At this point, all Jews would agree that Passover is over. However that would not have been the case yesterday or Monday. Indeed, many Jews don't know to answer to the question: Is Passover 7 or 8 days long? Short answer = in Israel and for most Reform Jews around the world, Pesach ended on April 25, but for many other Jews (including the ones who seem to print most calendars), it ended on April 26.
For a long answer see the following link . However, I will summarize here by stating that the problem dates back to the third and fourth centuries [the setting for my next novel, RAV HISDA'S DAUGHTER] when the Jewish court in Jerusalem ran into difficulties getting the word out to distant Diaspora communities, i.e. Babylonia, that the new moon had been sighted and a new month proclaimed. So the Diaspora, to be sure it was observing the holidays on the correct date, added an extra day to the 7-day Biblical festivals. In other words, no matter which date you started celebrating Pesach, if you went for 8 days, the correct 7 days, as observed in Israel, would be included.
These days, when the calendar is calculated and we all know when the new moon occurs, Reform Jews say there is no need for the extra day. Jews living in Israel have never observed an 8-day Passover, and still don't. So today we have come to a strange position where a majority of Jews [all Israeli Jews and Reform Jews worldwide] celebrate for 7 days, yet Jewish calendars insist on showing Pesach as an 8-day festival, when only the Conservative and Orthodox in the Disapora currently do so.
Passover is finally over. Hallelujah! Not that I don't enjoy Pesach [I even like whole wheat matzah], but let's face it, there's a lot of work involved in this holiday and most of it is done by women. Cleaning, shopping, cooking, more cleaning: you know the drill. So, like many Jewish women, I have a love-hate relationship with Passover.
My husband and I have hosted a first-night seder for over 30 years, and it's always a huge relief when it's finished and I can look forward to second-night seder somewhere else. Even though our seder for 20 is pot-luck, which means I don't have to cook for the rest of the week because we have so many leftovers, I still provide the turkey and all the seder plate essentials, including wine from Rashi Vineyards and homemade haroset. Plus I set the table with my wedding china and silverware.
But it's wonderful to get together so many old friends, to hear my 4-year-old grandson chant the Manashtana, to sing all the holiday songs. This year we had a new guest with a Moroccan Sephardic background who taught us an Arabic version of Had Gadya. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time as when we all tried to sing along despite having drunk 4 cups of wine. Watch the video and you'll see what I mean.
Here's an excellent article on what makes someone buy a particular book [or download it].
The top reasons haven't changed for over a century, according to quite a few surveys. Here's two for example:
1. Author reputation (52%)
2. Personal recommendation (49%)
3. Price (45%)
4. Book Reviews (37%)
5. Cover/Blurb (22%)
6. Advertising (including online) 14%
1. Personal Recommendation (49%)
2. Familiarity with the author (45%)
3. Description on the jacket (32%)
4. Reviews (22%)
5. Ads (21%)
6. Place on the bestseller list (17%)
7. Reading Group pick (16%)
And how does an author get a reputation? By writing lots of books, 1 or 2 a year according to the article. Which means that what I should be doing now, instead of posting this online, is working on RAV HISDA'S DAUGHTER ;)
Shabbat Shalom
I'm into chapter 14 of "Rav Hisda's Daughter" and my heroine is weeks away from her wedding. But first comes negotiating the marriage contract, which isn't so easy in Talmudic times. According to the Mishna, written by male rabbis, the only women who control their own money are either widows or divorcees. Before a girl marries, her father receives all her earnings and anything she finds.
After she marries – guess what? Her husband in entitled to all her earnings and anything she finds. Plus any property she brought into the marriage [for example, her dowry and any gifts or inheritance], her husband controls and receives usufruct [look that up in your Funk & Wagnall's]. If he likes, he can sell it and invest the proceeds elsewhere. The final insult: he inherits all her property except the dowry at her death, but she does not inherit from him. Her dowry goes to her sons, who are probably the husband's heirs as well. Daughters inherit nothing, unless they have no brothers.
If you think this sounds too misogynist to be true, you're right. Fathers were concerned that their sons-in-law could turn out to be unworthy stewards of their daughters' property [to put it nicely]. Also the daughter might die childless and then her family's property could end up going to the children of the husband's second wife.
So how could the bride's father prevent this? Interestingly, the Mishna provides at least three ways. 1] The father makes a vow that his son-in-law cannot benefit from the daughter's property. 2] He has a trusted agent, often her brother, take title and manage the daughter's property. 3] He has the prospective son-in-law write in the marriage contract that the daughter will control her own property and leave it to whom she likes.
In addition, marriage contracts from Talmudic times might include clauses that protected a wife's interests in other ways. One common clause prevented a man from taking a second wife unless he divorced the first and returned her dowry. Another gave the wife the right to divorce her husband by giving him a get [bill of divorce]. So while the Talmud makes it seem that husbands had all the power, reality was somewhat different.
Interestingly, as Gov Brown declares that the CA drought is over, I'm writing about how Rav Hisda's community reacts to a rare drought in Babylonia. Normally the Land of Israel suffered much more from droughts than Babylonia, since the former was totally dependent on rain for irrigating their crops, whereas the latter was irrigated by a series of canals off the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. As far as the Talmudic rabbis were concerned, rainfall was dependent on God's blessing, and rain was withheld as punishment for the people's sins. Thus the Mishna devoted an entire tractate, Taanit, to the process of fasting and penitence that Jews undertook when rain didn't fall as expected after Sukkot.
First the pious individuals [i.e. rabbis and their students] fasted during the daytime for three days: Monday, Thursday, and the following Monday. However they could eat after sundown and before dawn. If this didn't bring rain within 2 weeks, then the community had to perform a similar 3-day fast. If this didn't succeed, and by this time the drought was getting serious, another series of 3-day fasts began, only now the fasts were for 24 hours and special prayers were said at synagogue.
At this point, the wheat sown in autumn was not going to grow, so famine loomed ahead unless it rained very soon. The community donned sackcloth and ashes, and then went into full mourning [no shoes, bathing, haircuts, sex]. Additional prayers were said and the shofar blown.
And in case you might think this was done only in the past, apparently there was a drought in Israel last fall where the rabbis began this procedure to bring on the rain