Jewish Lives Matter

That's what I'm talking about!

Enough with the black lives already. Yeah, we get it, they matter. But you know what? So do some other lives that get no attention whatsoever. Like Jewish lives. At least where I live, they don't matter at all. There are possibly fewer Jews than blacks living in Maine, I'm not sure. Either way, we're supposed to take their holiday called Kwanzaa seriously but you hear not a peep about Passover, which is about 5,000 years older than Kwanzaa.

FYI, Passover starts next Saturday night. It lasts for eight days. During the holiday, Jews are forbidden to eat bread, instead eating matzoh, which is unleavened (no yeast) and thus afforded a quick getaway when the Egyptians were bearing down on the Jews all those years ago. I know, there are no Egyptians bearing down on me today, but it's symbolic. So yesterday I went off in search of some matzoh for my upcoming seder (dinner) which kicks off the holiday, followed by a week of no bread. 

First I went to Hannaford's, pretty much the go-to supermarket chain around here. They had a pathetic display in their "kosher" aisle, which amounted to about three shelves, two feet wide, at the end of the "International Foods" aisle. There was no legitimate matzoh, just Gluten-Free Matzoh Squares and a few boxes of Everything matzoh, for all those fans of Everything bagels. No good. Matzoh is plain, made of flour and water, and certainly no onions or poppyseeds or pepper or salt or sesame seeds!

Next I tried Shaw's, the other big supermarket chain here that everyone hates but goes to when all else fails. They had also had a Kosher shelf or two, but the only matzoh came "lightly salted." I bit the bullet and bought three boxes, assuming I would find the real stuff somewhere else. (I was wrong.)

Back home, I called my favorite small store, the Bow Street Market. The manager was eager to help. I asked if they had matzoh, and she said, after a pregnant pause, "In what form?" I took that as a no, or rather a no idea what matzoh is. My next attempt was a neighborhood natural foods store. The guy who answered responded like I was speaking in tongues. "What's that? Maccha? Some kind of tea?" he asked. "No," I explained, "it's some kind of cracker." When he said "Can you spell it?", I hung up. 

Finally, a call to Whole Foods in Portland, Maine's largest city, was not answered, despite my trying several times, although I found some of the real stuff on their website and could get it delivered to my door in about a week. Alas, too late. So I'll make my own and hold my breath waiting for the state of Maine to decide that Jewish Lives Matter.