across from us sitting in the waiting area was a little old couple with a bag of matzo. I was jealous and starving and wishing I had some matzo. But I muffled my hunger, approached the woman at the counter who had been so brash with me just days before, and was informed they still hadn't found anything but that I could file a report with baggage claim. Right. It was gone, that was it.

The plane ride back was a lot more smooth than the ride to Florida. The moment we landed in New Jersey we were to pack up Tuvia's car with gefilte fish, matzo, kugel, Judaica, and more and head immediately to West Hartford for Shabbat. Yes, once again, travelling on the chag. It tore me up inside to do so, and I hope that if we go the same route next year, we won't travel on the chag. (NOTE: TUVIA!)

We arrived back in West Hartford just as Shabbos was beginning. Our host family had waited to have dinner until we arrived and we were so thankful. We were welcomed to a house full of friends, extended family, neighbors and children. The meal was loud and boisterous and the food was delicious. It felt like Shabbat in all ways except the amazing Everything Challah was nowhere in sight! We laughed and talked, related our seder experiences, and afterward everyone retired to the living room and we chatted about family and children and Judaism until the wee hours. Shabbat day was a repeat of the night before, with long and loud conversation among friends and loved ones. People from all over discussing religion and Judaism and Pesach and tradition and the chag and matzo. There was so much, so many people, so much noise! And it was beautiful. There was something also involving a hanging sheet in our sleeping quarters, but that's more fun as an inside joke. If you want to know more, let me know and I'll email you the hilarious details :)

But because of the stress and anxiety and constant noise and people for three days straight, I had Tuvia take me back to campus motzei Shabbos -- but only after a quick trip to the supermarket to shop the motzei Shabbos/seder SALES!!! I got some great deals, let me tell you ...

But the Pesach Miracle? I've been in contact with my credit card company, to no avail. I've filed a report with Continental, to no avail. I'd Tweeted and kvetched and cried about the stupid iTouch I'd lost. My success, my achievements, my physical manifestation of feeling good about my accomplishments. And then, as I'm lamenting how many jerks there are in the world, someone -- an e-friend out there in the ether -- decided to donate to the cause. I didn't ask, or plead, or request. There is merely a soul out there who is fighting the good fight, proving that amid all the jerks there are a few mensches. It was an unexpected gift, and thank yous have been issued but I still feel they are not enough. There is no doubt in my mind that this person will obtain their reward and place in the World to Come. If not, well, more immediately. I hope that someday, when I have the means, that I will be able to perform such giving to ease the minds and hearts of those around me. So all is not lost, fear not, dear readers.

So now, I'm busy eating  matzo and cream cheese and lots of other deliciously dairy things and I think my body is rebelling. I'm hoping to head to the store tomorrow maybe to get some fresh fruits and veggies, but we'll see if that ACTUALLY happens. Otherwise, I'll scavenge for food at the rabbi's for the second chag.

Also: For those of you voting in the poll to the right there -- what is the NOT LISTED that you guys put on your  matzo exactly? I'm super intrigued.  

Pesach Reflections, Part I

Where to begin, where to begin. I spent my day working on a paper for my Ancient Near East course about the importance of an interdisciplinary approach to ancient studies, as well as cutting down my Golden Calf paper from last semester for a Society of Biblical Literature conference that is less than two weeks away. Oy. Now, I'm a pro on nanogenerators as I prepared a sample blog post for a friend who is considering taking me on as his once-weekly blogger for a new engineering business he's presently setting up. Yes, I might actually become a paid blogger. My take? If you're a good blogger, you can blog on absolutely anything in the world and make it sound like it's your first area of expertise. So here's hoping I'm a good blogger.

But Pesach? I had matzo pizza today and it absolutely elated me. I know I won't feel that way come Thursday, but for now, it's comforting. So far, all of Passover has been incredibly comforting. I've never felt so loved, wanted, needed, accepted, and cared for in my life than I have over the past several days. It's all thanks to the three-day chag. Two days of Passover seders in West Palm Beach, Florida, by Tuvia's family and then Shabbat in West Hartford with our host family and their extended family, as well as many, many guests. I was left feeling exhausted last night, just wanting to sleep, and now that I've slept, all I can think about is how special I feel. How blessed I truly am.

The holiday started out with a devastating turn of events. The iTouch I had bought the week before as a reward for years spent paying off credit card debt, not to mention being accepted to Middlebury's Language School and having my paper accepted to SBL, was stolen from my flight to West Palm from Newark. I'd left it on a seat and it was swiped up in the blink of an eye. The anxiety and stress from the past two weeks culminated in a near-asthma attack, a muffled anxiety attack, and hugs from perfect strangers apologizing for the loss of the $300 item and my sense of security and accomplishment. I spent my time pre-Pesach first night hastily changing passwords to my email, Twitter, Facebook, and other programs that were pre-loaded to appear on my iTouch. So when I got the seder? I didn't want to be there. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to rest and relax and not be near people. I needed to be quiet and sad. I needed to crawl inside myself like I do when things feel like they're falling apart.

Instead?

I was hugged by Tuvia's grandmother and cousin and aunts and uncles and friends and more family. I was attacked by tiny dogs shoving balls around tiled floors in the most beautiful and grand homes I've ever been in. I was shuffled to a two-table-long seder where the Maxwell House haggadah was the text of choice. Men placed on kippot and the seder leader -- an Israeli whose Hebrew made me feel calm -- began the festive meal with blessings. The food was delicious, the conversation fascinating. I got a chance (both nights, actually) to share my academic works. I got to talk about the Golden Calf and oranges on seder plates and why Jews dress the way they do. I got to put my brain on display and for me? That's something that I live and die for. It's self-indulgent, I'm sure, but I like to teach people things that they might not know or that they might have misconceptions about. It was brilliant and I left the seder that night feeling special, as a true Jew, as someone proud of my knowledge and someone who was sitting around a table with people who will someday be my family. The only bummer of the night? After the festive meal, well, no one continued the seder. There were three of us who had to finish up with the third and fourth cups, letting Elijah in, bensching, and all the other bits and pieces of the second half of the seder. The seder was seriously lacking from the meal. For me, I'd rather have a seriously lacking meal and a full seder. But I shouldn't complain -- it was an amazing time.

Everyone hugged and departed and Tuvia and I trekked off to our hotel near the turnpike. We slept, exhausted, after a long and stressful day that left me without proper footing. As such, we slept in really late Thursday, as our only plan for the day was to head to the Second Seder -- same house, same time, most of the same people. We got up around noon, slapped on some clothes, and headed downstairs for some pre-breakfast coffee. To our excited surprise, the hotel had put out a gigantic plate of matzo! Never in my life had we been so excited to see matzo.

Only in West Palm Beach, folks. Only in West Palm. Did I mention this was my first trip to West Palm?

But more on next time ... stay tuned for Pesach Reflections, Part II!

No Jews for You!

As Pesach approaches (yes, it really is just right around the corner) there's a lot of talk on various message boards/listservs I'm a part of. Something came across just now that has me raising an eyebrow, because I'm unfamiliar with it or where it comes from or if it's legit.

To paraphrase: According to this person, supposedly Jews who have not fully converted (halakicly I'm guessing) are not allowed to eat in the homes of Jews during the first two seders. Evidently we can eat at communal events, but not events that are in someone's private home, unless the evening is open to anyone and everyone (and most usually are closed to invitees). If we show up at the door, a Jew is supposed to welcome us in and feed us (in the spirit of Elijah?), but the meal's planning and execution can't be done with the intention of having someone who isn't Jewish at the table. Supposedly, this goes for all major Jewish holidays.

Thoughts? I'm unfamiliar with these rulings, and although I'm in the process of having a rav all my own, right now my inter-ravs (that's you guys) are what are helping me answer a lot of my curious questions. I could go to AskMoses.com , but they seem to be too busy to answer my questions these days (I emailed one in more than a week ago and it still hasn't been answered).

EDIT: I received a very kind email from the AskMoses folks about my response that never came. Well, it turns out that somehow the "m" got deleted from the ".com" and the email got lost in the ether. They did respond, though, just a day or so later. So thanks AskMoses! Never fear, I'm a repeat-repeat-repeat customer.

They say G-d speaks to us in our dreams.

I've blogged more in the past 24 hours than I have in about a week. What gives? I have a lot to say? Maybe. But this post is mostly for the sake of bookkeeping, but please feel free to respond.

You see, I had a big Chabad-inspired dream last night. My dreams, as some of you know, are incredibly vivid in their detail, so I usually wake up remembering just about everything -- from the clothes people where to the most fine detail like someone's earrings or the words someone says. It went something like this.

There was an entire (less vivid) portion leading up to the main dream that involved teaching my little brother Joseph Hebrew but him resisting and getting the numbering all wrong, but then it broke and I walked into this gigantic social hall type thing, like where State Fairs sometimes have exhibits or expos or where conventions meet with lots of booths. There was a big stage and right as I walked in, they were getting ready to start a show, and the stage was full of Hasidim of all ages. The show began and they were all dancing wildly all over the stage to music, but I couldn't hear the music. The crowd and the people on the stage were all male and in the traditional black/white garb. The dancing then stopped and everyone piled off stage and one of them was a girl! I was so excited and I started following her and she was explaining she had to pull a lot of strings to be able to dance with the other Hasidim and she was wearing really bright colors, too. She led me through a series of booths that were set up with tables and seder plates and it finally hit me that it was Pesach and it was the first night seder. But we wound through all these tables to this back section where there were hundreds of women hanging out with kids, all the women dressed traditionally and the kids running amok. There was also a little sale thing going on and the girl, as she was telling me about Chabad and her family and Pesach, was shopping and picked up a pair of silver, star earrings and her mom started yelling at her, so she went over to her mom to their table. All the tables that were set up had dozens of different types of haggadot and the tables were all varied in their settings. There was an announcement by a really tall Chabad rabbi that the seder was about to start, so everyone piled into all the seats and since I didn't know anyone, I just stood there and after the rabbi was done speaking I went over and explained my situation and he responded "I don't know what to tell you. Wander around till you find an empty chair." So I did, and I walked through all these weird booths of things, people advertising their shuls and this one Reform Jewish guy yelling really loudly to try and talk over the rabbi. But I ended up at a table with a bunch of people dressed in early 1990s business power suits and they explained they didn't have any food, so we were going to eat leftover pizza for the seder and I felt utterly deflated and disappointed. And then? I woke up.

And that, folks, is how you dream. I just wonder what it means.

Pesach, the Seder

I've been trying really hard to be productive with my day, but ugh, the internet is so vast. It's like a physical manifestation of thousands of years of d'var Torah and mishnah. There's so much! So little time! And every shiny new object pulls me in. But I'm here to talk about the seder I went to Saturday night, at last.

I arrived at shul on Saturday a little after 7 p.m. for the evening services. The rabbi at the Orthodox shul was guaranteeing that he'd have everyone out in time for the candle lighting so the seders could start ASAP and not run into the wee, wee hours. There were friendly glances from those who'd met me the night before, and as usual the kids were running around in the cutest way possible. The davening was mesmerizing and the songs magical, and the rabbi's sermon (which had to fill up a space of about 20 minutes for some reason about the rules of davening and the time) was interesting, discussing the Sephardic and Ashkenazic traditions of blessing the wine before the second cup and so forth. The service ended, Chag Sameachs were issued, I grabbed my (free!) box of Shmurah Matzo and we headed off to the host's apartment.

As it turns out, the host was having his first seder, with the help of his mother and father (a rabbi from the DC area) who were visiting for the holiday. The group for the seder consisted of five men in their 40s/50s, the parents, myself, and another girl six months older than I. It was definitely an interesting (and boisterous) group of individuals. I was hopeful, excited, pumped! We got to the apartment, unloaded our matzo boxes, and after some confused shuffling and figuring out what to say, we three women lit the candles. Then, we piled into the small dining area into our assigned seats -- my card said "GUEST."

The host and his father were sharing the seder leader duties -- they would be bouncing thoughts and gleanings off one another and the attendants, as well as sharing glimpses into vintage, historical haggadot. The bonus of the seder was that we had the rabbi -- a man who had been in the business professionally for 36 years, and who has been teaching for 41 years, not to mention having been a chaplain in the military. This man, he knew people, important people. He had wisdom about Jimmy Carter and the present "situation" -- yes, these people were Washingtonians, with grace and wisdom, not to mention stories that were a fascinating addition to the seder table. The singing was melodic and familiar, and although the haggadot didn't have transliterations, I could follow along -- I just couldn't sing with the crowd. I hummed the melodies and listened to the atuned and seasoned Jews around me, the smiles on their faces, the community and friendship, the freedom that emanated from this group of Jews gathered in this holy and historic ritual -- it made me feel alive.

We had the typical food -- gefilte fish and matzo and charoset -- but there were interesting tidbits to the seder table, including, instead of parsley, we had potatoes. It's a Polish tradition, and I thought it was beautiful, not to mention helped us get through the heavy portions of the non-meal. The rabbi told us stories about The Rebbe, shared wisdom and asked us questions. I was so proud that when the rabbi's son (the host) asked if anyone knew what Pesach meant I could share, without hesitation, that I knew what it meant. I shared my tidbit about matzo in the Middle Ages. I listened as those around me asked and answered questions -- these people, they were engaged, constantly engaged, in the conversation about our history, our lineage, what it meant to be an enslaved, then free people.

We finally arrived at the meal around midnight -- three hours after we had started the seder. This caused complications when it came to the afikomen, since there are rules about the latest time in which you can consume it. And who got to search for the hidden afikomen? Yes, you guessed it, me. I played it off like a chore, but in my mind I was elated. I, this Jew by Choice at a seder table with these Orthodox Jews (note: the rabbi and his wife are Conservative), got to be the child, the Jewish child I've always envied for knowing Hebrew and the rituals better than I. It meant the world to me, this I cannot lie about. After some searching and help from a few people, we found the afikomen, ate our dessert, and then the afikomen. There was more discussion, more politics and gleanings, more wisdom and discussion of ritual and then the night was done. It was nearly 2 a.m. and we were all exhausted, but awake and conversing, laughing. We were alive and free. We plodded down the hall, the other girl and I singing a song and arm in arm shuttling down the hallway and down the stairs and out into the night we all went. One of the men flagged me a cab and I was off toward home.

The thing is, it was the most appropriate seder experience I could have asked for. The thing about it is, Pesach is a festival of freedom. Pe, the mouth, and sach, that speaks -- the mouth that speaks. Only when we are free can we speak our minds, can we speak openly and with our hearts on the tips of our tongues. And on that night, I truly understood what freedom felt like. I was free to be myself, a Jew, among these people, and it was liberating to experience such a holy, religious, meaningful and touching seder. It was nearly five hours long, but it was the most all-encompassing light inducing moment I've had in a long time. It reminded me of how I felt at the Chabad House in Omaha all those years ago at the simple Shabbat table with song and food and laughter and conversation. I felt enlightened and whole.

So it is, friends and passersby, that I conclude my discussion about the first night seder. I am indebted to the rabbi and his wife and their son and those who opened their minds and hearts to let me attend the seder, to share in the mitzvah with them. It's one of those things that will rest in my mind, gather dust, and be relived each year at Pesach.

Kul tov!

For Future Seder Reference (even though it ain't my style for the plate) ..

And now for the rest of the story, for those of you who thought you knew the whole story, straight from Ritualwell:

Orange on the Seder Plate

In the early 1980s, while speaking at Oberlin College Hillel, Susannah Heschel was introduced to an early feminist Haggadah that suggested adding a crust of bread on the seder plate, as a sign of solidarity with Jewish lesbians (there's as much room for a lesbian in Judaism as there is for a crust of bread on the seder plate). Heschel felt that to put bread on the seder plate would be to accept that Jewish lesbians and gay men violate Judaism like chametz violates Passover. So, at her next seder, she chose an orange as a symbol of inclusion of gays and lesbians and others who are marginalized within the Jewish community. She offered the orange as a symbol of the fruitfulness for all Jews when lesbians and gay men are contributing and active members of Jewish life. In addition, each orange segment had a few seeds that had to be spit out – a gesture of spitting out, repudiating the homophobia of Judaism. While lecturing, Heschel often mentioned her custom as one of many feminist rituals that have been developed in the last twenty years. She writes, "Somehow, though, the typical patriarchal maneuver occurred: my idea of an orange and my intention of affirming lesbians and gay men were transformed. Now the story circulates that a MAN said to me that a woman belongs on the bimah as an orange on the seder plate. A woman's words are attributed to a man, and the affirmation of lesbians and gay men is erased. Isn't that precisely what's happened over the centuries to women's ideas?"

Jewish Christians.

I overheard the most absurd thing this evening at Argo Tea, and although there's still a few more minutes of Shabbat, I fell off the wagon sometime last night when I stumbled home after an evening of Karaoke (after shul, of course), and got on the Internet. So I had to share this, because of the level of absurdity.

I'd been at Argo for a while, and this group of folks had settled near me, discussing missionary work and other things, I wasn't paying attention really until I heard them mention the Passover seder. They were conversing about whether their churches did seders for Easter and about the Jews in their congregations. So I put my iPod on pause and listened in, casually, while exploring a cookbook I'd picked up.

"So there's a few Jews at my church, and they keep all the traditions and stuff, and this one guy was telling me that in the seder, when they hide a piece of the matzo, the matzo is supposed to represent Christ, and when they find the matzo, it is like finding salvation through Christ! It's called afikomen or something, and I guess it's really a new thing and is really supposed to be about Christ."

It took everything I had to restrain myself from blurting out "You've got to be kidding me!" Now, I know that the seder is different for everyone, and that people garner all sorts of messages and meanings out of them -- some are feminist, some emphasize vegetarianism, etc. This is why there are a million different haggadot! But this? This, well, absolutely outlandish idea of the afikomen symbolizing Christ and that the whole addition of the afikomen to the seder was actually Christian, is shocking.

Rabbi Shraga Simmons says, "The hiding of Afikomen is a rather recent custom, of a couple of centuries. It is based on Talmud Pesachim 109a which describes a Matzot grabbing, so that the children stay alert and do not fall asleep - (source: 'Ta'amei Minhagim' 529; quoting 'Chok Yaakov' 472:2)."

I guess, I didn't know that the Talmud made revelations and connections to Christian thought.

Seriously. How absurd.

A Seder Recap

Sigh. Chag Sameach friends and foes and bloggers.

So the boy and I headed up to Temple Sholom on Lake Shore for a first-night, community-wide young adult seder. Ian didn't stay because of outerlying factors, but I have some thoughts in general on the evening, because truth be told, the evening was a bust.

1) This was a young adult seder, aimed at people 22 to 40. There were 250 people signed up, and it was held in a gigantic room at the temple with tables seated for seven. It was open seating and ... there was NO MICROPHONE. Now, it started at 7:30 on a Monday. That means most people came straight from work or shortly thereafter. It's the beginning of the week. You don't have a microphone. People were RESTLESS. Talkative. Antsy. The rabbi was talkative, not loud enough, and this caused people to leave before the meal was even served. We hadn't even touched the second cup of wine when dozens got up and left. Why? It was 9:30 and we weren't anywhere close to dinner. Finally, the rabbi speeded it up and the evening ended around 10:30. A three-hour seder with a group of young adults? Most of whom likely were twice-a-year attenders? Ridiculous.

2) The haggadah (The Feast of Freedom edition) was ... well ... wordy. It's a great haggadah, and I've seen longer, but there was no transliteration. There was English and Hebrew, but NO transliteration. This meant about 10 people sang everything with the rabbi and the rest sort of hummed the tune. It isn't like services -- it happens once a year! Because it was a community-wide seder, there were Reform, Conservative, (Orthodox?), Conservadox, Reconstructionist -- you name it. A little help would have been STELLAR. It sucked to not be able to participate, because I could read the Hebrew quick enough. I mean, I can do it ... but not that quick, darn't!
See, there's the English on the left there and the Hebrew on the right ... but nothing else! I will admit that this haggadah WAS sort of nice because it had gleanings and explanations and insights on the margins of both pages to offer tidbits on what was going on. The weird thing, however, was that it sort of ... well ... skipped things. We never ate the egg. Well, our table did, anyhow.

3) Tables were doing their seders willy nilly. I sort of supported this, because it was going along so slowly and everyone was so hungry that it was almost necessary. The problem? Our table wasn't, so we were just hanging out as all the other tables noshed on matzo and charoset. I would have supported two large groups or tables to run their own. The shul I went to last year in Omaha did a great job with the large crowd ... but they had a mic. Then again, there was children there last year.

4) The dinner was not warm by the time we got it, unfortunately. The great thing about it was that there was this great matzo farfel kugel ... man. It tasted like bread pudding, really. Which was sort of a treat, of course. The rest of the food was pretty gross. Luckily, the gefilte fish was DELICIOUS with the horseradish. The charoset was pretty subpar, unfortunately. And we never got through the four cups of wine. Somewhere along the line, a few glasses just didn't appear in the haggadah. Sigh. A bust, really.

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So basically, by 10 p.m. after dinner, there were about 50 people left. I felt really bad for the rabbi (who seemed pretty young himself), but the way things were going, it was inevitable. There was a woman going from table to table around 9 p.m. asking for someone to go tell the rabbi to quit his yabbering. If anything, I felt bad for the rabbi. It made me think ... would I be willing to keep schlepping through it all in hopes of getting to a few people if I were a rabbi? I don't know, really.

I'll end my first-night Pesach seder rant by saying that I did have some great people at my table (a recent film student grad, three med students and a fellow who is a counselor on Birthright trips as well as works for a company that promotes Jewish environmentalism for youths ages 11-13). I got some info from the latter on a great Birthright program and from one of the med students I got an e-mail address. It was nice to meet some other Jews -- hoorah!

I don't know if I'll make it up to Temple Sholom for Passover services tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm a horrible person but something about the bust of an evening sort of makes me want to sleep (although that's what I did pretty much all day, ugh). Tomorrow I will, however, be making charoset. I'm pretty stoked -- considering it's my first time throwing it together.

I hope your seders managed to work out great. I wish I had another to go to tomorrow ... last year's seders were absolutely fantastic. Next year, there will be a seder at home. I want to make it work, and I will.

Shalom and laila tov.