Sunday, April 13, 2014

Burn Bread Crumbs Burn

I am ashamed to admit that the skills I honed in Jewish Girl Scout sleepover camp have become rusty.

With great anticipation I explained to Raphaela this morning that we would not require assistance in the burning of the chametz, since I was considered somewhat of a fire expert; in the days that setting up camp, bathing au natural in a nearby lake, building a tent and igniting a campfire that could burn down the forest was second nature.

We took our loot from the previous night's search and found a suitable spot in the parking lot downstairs, and I included some newspaper with the bread crumbs to provide kindling.  The fire burned the newspaper only and completely ignored the chametz.

I added in more kindling and watched with satisfaction as the newspaper dissolved in the flames.  But when I  pushed away some of the ash, there sat the bread, fresh as ever, mocking me..

A neighbor, a chronic smoker whose coughing acts as my alarm in the early morning, came by with his cigarette and lighter and offered a few of his tried and true Chametz Burning tips.

Then I ran out of matches.  The pyromaniac in me was feeling quite frustrated.
To paraphrase the Torah, "And Lo, there was fire and the Chametz was not consumed."

Harry cruised by and casually sniffed the charred area, and Raphaela screamed out, "Harry, be careful!  Where there's smoke, there's fire!"

After building a more than respectable bonfire, completely surrounding the crumbs, Raphaela and I were able to do the Dora The Explorer victory dance ["We did it, hooray!" with the appropriate hand flailing and gluteal shaking] and continue on our day.

For the next ten hours or so we will exist in that terrible transition zone, in which our house is Pessach ready and yet, "Mommy, I'm hungry.  There is nothing to eat!"

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