The Corkscrew

Journal entry for 18 Apr 2011 | Link

I'm in Miami to assist with a parent's surgery. Said parent came through with flying colors, and I now have the easy job of making butternut squash soup and enjoying the Miami weather.

A rainstorm announces itself with thunder loud enough to rattle the hardware on the windows. Drops of rain commence with little introduction. Is it possible that the raindrops in South Florida are fatter than in other places? It seems that way. A soaking falls from the sky. Water hits the house with enough force to make me feel grateful for the roof.

And then a half an hour later, a quick tapering to nothing except the smell of ozone. The rain has stopped but the air is full of water. It will stay this way until tomorrow afternoon, when another storm will roll over the blinding bright sky and start a new performance. Summer in South Florida came early this year.

This year my family had a Seder with Mitchell Chefitz. I am the lousiest of Jews. I believe so little that I suspect belief itself. But Chefitz is a sage. Pointing out the subtle indicators in the Haggadah, he wrested the esoteric story of salvation from the exoteric revenge narrative. Every year he adds something unusual to the Seder plate. This year it was a corkscrew. The corkscrew, he explained, is necessary to get the wine open, with the exception of the Manischevitz. Thankfully real wine was available, but the Manischevitz went around the tables first, for old times' sake. I poured a slug in my glass and downed it. Just like always, it tasted like a mixture of grape jam and witch hazel. He continued: the corkscrew also represents the outside power that gets you out of a tight place. That place could be Egypt. (At one time, at least for me, it would have been Miami.) But we're in tight places all the time, to varying degrees of metaphor. What mighty force extracts you?

Later he explained that the Messiah doesn't come all at once, but a little bit at a time. His teacher, Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, tells students that the Messiah for polio has arrived. The Messiah for the oppression of women is still arriving and has more arriving to do. The Messiah for energy dependence and all-pervasive debt, we're still awaiting. But for the time being we had delicious food and the company of friends and family. For the time being that was plenitude itself.

As we drove home, the full moon of Passover sat low in the sky, milky and orange like a scoop of sherbet on a plate of gossamer clouds.