21/4/00

Right On Time, A Day Late

Next week, when Pessah is over -- that's when I buy matza.

    I wasn't allowed to go Trick Or Treating on Hallowe'en when I was a kid, because I was a Jewish kid. What made it worse is that my parents bought bagsful of goodies, and I had to stand at the door and hand them out to the neighborhood masqueraders -- including all the other Jewish kids. So I resented Hallowe'en.
    I also resented Easter, because while "they" were scraping their teeth on chocolate eggs, "we" had matza. I was led to believe it made us special. I thought it stunk.
    Ah, but Christmas. You'd think I hated Christmas, but no: from the earliest signs of its approach I plotzed with excited anticipation of the toys I would get. That's because Christmas heralded Hanukka, which begat us Hanukka gelt, with which, according to ancient family tradition, the Orbaum kids bought toys.
    But the catch was, we had to wait. While the goyim were going crazy buying their toys when prices were highest, the Orbaum kids sat on their nickels and waited. And we knew exactly for how long: when they screamed at us from the TV, "only 88 shopping days left!" we knew that for us it meant "only 89 days left to shopping!"
    Because the day after Christmas, there we were, the only kids in town running into toy stores to buy. Prices swooned, and we swooped, and we made off like bandits.
    I don't know if that proves we're smarter, but it occurred to me some years ago that it proves we in Israel are dumber. Why, I wondered, can't we apply the same principle here?
    So I did.
    You ever go into a makolet the day after Pessah? The owner is depressed. He's glaring at a tremendous stock of matza he didn't manage to sell, and never in a million years will. The last thing he expects is...
    "Good morning," I say. "How much for a large box of matza?"
    You've never seen a happier makolet owner, but being Israeli, he can't leave good enough alone. "Whatarya, crazy?! Now you want matza?"
    And I get it for half price.
    I'm amazed no one thought of it before. We know very well the cycle of holidays, and the corresponding rises and drops in prices. But we wait all year until the price is highest, and then we buy, instead of waiting one more day when they're willing to give it away.
    Imagine how much I save by buying Hanukka candles the day after. Imagine how much time I save when, a year later, I simply retrieve the year-old box of wax sticks from the cupboard while everyone else is queuing up 15 deep at the makolet for the very same thing.
    I buy cheese for Shavuot the day before Independence Day, and meat for Independence Day the day before Shavuot.
    "Whatarya, crazy?" the grocer says. I think it bothers him that I don't obey the rules of nature, as if suddenly one morning the sun rose in the south.
    I tried to explain the wisdom of it all. "But don't you see? While everybody's climbing all over each other in your dairy department, I'm all alone here in your cow parts, selecting the very best for the very least. And when Yom Ha'atzmaut comes, they'll all be here, and I'll be there, all alone."
    "He's crazy," the grocer mumbles to himself reassuringly.
    But he's looking to make a profit, so he knows if he's going to keep my patronage, he's going to have to put in an emergency order for all the wrong things a day late. Now his suppliers think he's crazy.
    You think I go to shul on Yom Kippur? Of course not! On Lag Ba'omer I go to shul: you can get a seat for free and, well, you can get a seat; there's no one else there. It's the best time to go.
    Conversely, the best time to find kindling for a bonfire is on Yom Kippur.
    Sometimes, the way to beat the crowds and save gruschim is to get in there before the event, rather than after. For instance, I have found the most opportune time to go to the bank is just before a devaluation. Nobody's expecting it, so everybody's elsewhere. It's so logical.
    I'll bet you buy an umbrella after you've already been soaked by the first rain. Don't you think it's a lot smarter to buy it in June, when everyone's buying sunglasses? You know perfectly well that the rain will start precisely at rainy season, and it's useless to hope that it won't.
    (Which brings up another silliness: when do we say the Prayer For Rain? Exactly at that time of year when the skies are bursting with clouds. And then we say "y'see!" when our prayers are answered. I say, let's test the power of prayer by asking for rain during the annual drought.)
    Pessah cleaning is best done just before Succot, when cleaning ladies are begging for work. The drawback is that you have to keep the house kosher-for-Passover for half a year, but the advantage is that while every other Jew is cleaning, you're the only one out there merrily collecting fronds for the succa, which you can put up at your leisure during Purim, leaving the search for Purim costumes to Tisha b'Av.
    That's also how I vote. Isn't it silly to decide just before an election, when they're all on their best behavior? Not me. The day after the elections, that's when I start listening to the promises they make, and then I make my decision a good four years before the next elections. Likewise, I make my own supplications to God the day after Yom Kippur, when I'm the only one beseeching, so I know He can hear me.
    The best time for a New Year's Eve party is erev Rosh Hashana, when the Rabbinate is least expecting it.   

    I'LL TELL you when I first got this idea. It was the war.
    (This is an absolutely true story:)
    It happened a couple of days after everyone had thrown away all the plastic sheeting from their sealed rooms. A friend of mine happened to have a little car trouble: his window wouldn't close. Seeking a temporary solution until he could get it properly repaired, he popped into the hardware store and bought -- you guessed it -- plastic sheeting. He had to be the only customer for that particular product on that day in the entire country.
    Shortly thereafter, he was stopped at a traffic light, and some truck driver, seeing his "sealed car," hollered at him. "Yalla, uncle! Haven't you heard? The war's over!"
    That truck driver, I guarantee you, does not buy cottage cheese the day before Independence Day.