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Wednesday, March 31, 2004

Tomorrow at 4 o'clock (or 3:60), I'll take off for Windhoek, Namibia. When we land, seven friends and I will rent two cars with four wheels each and spend ten days travelling around the country. How many cylinders must each engine have so that we may pass go and collect 200 Namibian dollars?

Sorry, I miss math.

I'm done missing math.

Our gravel roadtrip will take us through game park and desert and dune. I have never been away from home for Passover before, and so I thought a lot about Bradford Lane this week, and family and friends and former goldfish. I will miss my mother's soup and mixed media frogs and my father's afikomen treasure hunt. However, I've packed a seder in a tote bag, and I'm sure there will be plenty of sandy hiding spots for the dessert matzah.

This Passover, so many pieces of the world are cracked like matzah. I have trouble saying Dayenu when there are not enough antiretrovirals or teachers or jobs and too many spiky fences and too many crumbling shacks. Too many big macs and burning bodies and not enough books. But I say dayenu because I've had enough, and I believe that there can be enough. That we need to wonder and wander and change, regime and mindset and course.

Dayenu.

Sending enormous hugs and wishing everyone meaningful holdiays. Talk to you soon.

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