ramadan
It seems unusually chilly for June. I'm munching hot popcorn with the windows open. Listening to the patter of the rain on the rooftops. Below my apartment, in Old Town and dotting the hill across the Miljacka River, the lights of the minarets are twinkling through the dark cloudy sky.
Walking home tonight past the recently renovated Turkish mosque I noticed the call to prayer was earlier (i.e. 10 p.m. instead of 10:45!) and the recitations seemed more major sounding, more commanding and even alluring than the normal more minor sounding routine chants. It still surprises how "Jewish sounding" the chants can sound. Sometimes the very drawn out "Allaaaahhhh" can sound a lot like "Ataaaahhhh." If I didn't know better I might think they were in the middle of a bracha. As I walked past the mosque, I watched people arriving, greeting each other then quickly removing their shoes before ducking into the lit and crowded room glowing behind the arched entrance. Some others waited in front of the mosque, on cell phones, glancing anxiously up the street as if waiting for tardy family members.
Now, back in my apartment finally ready for bed at almost midnight the minarets are still lit. And it's not just the minarets. The same holiday lights that adorned Pigeon Square in December were strung up again yesterday. Tonight is the first night of Ramadan, the holy month and major holiday for most of the colleagues and students I got to know this year. And culturally, as I understand it, as well, Sarajevo becomes a magical place during this special time. Taking one last peer out window before bed I can already see this - despite the rain, everything still looks a bit brighter, the hills and the wet streets reflecting all the lights. I'm so glad to be here.
Walking home tonight past the recently renovated Turkish mosque I noticed the call to prayer was earlier (i.e. 10 p.m. instead of 10:45!) and the recitations seemed more major sounding, more commanding and even alluring than the normal more minor sounding routine chants. It still surprises how "Jewish sounding" the chants can sound. Sometimes the very drawn out "Allaaaahhhh" can sound a lot like "Ataaaahhhh." If I didn't know better I might think they were in the middle of a bracha. As I walked past the mosque, I watched people arriving, greeting each other then quickly removing their shoes before ducking into the lit and crowded room glowing behind the arched entrance. Some others waited in front of the mosque, on cell phones, glancing anxiously up the street as if waiting for tardy family members.
Now, back in my apartment finally ready for bed at almost midnight the minarets are still lit. And it's not just the minarets. The same holiday lights that adorned Pigeon Square in December were strung up again yesterday. Tonight is the first night of Ramadan, the holy month and major holiday for most of the colleagues and students I got to know this year. And culturally, as I understand it, as well, Sarajevo becomes a magical place during this special time. Taking one last peer out window before bed I can already see this - despite the rain, everything still looks a bit brighter, the hills and the wet streets reflecting all the lights. I'm so glad to be here.
the unwrapping of the sesame bagel
Back in January when my mom visited she brought with her a sesame Richie bagel. Richie (or Richard, the name he went by after age sixteen) is an old camp friend of my dad's. Richie owns two bagel shops in Providence, Rhode Island but he's been making bagels as long as I've known him. I remember when he would visit us and my grandparents on Long Island, he would leave at two or three in the morning to get to work. But his sleepless nights paid off. Richie's bagels are now legend among family and friends and Brown college students.
To celebrate the official end of my Fulbright grant (as of June 16 I'm now a free agent), I pulled the foil wrapped miracle from my tiny freezer and carefully (nay, nay, greedily) unwrapped it from the layers it had been wearing since Christmas. I paused for a brief moment, pondering the freezer shelf life of bagels, but then quickly dismissed the thought. I'd never been disapointed by one of Richie bagels and I wasn't about to start in Bosnia.
It was... delicious. Toasted with butter, tough at first bite then satisfyingly chewy but never rubbery, I devoured it. I haven't missed a lot of food from the U.S. Without hesitation I would say the food here is far better, fresher, and good healthy food is far more accessible whereas as in the U.S. it has a clear pricepoint. But a good bagel is tough to replace and today, on the eve of Ramadan, I had a sesame bagel with butter and it was perfect. Consistent with a traditional Jewish meal, I felt enornously guilty after consuming it, reprimanding myself for not saving at least a piece of it for my friends here who have never experienced a good bagel let alone heard of one. Thank Gd my sister is coming in a few weeks from Boston. I've already requested a replacement stock.