Inspiration and Innovation for Peace - A Lesson from B'nei Brak

Chag Sameach and Happy Passover! We had two wonderful seders (Thanks David and Maryn for hosting the first night!). For my seder prep, I came across a fresh perspective on one of the stories within the Haggadah. In the interest of learning something new every year, I'm sharing it below. Enjoy!

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Within the Haggadah's retelling of the late night study of the five rabbis, it's not unusual to pick up on the location of the story as a key element. The Velveteen Rabbi explains:

What were these rabbis doing in B’nei Brak, which was the hometown of Rabbi Akiva only? Why didn’t their students join them in celebrating the seder? Why didn’t the rabbis themselves notice the rising of the sun?

Context is everything. This story takes place during the rule of the Roman emperor Hadrian, who ordered that the Temple be moved so he could put a temple to Jupiter on the Temple Mount. In the year 123 of the Common Era, a guerilla insurgency began, which resulted in a crack-down by the Roman authorities.

B’nei Brak was the headquarters of the rebellion against Roman occupation, a rebellion of which Rabbi Akiva was a leader. Because of rebel activities, the Roman authorities had forbidden gatherings of Jews. The seder described in this passage was a chance not only to discuss the liberation from Egypt—but also to plan a strategy of resistance against Roman occupation. The students were standing guard, ready to caution the rabbis to disband at daybreak, lest they be caught.

This tale may be read as an encouragement to become so joyfully immersed in the seder that we don’t notice the passing of time…and it may also be read as a story of how one liberation begets another. Celebrating our freedom from servitude can be a radical act. It was Rabbi Akiva, after all, who famously answered the query, “Which is better, study or action?” with the response, “Study—if it leads to action.”

I recently discovered a new link to B'nei Brak, but to appreciate it, we need to step back in time. In the span of Jewish history, however, we're going back a mere 185 years; practically yesterday.

The date is Thursday, June 11th, 1840, and the place is Staunton, Virginia. Residents opened their copies of the Staunton Spectator, and General Advertiser to read of a gruesome murder that took place 6,000 miles away in Damascus, Syria. The murder is so violent that the newspaper didn't want to believe the account.

Some weeks ago we received the announcement of the murder of a Christian missionary and his servant at Damascus, but the details were so horrible that we refrained from giving publicity to them, and hoped they could only have been the invention of a disordered imagination inventing a tail too frightful to be believed. However, the following letter proves that the tale was too true.

The article describes in detail how Father Thomas was restrained, his throat slit, his body hung upside down and his blood drained. His body was then dismembered and his bones disposed of in the sewer.

The bones were discovered and those who perpetrated the crime ultimately confessed. Their motive came down to a religious obligation:

They all said that they were incapable of committing murder, but that they had acted up to the precepts of their religion, in which it is prescribed to make their Easter leavened bread with Christian blood.

Readers in New York City who picked up their May 18th, 1840 copy of the Morning Herald read about the same incident but from a dramatically different perspective. Yes, there was a missing Christian leader in Damascus. However, claims that Jews murdered him were extracted by torture. And the bones that served as evidence in the case were anything but:

Official accounts from Beyroot, of the 15th March, rectify the details of the Smyrna journals, published in our paper [the Austrian Observer] of yesterday, respecting the pretended murder of Father Thomas, the prior of the Spanish convent at Damascus; the fact is nowise proved, and the perpetrators of the deed are not discovered. The medical men and surgeons, charged by the local authorities with the examination of the bones found in the sewers of the Jewish quarter, have declared that the bones must have been there a long time, and were bones of animals.

The Morning Herald put the charge in context by citing it as an example of Blood Libel:

If the persecution of the Jews at Damascus, as several letters affirm, from the often-repeated assertion that the Jews eat Christian blood at their Passover, this merely proves that centuries cannot destroy opinions repugnant to human nature, which are contrary to the letter of the Jewish law.

The writer of the Morning Herald piece closes with this point showing the cruel absurdity of the whole incident:

... in this instance, [the murder] is still more void of probability, as the matter of Father Thomas took place in February, whereas the Jewish Passover is in April.

As an aside, Blood Libel is a charge I associate with medieval times. As this incident shows, I was way off. It's gut-wrenching to read such a vivid account taking place in what are effectively modern times. Even more alarming, the Wikipedia page on Blood Libel shows that the Damascus Affair, what the above incident would become known as, was not an outlier in either time or scope.

Turning back to the world of newspapers, the most notable response to the incident was by the Times of London, which published articles arguing all sides of the conflict. On August 17th, 1840 they took the unusual step of publishing a nearly complete English translation of the Haggadah. They did so to refute the claim that Jews use blood during Passover:

A correspondent has furnished the annexed very minute account of this ceremony, which will be exceedingly curious in itself to most of our readers, and has at the same time an evident bearing on the Damascus case. It repels strongly the barbarous notion that human blood, or blood of any kind, is essential to its celebration.

While I've come across a number of low resolution images of the August 17th edition of the Times, I've yet to find a copy that's legible to persuse. Sefaria, thankfully, has a translation who's claimed source is the Times of London's text. This blog post shares details of the Time's edition that corroborate the Sefaria text.

For example, both the blog entry and Sefari note that Rabbi Gamliel's 'Three Things' include an explanation that Christian Blood isn't included in his list:

Rabbi Gamlieh saith, that whosoever doth not make mention of three things used in the Passover hath not done his duty (Christian’s blood is not mentioned): the paschal lamb, the unleavened cake, and bitter herbs.

There's a similar comment at Yachatz, when the matza is traditionally broken:

The master then breaks the middle cake in the dish, and, leaving one half of it there, he lays the other half by for the offering, which is nothing more nor less than a piece of the Passover cake, and it is that which it is said human blood forms a portion of.

Other than these notations about blood not being used, and a few old timey word choices, the translation is surprisingly ordinary.

Except, that is for the way the story of the Five Rabbis is translated. Check out how the readers of the Times of London saw this passage on the 17th:

And thus it is related by Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Joshua, Rabbi Elazar, the son of Azariah, Rabbi Akeba, and Rabbi Trapon, that they once met (on the night of Passover, in a place inhabited by Jewish proselytes, said to be descended from Haman) and continued discoursing of the departure from Egypt all that night till their disciples came, and said, ‘Instructors, it is time to read the morning prayer.’

London readers didn't read about B'nei Brak, instead they were provided with a parenthesized equivalent: in a place inhabited by Jewish proselytes, said to be descended from Haman.

I'd never seen this paragraph translated this way, and neither had anyone at our seder. Two questions immediately came to mind: what's the source of this equivalency, and why opt to include it?

The what is easy to answer. This idea that B'nei Brak is the place inhabited by Jewish descendants of (wicked, boo!) Haman comes from the Talmud. Sanhedrin 96b, verse 9 says in part:

The baraita continues: Among the descendants of Haman were those who studied Torah in Bnei Brak. ...

Gittin 57b, verse 7 also mentions:

The Gemara adds that some of Haman’s descendants studied Torah in Bnei Brak, ...

The why took some digging. Looking at the dialogue between the chief Rabbi defending the Jews in Damascus, and the Pasha accusing them, I got the sense that their arguments took on, at times, an almost technical air. Here's how the September 19th, 1840 edition of the Sunbury and Shamokin Journal reports at least part of their dialogue:

And of the Haman, the chief Rabbi of the city, he requested him to sign the confession, saying, You surely killed him.

(Here follows the answer of the Rabbi, refusing to confess to a falsehood, which was published in the extracts which appeared in The Sun.)

The Pasha then said, 'At least sign to this, that by your law the property of the Gentiles is allowed to you.'

The Rabbi answered, 'It is false.'

The Pasha answered, 'In the Talmud (as I am informed) it is said from Habakkuk, 'He saw and spoiled the nations.'

The Rabbi said, 'This verse refers to the heathen idolaters, and the despoiling of the Gentile is a heinous crime.'

In this context, one can almost hear the accuser citing the Megillah as proof of how bloodthirsty Jews are. To which, the Rabbi responds that the Talmud talks about the descendants of Haman studying Torah.

While this hypothesis may earn points for creativity, it's way off. The real reason why the Times editors arrived at this translation was strictly practical.

The first English translation of the Haggadah was published in 1770 by Alexander Alexander. In it, he faced the challenge of how to translate B'nei Brak:

[The] Hebrew name “Bnei Brak” consists of two words of which the first, “Bnei”, can be translated as “children of”, while the second, “Brak”, could be understood as the name of a person, Berak, which was confusing for early translators.

In 1770, the first to translate the Haggadah into English (London), Alexander, therefore translated that the rabbis “were entertained amongst the children of Berak” and added the footnote that Berak is “a place inhabited by proselytes, Jews descended from Haman.”

Years ago I printed a copy of Alexander's Haggadah for use at our Seder. Sure enough, in that copy the footnote is present:

The editors of the Times didn't use Alexander's translation of the Haggadah; instead, they used a later one by Isaac Levi. In Levi's translation he took another approach to this translation:

A far less-known but extremely influential translator/ editor is Isaac Levi, the third translator of the Haggadah into English. Isaac took David Levi’s translations and “edited” them (making gross mistakes along the way). In this instance, he reversed the English “children of Berak” to the name Bnei Brak but instead of translating it, he left the name in Hebrew. He didn’t touch the footnote:

This image shows what the editors of the Times had to work with:

They were left with little choice but to swap the Hebrew for the footnote, which gives us the translation we see today.

So we have Alexander and some no doubt hurried Times editors to thank for the above translation.

I think, however, they were on to something with the phrasing of their text. Even in times of peril and persecution, like the Damascus Affair, it serves us well to recite the story of the five rabbis with Alexander's footnote in mind. That is, we strive not just to come together in community, but to do so in the seemingly impossible state of harmony with the descendants of our enemies.

Equally important, the Times of London's Haggadah is here to remind us that such a goal will only come about if take innovative and creative action to get there.

This year we are slaves. Next year may be free. Now we are here; next year may we be in a B'nei Brak.

G's Baltimore Adventure - The USCG Cutter 37

[Composed 9/21/2024]

From the USS Torsk, we made our way to the USCG Cutter 37, formerly known as the Taney. Compared to the USS Torsk, the Cutter is positively palatial. Shira, G and I toured the vessel inside and out, relishing the chance to climb ladders, crawl through hatches and generally futz around with every latch and lever we* could touch.

Parts of the Taney were familiar and easy to explain to G: the large mess and bunk area for the enlisted men, the comparatively fancy captain and officer quarters and the on-board doctor's office, or sick bay to keep everyone healthy.

But there were plenty of details that were way over our heads. The sick bay, for example, was far more elaborate than would normally be found on a ship this size. This made it a unique feature that could be deployed in innovative ways. One notable use was during the Vietnam war where the Taney used its advanced medical facilities to treat over 6,000 Vietnamese villagers.

Of course we made our way forward to the relatively large 5" gun. The gun, to me, felt a bit out of place as I associate the coast guard with lifesaving and humanitarian missions. And while it's true that the Coast Guard does undertake these missions, it's my perspective that was naive.

For the entire span of Taney's career, offensive capabilities played a role. During WW II, as the photo in this article shows, the Cutter was armed to the teeth. In fact, the ship has the unique distinction of being the last vessel afloat that participated in the response to the attack on Pearl Harbor. Reading an account of that day, one can appreciate just how valiantly the crew of the Taney performed. Fast forward 44 years, and one of Cutter 37's last actions was to seize the M/V Sea Maid 1, which was towing a barge containing 160 tons(!) of marijuana 300 miles off the coast of Virginia. The Taney's role in Vietnam wasn't limited to health duties, it also participated in naval operations, firing more than 3,400 shells from its 5" in gun--the very type of gun that G and I marveled at.

While the Taney had occasion to flex its muscles, many of its missions were far more peaceful. During Amelia Earhart's attempted flight around the world, the Cutter 37 served as a signal beacon, transmitting a navigational radio signal as well as "dense clouds of smoke from its boilers.". It also participated in the ominous sounding (yet, apparently harmless) Pacific Island colonization program, that allowed the US to claim a handful of deserted islands in the Pacific. The primary and possibly only resource of note on these islands was, I kid you not, bird poop.

The Cutter 37's most common mission during its career was that of Ocean Station. The idea was that Coast Guard Cutters like the Taney would sail out to a 10 mile square 'station' in the Atlantic or Pacific and then essentially chill there. They would primarily broadcast weather and sea data and be on hand if there was an emergency in the area.

I'd never considered that for many years we had the science to do weather forcasting, but not the technology to collect the data with ease. If you wanted weather data on a section of the ocean the way to get it was to send a ship there to collect it. The stations were described as "44,000 square miles of bad weather." Yikes, no thank you.

It's worth taking a moment to appreciate how the Cutter received and then lost its name, Taney.

The ship, originally named the Roger B. Taney was named for, you guessed it, Roger Taney. In 1937, the name was shortened to just Taney. But why name a ship after Roger Taney?

Roger Taney was Secretary of the Treasury in 1833, and Cutter 37 was built with a group of ships which were all 'Treasury Secretary Class.' That is, they were all 327-foot cutters and all named after Treasury Secretaries. Why Treasury Secretaries?

This makes sense when you learn that until 1967, the Coast Guard was under the Department of the Treasury. Its original mission was to act as tariff enforcement and run anti-smuggling operations on behalf of the Treasury.

So, having a cluster of ships all named after the bosses of your department does sort of make sense.

But even here, we get our first hint that Taney will be a controversial name. In a move that feels uncomfortably modern, Roger Taney was appointed as Secretary of the Treasury by Andrew Jackson as a recess appointment. When Congress reconvened, they ultimately rejected Taney and he was booted from the post.

The Cutter loses the name Taney for actions Roger Taney took after his short stint as secretary. Jackson goes on to nominate Roger Taney to the Supreme Court, where he is eventually appointed. It's here that he authors the infamous Dred Scott decision:

On March 6, 1857, in the case of Dred Scott v. John Sanford, United States Supreme Court Chief Justice Roger B. Taney ruled that African Americans were not and could not be citizens. Taney wrote that the Founders' words in the Declaration of Independence, “all men were created equal,” were never intended to apply to blacks. Blacks could not vote, travel, or even fall in love and marry of their own free will — rights granted, according to the Declaration, by God to all. It was the culmination of ten years of court battles — Dred Scott's fight to live and be recognized as a free man.

The High Court's decision went even further, declaring laws that restricted slavery in new states or sought to keep a balance between free and slave states, such as the Missouri Compromise, were unconstitutional. In essence, Black Americans, regardless of where they lived, were believed to be nothing more than commodities.

Ouch. In 2020, the curators of Cutter, announced: “in support of the local, national, and global call to remove symbols venerating oppression and racial injustice,” the organizations have decided to remove the ship’s name. For the moment, it will be referred to by its hull identification number, WHEC-37, which stands for High Endurance Cutter.

If anything, it's remarkable how long the name stuck. I can't imagine being a sailor of color serving on a vessel named after an individual who didn't just believe I had no rights, but actively sought to make that the law of the land.

From the Cutter, we had one more ship tour we wanted to squeeze in. Shiver me timbers, it's time to tour the pirate ship!

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*And by we, I mean me and 4 year old G.

G's Baltimore Adventure - The USS Torsk

[Composed 9/21/2024]

After a proper Uncle Ben Approved Breakfast of fruit loops and cream cheese with chocolate chips* we made our way down to the Baltimore Harbor to tour the historic ships on display.

First up, we visited the USS Torsk. The Torsk is a submarine that was built for, and saw action at the end of WII.

It's first war patrol in 1945 was to serve as a lifeguard for B-29's making raids on the Japenese empire. While the Torsk had no notable saves during this time, it's worth taking a moment to appreciate the USS Finback which did. In this grainy footage you can see a handful of the USS Finback's crew picking up a downed airman from a life raft. That crewman would go on to be the 41st president of the United States. That's right, that's George H. W. Bush being pulled out of the drink. After seeing that footage I can't help but see the former President in a new light.

The Torsk did have notable action at the very end of the war; it holds the distinction of sinking the last Japanese vessel of World War II.

Around noon [on August 14th, 1945], another frigate appeared, apparently a reinforcement which had been called in. Continuing her aggressive action, Torsk fired a Mark 28 torpedo at the frigate which had already detected the submarine's presence. Comdr. Lewellen then initiated deep submergence procedures and ordered the crew to rig for silent running. After a tense five minutes, she reached 400 feet and there she launched another torpedo, this time the new acoustic Mark 27. Almost immediately, a loud explosion announced that the first torpedo had found its mark, and a minute later a second explosion sounded, followed by strong breaking up noises. The secret new torpedoes had proven their worth in battle, and Torsk was credited, not only with two enemy warships, but also with sinking the last Japanese warship sunk in World War II. Held down by enemy planes and patrol vessels, the submarine remained submerged more than seven hours. Then, she surfaced and headed for the Noto peninsula.

On the 15th, following four highly successful days of aggressive patrolling, Torsk received word of the cessation of hostilities.

I've toured the Torsk a number of times, and it simply never ceases to delight. You start in the aft torpedo room, which jumps right to the point. G noticed that above the torpedoes are bunks. Apparently, 12 to 18(!) sailors slept in this comically small space. Using every inch of space is a common theme aboard the Torsk.

Climbing through a G-sized hatch, we made our way to the maneuvering room, which has countless gauges, knobs and levers for us to oggle and handle. From there, it was on to the engine rooms, which must have been impossibly loud and hot. From there, we saw the eating and kitchen area. Everything about the Torsk is on the extreme side, so not only did 20 men have to squeeze into small eating area at one time, but they had only 10 minutes to eat before the next shift's turn.

From the mess, we made our way to the control room, which continues the theme of offering countless bits of hardware to futz with. Here there are giant wheels used to control the dive angle of boat. Or, as G and I imagined it: the perfect place to derive the sub. The depth gauge here shows that the Torsk was rated to go down to 600 feet. Man these sailors were next level brave.

Climbing through the last hatch below, we ended up in the aft torpedo room. From there, we made our way back to the top of the boat and then down the gangway back to dry land.

I think G really enjoyed exploring the sub. The relatively small size, relatable details like the bunks and mess, endless physical controls and the torpedoes all made for an experience that was perfect for a 4 year old. Up next, we're heading to the U.S Coast Guard Cutter 37.

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*Wait, did you say cream cheese and chocolate chips? I did. When you travel with your Uncle Ben and Aunt Shira, we go big!

G's Baltimore Adventure - Day 1

[Composed 9/20/2024]

With a travel time of about an hour, Baltimore's Inner Harbor isn't especially far away. And Shira and I have been a handful of times, if not more. And yet, winding through the streets of downtown Baltimore always gives me the excitement of exploring a new city filled with hidden gems.

I think it's the variety of eye catching historic architecture that fuels most of this feeling. The curious looking structures, like the Bromo Seltzer Building; or those with old timey names etched in granite, like the Mercantile Trust & Despoit Co; or those with anachronistic functions, like the Phoenix Shot Tower; or those that are just generally overly-ornate like the Baltimore Trust Co. Passing any of these structures elicits a man, they don't build them like they use to.*

This visit was even more electric thanks to our traveling companion: our nephew G. We were hoping that the next two days would be an epic adventure. The bar for such adventures is high, given how well our train experience went last year. But, I was confident Baltimore was up to the challenge.

Shira booked us a room at the uninspiring named Hampton Inn and Suites Baltimore Inner Harbor. Logistically, this was a smart move because of the its close proximity to the harbor we planned to explore tomorrow. To my delight, the hotel is situated in the historic US Fidelity and Guaranty Co. building. We weren't just driving by a building with roots in the 1800's, we were spending the night inside one.

The lobby of the building had a seemingly historic second floor balcony that G and I immediately ascended. Even more impressive was the massive vault situated in the basement. The vault is so large that it's now used as a conference room. If you find yourself walking past the hotel you should totally duck into the lobby and take the marble staircase to the basement. The vault is more than worth your time to explore.

After unpacking our stuff, we walked down the to Inner Harbor to stretch our legs and get a preview for tomorrow. Leaving the hotel, I explained to G that I had his water bottle and some snacks in my backpack. If you get hungry or thirsty, just ask your Uncle Ben. His response was: "OK, if I get hungry or thirsty, I'll ask my Uncle Josh." No, I explained, your Uncle Ben. Got it. My Uncle Josh. Our little Laurel and Hardy routine went on for a bit and I was quite impressed that G's 4 year old brain could pull off this little comedy routine without any prompting. He's a genius. Perhaps a comic genius, but a genius none the less.

While strolling along the water we came across a kiosk renting paddle boats. I have mixed feelings when it comes to pedal boats. On one hand, any vessel that gets you out into the water is a winner. On the other hand, the pedals on a pedal boat tend to fall in the one-size-fits-none category. I'm frequently too tall and my kid co-captain too short. The result is usually a contorted and exhausting boating experience. Fortunately, this stand offered a novel upgrade: you could rent a 'pirate ship' that had a small electric motor. We could explore the harbor without the workout. I was in!

Once out on the water, we realized that our boat's range was severely limited. We quickly hit the roped off edge of the boat's boundary. To adults or even older kids, this may have been frustrating. But for G, this didn't matter one bit. He was getting to pilot (with Aunt Shira close at hand) his own pirate ship. The experience was perfectly scaled for a 4 year old.

After our sailing adventure we headed out in search of dinner. Alas, after two or three attempts at restaurants we ended up back at our hotel room eating delivered Thai food. G, to his credit, endured our long and seemingly pointless march to restaurants with good humor. If nothing else, it certainly tired him out for the evening.

Tomorrow, if all went to plan, we'd be exploring historic ships and trains. I can't wait!

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*I can't help but share a fun fact about each of these buildings:

• The functional clock atop the Bromo Seltzer Tower was the largest four-dial gravity-driven non-chiming clock in the world when it was designed in 1911.
• Mercantile Trust & Despoit Co's ads claimed that this building was strong enough to resist the invasion of an armed force. In fact, the building survived the 1904 Baltimore Fire, allowing the company to run further ads saying essentialy, told you so.
• From 1828 until 1846 the Phoenix Shot Tower was the tallest structure in the United States. In 1846, the nearby Washington Monument was completed and claimed this honor.
• The Baltimore Trust Co contains an artfully designed and executed marble mosaic floor with which was slated to be covered by astro turf.

Review: The Ways We Hide

While G was visiting from Tampa, we took her to the Spy Museum. And while there, I captured this photo:

Given how compact the radio was for its age, I was curious about its history. A Google search for this model, the M-19, turned up no results.

With more digging, I realized my error: that's not an M19 (M-nineteen) radio; that's a radio provided by MI9 (M-eye-9). And thus I learned about MI9: a World War II era, secret branch of British Intelligence that focused on equipping soldiers for escape and evasion.

This discovery hit close to home. We're practically neighbors with Fort Hunt, a WWII installation known only as 'P.O. Box 1142' during the war, that you guessed it, had a similar mission.

Given my interest in hacking, survival, history and this local connection, I was eager to learn more. A Libby search for one of the main personalities of MI9, Christopher Hutton, turned up not a biography but a novel by Kristina McMorris. Within a few minutes of listening to The Ways We Hide, I was hooked.

Spoilers Ahead

(Stop reading my blog and go read The Ways We Hide)

I love jumping into a book completely uninformed. So it wasn't until McMorris spent a few chapters unspooling the main character's childhood that it clicked: this is a Long Story.

In my experience, what marks a Short Story isn't so much its length, but the author's use of narrative sleight-of-hand to conjure backstory and depth without explicitly writing it. A Long Story takes the opposite approach: the author delivers comprehensive detail through prose.

All this to say that at times the pace of The Ways We Hide felt a bit slow. Ultimately, all was more than forgiven thanks to the author's notes at the end of the audiobook. Here McMorris explains that one of her primary goals was to educate the public about the difficult stories embedded in The Ways We Hide.

For example, the Christmas Eve crush tragedy that the main character Fenna endures is based on the Italian Hall Disaster. When McMorris gives us a thorough description of this event and its aftermath, she's honoring a real tragedy with real victims. And here was I being an impatient jerk, wishing the story would move along. In short, she was right and I was wrong.

One feature of McMorris's writing that I found myself regularly smiling about was her clue management. As The Ways We Hide unfolds, as with any story, the author faces a dilemma. On one hand, she needs to fully inform her readers about the origin of the knowledge and skills her characters will ultimately deploy. On the other hand, she wants to avoid making the story predictable.

In short, if Fenna is going to be called on to pick a lock, then somewhere in her backstory she needs to have lock-picking experience.

Some clues are simply too obvious to camouflage. For example, once we learn that Fenna is an escape artist on stage, we can guess that she'll be using this skill in real life. And when we learn that she's going behind enemy lines, it's clear she will be using her escape skills to outfox the Nazis.

What I thought McMorris did especially well was how she cleverly reused information; essentially hiding a clue in the 'already used' pile. Consider Fenna's experience with the shady palm reader. At first, this information exists to support the well-rounded nature of Fenna's magic education. Then it pops up again as proof of how uncompromising her foster mother is when it comes to matters of religion. And then, even more surprisingly, this information allows Fenna to develop a method for self-heating soup.

Every time a clue would be reused in a way I hadn't predicted I'd think, well played McMorris, well played.

The Ways We Hide contains a number of twists and turns. Some I saw coming, some I didn't. But it was a moment in the final chapter that caught me the most off guard and added significant depth to the story. In that moment, I thought of McMorris as the magician: all along I'd been watching her perform card tricks, then out of the blue, she made a tiger appear.

The scene I'm speaking of is the moment when Fenna, her foster mother, and her foster daughter are all sitting together on a bed flipping through a family photo album. It's obviously a touching moment, as Fenna ends up feeling a profound sense of belonging. But to me, and perhaps just me, this encounter is so much more.

At this moment, the text takes on fresh meaning by answering the most perplexing of questions: what does it mean to live? Fenna's long and messy journey, which McMorris has carefully shared with us, serves as the answer. To live means to experience both joy and heartache; miracles and grief. Perhaps most importantly, Fenna's life underscores that loss and trauma are not terminal states. When Fenna sits on the bed with Aveleen (sp?) and Mrs. Johnson (sp?), the loss of Ari and her father remain significant. And yet, the love and joy offered by these two women and an unwritten future is powerful in its own right.

I was expecting a number of things from The Ways We Hide, deep thoughts on what it means to live weren't one of them. Bravo, McMorris!

Riviera Maya - Day 5 - Homeward Bound

[Composed 12/1/2024]

Today was mainly a travel day, with a slow breakfast being our primary luxury. It's a testament to the wildness of the resort's grounds that simply walking to breakfast and checking out, I managed to spot two new-to-me bird species, and one new-to-me mammal: Central American agouti. While not as cute as the cotis we saw yesterday, it was still impressive to see a creature in the wild I didn't know existed.

Cancun's international terminal was a modern affair, with lots of places to eat and chill while we waited for our flight. Though I did have to smile at the signs in the bathroom announcing that the water wasn't potable. The terminal may have been fancy, but we were still very much in overseas travel mode.

The protocol at the airport is to announce the departing gate relatively close to boarding time. We figured we could outsmart this process by scouring the web. According to our research, flights to IAD typically left out of gate 26. We schleped over to that end of the terminal only to find that 25 was the last gate. When our gate was finally posted, it was gate 1. So yeah, so much for outsmarting the system.

Our flight to DC was easy and in no time we were on the ground in IAD. It was especially jarring to go from breakfast at a perfect 70°F, to the walk to our car in nearly freezing temps. I suppose that just made me appreciate our trip even more.

Here's a few observations about traveling in the Riviera Maya before I sign-off.

Renting a car was a win for us. The drivers in this part of Mexico aren't particular aggressive, and they even have the habit of turning on their hazard lights as soon as they begin to slow down. That's a practice that would be worth adopting here.

The traffic control device of choice in the area is the humble speed bump, and man, is it effective. Unlike stop lights, it doesn't rely on the electrical grid or other infrastructure. Unlike traffic circles, it doesn't rely on specialized driver knowledge. And unlike signage, it can't be bypassed. That's a bit of genius, right there.

Occasionally, we found that we'd have to do U-turn on what was essentially a highway. But, with a little patience and courage this too turned out not to be a problem.

Between the restaurants in Playa del Carmen and historic sites inland, having a car meant we could access it all and at our own pace.

In my head, I had the scale of the area all wrong. Up to the moment we picked up our car I thought we were going on vacation to Cancun. Uh, nope. Yes, we flew into Cancun Airport, but immediately drove South and never looked back. This is like flying into Baltimore Washington Airport, staying in DC, and yet thinking that you're visiting Baltimore.

Perhaps we'll make our way to Cancun on some future adventure, this just wasn't the trip.

As for food, I'm glad we opted to skip the all-inclusive resort packages. They're certainly tempting, but for us, the food options outside of the resort were just too high quality to ignore. From Kosher options, to Thai, to the area's well stocked grocery stores, focusing on the included resort meals would have almost certainly been limiting.

Perhaps most importantly, we felt like the area had way more to offer than our few days of travel allowed for. There are more historic sites to see, cenotes to explore and Kosher restaurants to eat at. There's a bunch of kid and teen friendly activities too. I could easily see coming back next Thanksgiving to continue exploring the area.