Better Late Than Never, Passover Edition

So it all started with this "LIVESTRONG" type wristband that PopPop picked up somewhere.  Without quoting it directly, let's just say that its message was something along the lines of "Support the Newish state."  And let's just say that PopPop was wearing it around the house one day, and while it made me a little bit nervous, it turns out that it made Daddy a lot bit nervous.

The next day, when I commented to Daddy about the fact that PopPop had taken it off, Daddy expressed great relief.  What do you care?, I said, defensively and looking-for-a-fight-ing-ly.  And he went off about how PopPop really shouldn't even joke about wearing something like that out in public, because he's on Daddy's sponsorship, and if PopPop gets in trouble, then Daddy gets in trouble, and it's not like we're living in a country with freedom of speech or expression...

Suddenly I found myself in a panic.  No freedom of speech...  No freedom of expression...  You can't even wear an inconspicuous wristband with a potentially controversial message on it?  Things became clear in a way they hadn't before.  Whereas at home in the US, my minivan bore a NOW bumper sticker that read, "Keep Abortion Legal", NOW, I was in a country where abortions *were* illegal.  Illegal!  And where it is technically against the law to be gay.  And where you can't even joke about letting it be known that you are Newish.  I started to sweat.

Daddy and I didn't speak to each other for the rest of the night: he was angry because I was acting as if this was news to me, how could I be so naive, why do I always have to rock the boat?; and I was angry because Daddy wasn't angry that our Newishness is something that-- in all seriousness, and not just for purposes of making the blog entertaining-- we have to actively hide here.  I mean, I knew when I signed up for this that there aren't any synagogues in the UAE, but I didn't take into account that over time, being forced to conceal our identities would get harder instead of easier.  I was getting sick of keeping this part of our family a secret, even in my own home.

So I festered and I sulked and I longed for the days when I could drag my kids to Friday night services even though I knew they were just going to goof off the whole time.  It was still goofing off in the company of the News.  I missed having a community that I could take for granted.

When I finally tried to break the ice with Daddy, what began as an apology for my hotheadedness turned into an outpouring of emotion... culminating in my unintentionally hurling this somewhat ill-conceived accusation: "And because we have to be here, this is the first year of my entire life that I didn't go to a Passover seder!"

And just like that, someone get a memo to Elijah, it was Passover in Dubai.

Daddy and PopPop and the girls all quickly got on board (the girls, perhaps under a bit of false pretense: I took out the calendar and said, "Look, kids, we didn't even realize that tonight is Passover!  We have to hurry and get ready!") and we began scurrying about.  While Daddy and PopPop went to the store for various ingredients and the girls began coloring Passover decorations that I downloaded from the internet, I officially cut the inaugural ribbon of my Cooking Experience and walked into the kitchen-- alone and with a culinary purpose-- for the very first time.  Homemade matzah!  (I agree with you that it didn't sound appealing but really, what were our other options, people.)

PopPop swore that I couldn't screw this up (flour + water = matzah) but he might have been giving me too much credit.  I had no rolling pin (something tells me that this is not what the Crayola people had in mind when they invented washable markers, see first photo above) and my test matzah almost burned the house down (it seemed to me that the recipe called for the parchment paper to go into the oven, too, but maybe I was wrong?  still unclear, see second photo).  Eventually, I got the visuals somewhat right (third photo!), and after Daddy worked his magic in the kitchen (um, this was not *his* first attempt at cooking, so he had an unfair advantage, I believe), we were ready to sit down.

So what if our seder plate was a 4-year-old's computer-printed worksheet (fourth photo)... and the background music was a "Taste of Passover" album that I hurriedly purchased from iTunes (and which, it turns out, was just 14 different versions of the song "Dayenu")... and the kids both absentmindedly wandered out of the room while PopPop was doing his best to tell them a very G-rated version of the Passover exodus from Egypt.  All that mattered was that we were sitting together, as a Newish family, dining on "matzah" under the dim light of the candles (giant, canary-colored, lemon-scented monstrosities, but whatever) and remembering to pause and appreciate our freedom as News in a way we never had before.  And it was kinda cool to say "Next year in Jerusalem" and have the Promised Land be only a couple hundred miles away.  News huddling in the desert.  Like the good lord intended it!  PopPop even said it was his best seder he's ever had... and I absolutely believed him.  It was mine, too.

By the time the girls were ready to cover their eyes for the hiding of the Afikomen (photo five), we were one big pile of mushy, sentimental goop.  Daddy laughed that this was probably the first time in history that the Afikomen was traded for dirhams.  We took a family photo with Sushi holding a sign that read, "Passover in Dubai 2009," and I have a feeling it's a picture that will always make us smile.

It's still not easy to be Newish here.  But because Daddy is the most wonderful husband in the world, for at least one night this place felt 100% like home.  xo.