On the first night of Hanukkah I found myself surrounded by a gaggle of otherworldly creatures swarming along the sidewalks of Hawthorne Blvd. “We are Krumpus, ” I was told, “we come to whisk away the naughty children, to lick them with our poisonous tongues, to give out pieces of silver to the good ones.” Needless to say, I received a piece of silver, tinfoil wrapping some unknown substance that I’m saving for a rainy day….

 

 

 

The elaborate costumes made me think of a trip to Trinidad in 1975. My lasting memories from that island are a) the acrid smell of the smoke coming from green coils lit across the cheap boarding house to fend off mosquitos – all of whom found refuge and nourishment on every square inch of my body. Also indelible were b) the sightings of whole clouds of birds alighting on trees around a natural bay that we were ferried across at sundown. It looked as if the trees were blooming, the ibises and other creatures all flocking with their same colored brethren, a white tree here, a pink one there. Quite magical. So were c) the large halls, with open doors and windows due to the heat, of costumes being prepared for carnival. Unclear what dominated, the scent of sweat or the stench of glue guns being heated to apply all those glittering paillettes.  If only I had had a camera to photograph, back then.

Who needs Trinidad when you have Portland. Downtown yesterday, costumes abounded due to seasonal occupations, and even the dogs sported red and green… (this one named Melanie Jane, no less. Sometimes you wonder.) Santa was making an effort not to look too bored,

and the elves were making

– well, making me see double.

This creature, out for a cigarette break, replied when asked about the costume:” I like to dress up, that’s all.” Down to the perfect accessory, it seemed.

 

A while later a shop clerk asked me cautiously, “Ma’am, do you know you have a nosebleed?” I turned and looked in the mirror to see my face in war paint…. and of course no tissues to be found within the chaos of my backpack. The visibly uncomfortable woman handed me some napkins from her lunchbox before I fled. A familiar face greeted me outside of Nordstroms, the blue man who hangs on that corner in his costume week in week out. He whipped out what looked like a checkbook to pay for his coffee at the coffee bar, defying my stereotypes of what I expected from a street performer.

 

My downtown jaunt ended with a visit to a convenience store where the teenage clerk could have been – numerically – my grandson. Handing me my purchase, he winked at me and whispered,”Don’t have too much fun without me!”  I had bought a bag of Fritos, an appropriately oily snack for this second night of Hanukkah, as a reward for being brave and cheerful…. the fun of junk food to be shared?

Maybe I’ll abscond to the Caribbean again. This time it wouldn’t be Trinidad, but Curaçao, to photograph the oldest surviving synagogue in the Americas, and sit in that quiet space with floors covers in white sand. Maybe it will be costume- and comment free.

Mikvé Israel-Emanuel was built in 1732 by the descendants of Portuguese-speaking Dutch Jews who, in 1651, crossed the Atlantic as the Dutch empire grew, establishing the New World’s first Jewish communities far from the anti-Semitism of Europe. At the intersection of the Caribbean environment and Jewish identity, these settlers covered the floors of their synagogues with white sand, both to remind congregants of the 40 years the Jews spent wandering the desert in biblical times and also to pay homage to their Portuguese ancestors who, before finding refuge from the Inquisition in Holland, used sand to muffle the sounds of sacred prayers and songs.
Read more: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/Caribbean-synagogue-sand-floor-180963581/#kzcEcXu3cGVfpK7T.99

I’ll probably just end up contemplating articles like this….https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/04/is-it-time-for-the-jews-to-leave-europe/386279/

Now, where are those Fritos?