Midnight Matzoh
Redefining Passover traditions in London
By Laura Schocker
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Used with permission ©Britainview.com |
When I left my small hometown in Pennsylvania to attend Northwestern University, in Evanston, Ill., redefining traditions became my expertise. While it was difficult to imagine important celebrations outside of my comfort zone, attending the school I had always dreamed of was the incentive I needed. Birthdays became beef ribs at a local restaurant with friends, and Chanukah was now a small metal menorah lit with a dorm mate in between cramming for fall finals.
After more than a year away from home, I felt I was ready to make yet another drastic transition to spend my winter and spring quarters in London to study abroad. Upon my arrival, the shift in cultures suddenly seemed inconsequential in the course of my overall experience. I didn’t necessarily have to adjust. Instead, for the first time, everything that made me just another girl in the United States made me exotic in England. People flocked to taste my cooking, hear my voice, and quiz me on American popular culture. Being distinctive meant just being myself, and the experience was overwhelming and, at the same time, exhilarating.
A few months passed before my first holiday crept up—Passover. Busying myself planning a menu distracted me from the fact that this was my first Passover without my family, and I strove to make all the same dishes from home.
My first stop was the grocery store, where I set out in pursuit of the Kosher for Passover section. Easter was represented, so Passover had to be close. But, after weaving through each aisle of the store, still no Passover. Food from nearly every imaginable surface of the earth was represented; could there truly be no Passover? In my typical American fashion, I found the nearest employee, asked my question, and was greeted with a “You want a what for what section?” Usually, my tendency to expect immediate customer service was met with an amusing confusion. Today, the confusion was no longer “one of those funny cultural mismatches.” It felt downright frustrating.
Several employees later, I accepted that no one had heard of Passover. The last time someone hadn’t heard of Passover was in my pre-school class when I proudly served matzoh to my classmates for snack time. This was the year 2006, and I was standing in a store packed with adults who had never heard of Passover.
Finally accepting this strange truth, I took the underground into central London. First store: a hand on my shoulder and a “I had no idea today was a Jewish festival.” Second store: “Passover? Never heard of it.” By the third store, I tried to get more specific. A box of matzoh. Matzoh meal. Matzoh ball soup. To which I received the very gratifying “our prepared soup today is ham and cheese.” That’s when the tears started to creep in around the corners of my eyes. Someone was telling me with a straight face that their best Passover soup was the icon for non-Kosher food.
As the hours ticked by, bringing me closer to the start of the holiday and without even a box of matzoh, I cursed being different. And for the first time since I said my tearful goodbye to family at JFK airport in January, all I wanted was to be home. I tried deep self-pity, unabashed crying, and more plaintive requests for something even remotely similar to Passover food. I literally walked all of London that day without really seeing anything but the desolation of being an Atlantic ocean away from home.
One store clerk, upon seeing my ill-disguised red nose and watery eyes, suggested I try a small Jewish community about an hour away by underground. And, with the last strands of sunlight streaking across the London sky, I found Golder’s Green. Elation coursed through my body as I saw rows of Kosher butchers, synagogues, and Jewish bookstores.
But this excitement was short lived as handwritten sign after handwritten sign wished me a “Happy Passover” and a “Sorry, we’re closed for our Seder.” I seriously considered asking an older man with the kippa on his head and baby on his hip if I could please have a box of matzoh.
The tears gathered in my eyes almost clouded my vision from seeing the convenience store on the corner. With one last silent prayer, I shoved open the glass doors and saw a rush of last-minute Seder shoppers. With the tears running down my cheeks, I realized that I wasn’t so different after all. Flustered students like myself were on cell phones asking their mothers to repeat one more time whether she preferred coarse or fine matzoh meal. Husbands grabbed extra bottles of wine and children trampled through the store, mussing their Passover finery. Aisle after aisle of Seder food stretched out before me.
I smiled with relief the whole way home, with my plastic bags nestled on my lap. The elaborate dinner I planned wasn’t finished until 2 a.m. I hoped that just this one time, God would forgive me for being late. The kitchen was messy in the way that only a kitchen occupied by those under 21 can be. But, that night, it suddenly felt like home as I lit candles and put out my food. The table overflowed with the strange mix of acquaintances I had acquired during my short months in London. And although not one was Jewish, I suddenly felt very much like I belonged.
That night I finally realized that no matter where I am or whether I stand out or fit in, I have the strength to share myself with others and, ultimately, carve out my own traditions.
Laura Schocker, Abroad View’s editor-in-chief, is a senior majoring in Journalism and Gender Studies at Northwestern University. She studied abroad in London during the winter and spring of her sophomore year and interned for Condé Nast Traveler magazine during the spring and summer of her junior year. This essay won first place in the Northwestern University Study Abroad Essay Contest.