Shortage (Joshua/Open)

[Eliora Ish-Shalom]

The grip on her shopping cart tightened as Eliora passed the seafood counter, the familiar, and sickening, smell of seafood filling her nostrils. The squeak of leather against the plastic rang out into the otherwise dead silent supermarket, the hollowness of the air making it equally calming and creepy. A frown spread on her lips as she took a deep mouth breath and scurried along, turning a sharp corner into the soda isle. Scanning the shelves, she found the beloved yellow-capped coca-cola, picking it up and smiling at the Hebrew lettering on top. Kosher for Passover, it proudly displayed on the cap, and it found its way into her cart, a few more following. Her mental checklist crossed off cola, now onto matzah. Yum.

Even after eating the stuff her whole life, Eli still couldn't appreciate the taste of it alone. Thank HaShem for cream cheese and lox, which was another thing she had to grab. The kosher selection at the store had grown since her first stop in here twenty-one years ago during her first year at Hammel searching for kosher pickles and matzah mix for soup. The stock boys have grown up and moved away, save for Hank, and the shelves have switched around, but the reliability of food has't changed. Down the bread isle she coasted, jumping up onto the cart's bottom rods to 'ride' it in a moment of unobserved, good, clean fun.

She peeked down the isle, then across the isles, and still saw nobody. No chatty Cathy's on their cell phones, yelling about tomatoes, or crying babies, or whining toddlers, or bickering couples ripping each other apart over coffee choices. It was bliss. It was also pesach, and still feeling a bit inspired from the seder dinner at Ezra's, she began to hum a familiar tune. The Song of the Sea, the song in Exodus as they passed from Egypt to the promised land, was a favorite of hers. Eli's voice was by no means magical or beautiful, but after years of singing on holidays, she could carry a note in Hebrew, at least. She started softly, slowly "Ashira l'Adonai, ki ga'o, ga'a..." Eli's smile grew as she loafed down the isle searching, and singing a little louder now. "Mi chamocha ba'elim, Adonai" Aha. Matzah, sitting alone on the shelf in all its square, dry, and brittle glory in its little simple packaging captured her eye, even with the oreo's teasing her with its polyunsaturated fats. Tempting, but she was a righteous woman with righteous taste buds on pesach. Finishing up the song, Eli reached into her jean pocket and pulled out the real list, and a pen from the other pocket, and crossed matzah off. "Mi kamocha ne'edar bakodesh, nachita bechasdecha, a'm zu ga'alta, Mashiach, masiach, masiach..." Her voice trailed off, but tt felt beyond good, to sing that again, and to finish her shopping.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Grocery shopping was not Josh's favorite pastime. Generally he kept his options to a few items that could be eaten straight from the box, mingled with sandwich materials for when a pop-tart wouldn't quite cut it.

The Bernstein family had never been the most observant when it came to keeping kosher, but his mother had become more religious in her old age and she wanted matzah. Unfortunately, her vision had begun deteriorating years ago and she had (reluctantly and at the insistence of the nurses rather than of her own volition) admitted that she couldn't make them herself. It had fallen to Josh, as the child nearest, to bring matzah to his mother. Of course, she expected him to actually cook it himself, though he couldn't imagine why; his kitchen skills were notoriously lacking. When it came to meals that were neither sandwiches nor pop-tarts he relied on Sean, Riley or Anya to invite him over.

Still, he was nothing if not a dutiful son and it was fortunately entirely possible to buy pre-prepared matzah, that savior of the cooking-impaired (or time deprived) Jew. Thus it was that he was braving the grocery store, determined to provide his mother with matzah or risk her disappointment. And he hated risking his mother's disappointment; he would have been far more honest with her otherwise.

There were few people out today, which made shopping both easier than usual and a bit lonely.

He turned into the snack aisle, and was relieved to see another person. She seemed lost in contemplation, singing to herself. At first he assumed she was singing along with the Muzak drifting over the speakers (some Fiona Apple song that he swore played every.single.time. he went out.) but as he approached he realized that he recognized the song she was concentrating on. He also recognized the package she was standing in front of, so he waited for her to scratch something off her list (a list! How organized) before clearing his throat.

"Pardon," He began, assuming that (since she'd crossed it off her list) she'd already gotten her matzah. "I don't mean to interrupt your worship, but may I get by? I'm really only here for one thing, and you're standing in front of it."

[Eliora Ish-Shalom]

(Woah! Sorry for the wait! I just started my new semester of school. Also, sorry for the short post!)

Her throat...well, felt like it was locking up, much akin to anphylactic shock. Minus the tongue swelling and asphyxiation. Eli now knew that someone heard her sing, and the color flooded her cheeks. The grip on her list made the small notebook crumple in her hand as she tossed it into the cart. The pen in her other hand was plunged back into her pocket
A deep blush of embarrassment overtook her cheeks, Eli stammering out an apology with her thick accent showing through.
"Sorry, many apologies."
The odd thing was, despite her two decades of being in the states, she couldn't escape it. Afterall, she prayed in her native tongue, spoke to all her family in it, wrote in it, and did all self talk in it. Nevertheless, she tried to 'drop her throat' like the speech coach advised (whatever that meant), but it failed miserably each time. Eli just gave up and wore her foreigner flag proudly.

"I-I. No. I mean. I haven't, uh, I haven't gotten it. Sorry."
And she truly was. Now the two strangers were stuck in the dilemma of one box, two carts. Eli tilted her head to the side, offering the man a frown of apology, and then a longing look to the box.
"You take it." The deceiving sound of a hollow box resonated out, her hand tapping it towards him while it slid across the shelf.

[Joshua Bernstein]

(ooc: no need to apologize on either count. Short posts don't bother me and RL always > RP)


This was an awkward situation, and, even worse, there was no polite way to avoid the fact that they were both eying the one remaining box of matzah.

"Ah. Oh." He said after a moment, trying to decide whether or not it was possible to pretend he'd never been there. Rarely did he find himself wishing he was meta. When he thought about his ill-fated trek in the woods was one time. This was another: temporal rewind would have been extremely useful right about now.

She was going to be polite about it, offering it to him instead, and he could have accepted that. He could have. But even though she offered, that would have been rude.

"No, no, you were here first."

He could always tell his mother there wasn't any left. That would mean she would probably try and make it herself, which was a potential disaster, but it wasn't as if she didn't do more dangerous activities on a daily basis. For instance, drive. If she couldn't see to cook then she surely had no business being out on the roads, but the DMV kept renewing her license. It was about time he hired someone to drive her to her appointments.

"It won't kill me to go without." But if his mother heard he'd taken it from some poor young woman she just might kill him.

"If you don't mind my asking, where are you from? Do you attend Ohavi Zedek?" He hadn't seen her there, but there were several other Synagogues in Burlington so perhaps she worshiped with a different congregation.

[Eliora Ish-Shalom]

This could turn sticky very quickly. Two strangers pushing matzah on one another. Well, truth be told, Eli had enough matzah to eat while at Ezra's, but then again, her beloved rye with jam was forbidden, and it was a second-rate substitute. Good with cream cheese too. But the matter at hand was one box, two carts. They could've stood there indefinitely, pushing the box back and forth between each other with polite "No, you"s, but that would just end with silent frustrations and an escort out of the closing store from a clerk.

"I just remembered I had some at home!"
In a rather bold move, she took the box and plopped it into his cart. Done, dead, and over with. But his question did make her raise an eyebrow.
"Ohavi Zedek? No, I don't. I attend Ahavath Gerim. OZ is a little..."
How should she word this. Full of "gaa's and faminests" like her mother said? The old woman spared being politically correct despite her daughter's more open-minded policies. "It was more of a drive for my family than Ahavath Gerim."
Good save.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh was surprised when the woman dumped the box into his cart, proclaiming that she already had some. He narrowed his eyes in silent accusation, certain that she was lying but equally certain that calling her out on that would be useless.

In any event, his mother would get her matzah without either one of them having to burn down the retirement home or their kitchens in an attempt to make it. He supposed he should be grateful. "Oh. Thank you, then."

If he'd known her opinion of Ohavi Zedek's congregation he would have been both annoyed at her and pleased with his choice in synagogue. After all, what was wrong with joining a congregation made up of gays and feminists? Fortunately for Eliora Josh did not have his best friend's telepathic abilities, and thus she was spared a rant. Instead he smiled and said, "Oh, yes, driving is always such a bother. That's one thing I miss about the city, everything was in walking distance. I suppose I should be pleased to be getting so much exercise here but it's really a pain." He really needed to ask Sean if they could resume the driving lessons from last summer. He would be more careful next time; maybe he would even succeed in not wrecking the sedan.

"AG seemed a bit more traditional than I was looking for. Do you like it?"