In order to get to London from Transylvania, the best deal is to take a train to Budapest and then fly from there. My train ticket was for late on Wednesday night, Passover. Having made the proper inquiries at the local synagogue, I got an invitation to their Seder that night, beginning at 7. After a very brief service, everyone filed into the back room where there were some large tables set up with silverware and blue and white festooned cups. I was instructed to sit near the end of one of the tables. Across the way was the old man (picture previous post) and next to me was a couple about my parents’ age. Like any other Jewish gathering I’ve been to, things began in a rather subdued fashion. The community leader read some letters from the Romanian President and Prime Minister, and then did some prayers.

Now, to those of you who aren’t familiar with Jewish traditions, Passover is the holiday that commemorates the Jews’ escape from bondage in Egypt. It is rather ritualized and in fact one of the more interesting of the Jewish holidays. One of the traditions is to constantly drink and re-fill one’s glass with wine. As such, again like any other Jewish gathering I’ve been to, things began to loosen up. After a perfunctory service (I like these people, they think like we did at Hillel,) the food and wine continued flowing, some perky Jewish music was played over a boombox, and conversation picked up. The couple next to me explained that their two children were living in Canada. This was not surprising, as many Romanians seem to give Canada a try. The woman especially was quite nice, egging me a little to sing along to “Ya-a-seh-shalom,” and the man was quite courteous by always offering me more food and wine.

I was really excited, though, about the older man across from me. The first time I heard him speak was at the Holocaust commemoration service about a month ago. Of course I didn’t get the whole of it, but I got the idea and was nonetheless moved by his courage. Based on his age I figured that he knew no English, so I tried to speak to him in Romanian. He understood but was obviously not thrilled with my command of the language. In broken English he asked me if I knew Yiddish. No, I replied, I did not. But I went on to explain how Yiddish was spoken a few generations ago within my family, and that some family members had emigrated to Brooklyn, NY from Hungary. This he was interested in. Again, in broken English he said, smiling, “Brooklyn… little Israel.” Sure, it wasn’t much to go on, but we had a good laugh. Sadly in order to catch my train I had to run rather quickly after eating, and hands were shaken all around. This extension of hospitality by the community here was very touching, and I enjoyed this Seder very much.

Coming next, the London trip!