Yup. I know. After reading this title, you absolutely cannot wait to read this blog post. Stay with me! I know the post is long, but some pretty interesting stuff happened this weekend.
This weekend/Shabbat was absolutely delightful. It was an embodiment of the way I really wanted to live in London and soak up the local flavor.
Since I was attending a Shabbat lunch and was asked to bring something, I rushed to find some delicious recipes to try out in my miniature kitchen. I decided on Vanilla Bean Cupcakes with Chocolate Ganache, which my sister-in-law Leah made for Thanksgiving, and a tofu-based mushroom and spinach quiche with a toasted sesame crust. I went to Sainsbury’s, which is one of the biggest grocery stores nearby, to get ingredients. Just as an aside, the food stores here have a much larger selection than any US supermarket I’ve been to. Furthermore, many more of their products are free-range, organic, or locally grown. More of a connection between consumer and farm seems to be fostered through grocery stores here (Heck, I pulled an egg out of the carton and there was a feather stuck to it! Like I know it actually came from a bird!)
The produce section in Sainsbury’s is majestic, boasting unusual items such as colorful and uncommon fruits, and everyday staples such as inexpensive fresh herbs and dozens of different kinds of salad greens.
Though I had to cut some corners during the cooking process (no food processor meant mashing the quiche mixture with a fork and knife a couple thousand times), I think the dishes were an overall success. I particularly was proud of the cupcakes (which by the way, are called “fairy cakes” in England), since my past baking attempts in London have been semi-disastrous (see Scone blog-post). Though they were no Koenig-style perfection, the cupcakes were just right despite the few substitutions that I made. Flecked gently with vanilla bean, the cake was fluffy, nutty and gently sweet. The chocolate ganache oozed off the tops, and I thoroughly enjoyed eating one with a friend while the chocolate was still piping hot, making sure to lick the runny sweetness off the spoon until every drop of cocoa was gone.
Friday night, I went with my friends Bracha and Nava to the Chabad again for Friday night dinner. It was a low-key, pleasant Shabbat dinner, very similar to the last. The walk back to King’s Cross after dinner was really great; the three of us plus another one of Bracha’s friends chatted about so many different interesting issues, from Judaism to relationships to philosophies about death. I returned back to my dorm, buzzing with intellectual excitement and healthy friendship vibes, and began to long explanation process to the security guards about the prohibitions regarding Shabbat. I was so grateful to the guard that took me up to my room to open my electronic door, and I promptly shoved a cupcake at him with the appropriate amount of energy for the Jewish-mother-type that I am (Thank you Temim/Jess for teaching me the ways of “You want? I got. Take”). Though I was still coughing a bit, I eventually drifted off into a restful sleep.
My dreams have all been so bizarre and uncomfortable since I arrived here. They are a strange mixture of hallucinogenic images, sharp storylines, and memorable characters. The strange thing is that I always remember them perfectly when I wake up. Recently, I actually began to actively choose to forget them when I open my eyes and say the Morning Prayer, Mode Ani. It’s a shame, ‘cause they’re cool, but pretty disturbing.
Anyway, this particular Shabbat morning, I woke to beautiful sunlight streaming in from the window. I got up, got dressed, and consulted my Central London map one last time-I was going to walk to the Central Synagogue. I left the building, and practically bounced during the forty-minute walk with all the cheeriness of the first day of Spring. Upon arrival to the Central Synagogue, two very intimidating security guards greeted me. They asked me some questions about where I was from, and they tested me on some Jewish lingo to confirm that it was safe for me to enter. Once I was cleared, a nice lady welcomed me, handed me a Shul Bulletin, and directed me towards the women’s balcony.
The synagogue was absolutely breathtaking. Giant stained glass windows with detailed and beautiful images lined the unbelievably high walls. The ark that held the Torah was enormous and awe-inspiring, and two ferocious golden dragon-like lions guarded it proudly. The pews were fashioned out of aged, dark, wood and they sported high-backs and red velvet cushions. When I walked in during Torah-reading (I know, I know, I was late), I was one of 5 women in the large balcony, one 1 other of which was under 65. Later on in the services, a couple of other women trickled in, in addition to a group of fifteen Jewish-polish tourists. The Chazzan (cantor) had a beautiful voice (his name is Steven Leas) and I noticed that as the congregation began to sing, there were some people harmonizing quite nicely. It was at the point where we stood up to do the prayer for the Royal Family and the Israel that I realized there was a full chorus sitting in a part of the men’s section, which is really unique for an Orhtodox service! For the rest of the service, I watched the choir as they sung in haunting harmonies, with a conductor leading them with precise and dramatic hand motions. I actually had to wipe a few tears away from my eyes after they sung particularly beautiful arrangements, with all the gentle spirit of a dusty and well-used prayer book, the glowing light of a burning Chanukah menorah, and the sweetness of a joyful glass of wine during a Passover seder. For one of the prayers, the Chazzan’s small six year old son sung the solo, and the choir backed him up. Wow. It was incredible.
After services, I saw that the mix of people was truly eclectic, young and old; traditional and secular. People introduced themselves to me-even the Rabbi came up to me and welcomed me joyously. I chatted with an elderly Cockney woman who had been attending the synagogue for 37 years, an exchange student from Hungary, an English lawyer in his mid 20s, and a some other really sweet folks who invited me for meals whenever I would like. The Synagogue Kiddush was everything a Kiddush should be, and people chatted over salads, desserts, and wine or whiskey out of delicately detailed shot glasses.
After services, I walked to Nava’s dorm room, where Bracha and I were eating that day. We had an inordinate amount of food, and we ate, laughed, drank, and played “never have I ever” (the clean version) until we couldn’t bear it anymore. After consuming the cupcakes with gusto, we ventured out on a long walk.
The walk outside was lovely, and we passed a small petting zoo with goat and sheep on our way to the Calthorpe Project, a community garden and park project nearby. The garden is beautiful; both utilitarian with vegetables and herbs growing in the back, and also recreational, with a park for children and a community center. The space was so incredibly serene and inspiring, with murals painted by the community lining the play structures, basketball courts, and benches, and a small waterfall trickling down in a corner of a particularly beautiful part of the garden. As we were walking in though, a police officer pushed by us, apologizing briefly as he ran through the park. We later found out that there had been a robbery in the nearby Russel Square, and two of the suspects were in the Calthorpe Project Park. The three of us sat atop one of the play structures and watched it all unfold. There were some things I noticed about the arrest that were so different from watching an arrest in a place like New York.
First of all, there were SO MANY OFFICERS. Maybe around 5 uniformed and 4 undercover cops were cuffing and interrogating the suspects. A female officer with a police dog streamed in towards the end as well. Second, the suspects were young boys of color. They were maybe 14 or 15. Third, the officers were civil. They spoke to the boys slowly and patiently like they were real people, as opposed to the usual **ck you! that I sometimes hear from police in New York.
Anyhow, we stuck around for a while, watching the arrest unfold and playing with some British kids in the park. This is where the title of the blog comes in. Their mum, as they were leaving, stated quite seriously: “Come children, lets go home. We’ll have a cup of tea, some biscuits, and a DVD.” Hehe.
On our way out, we ran into the head of children’s programming at the center, a short woman with cropped hair and a husky voice. She told us that the people that frequent the Calthorpe Project the most are “latchkey kids”, whose mums hand them “a fiver” and tell them to get lost for the day. She told us that the boys who were arrested were good kids, though they sometimes can be naughty, and that the police would find out soon that they probably did nothing. On the weekends, these children, aged 7-17, basically hang out in the park the entire day, with no where else to go. We continued chatting about budget cuts, activism, and the neighborhood. Upon telling her my observations about the police here vs. in New York, she told us that honestly, to be racist is just so illegal here. The freedom of speech here is truly restricted. You could be seriously punished for saying certain things.
She told us that many years ago, when Maya Angelou used to visit in London, she would come do some domestic work for her. They were talking about freedom of speech and how it was illegal to be racist in England. Maya told her though, that she would “prefer to be called a nigger and know where a person is coming from than to not know at all,” that it was better to know a person’s true intentions.
We left, and walked to the People’s Supermarket, the food cooperative nearby, via some adorable side streets. They were having a yard party in honor of Fairtrade Fortnight with free kosher fairtrade chocolate, coffee, cooking demonstrations, and community chatting. It was a really good time. But there was a stark difference from the park. There were no people of color there at all.
We walked back to Nava’s, ate AGAIN, and made Havdalah. Bracha and I walked home, and we saw the same group of kids we saw in the park earlier that day. Though now, they were playing on the dark streets because the park was closed for the night.
Early Sunday morning, the three of us trekked to Primark, a really cheaply priced clothing, home goods, and accessory store on Oxford street. Though we almost passed out form claustrophobia and exhaustion, we emerged victorious with bags of bargains. For some reason, I bought a ridiculously tiny top hat. We had a delicious lunch at the Kosher counter of Selfridges and hugged each other goodbye. It was a consumer-heavy, but enjoyable, morning.
It was the end to a perfect and important weekend.
Just as a final note, my thoughts and prayers go out both to the victims of those affected by the tsunami and earthquake in Japan, those affected by the events in Libya, and the remaining members of the Fogel family, fellow Jews who were brutally murdered in their home on Friday evening. Let’s bring light into the world in response to all of these tragedies.