Divine Intervention

Yesterday I was in the midst of writing a particularly blasphemous posting about the Chipotle burrito and how I had an argument with someone about whether a tortilla should be considered chametz or not when suddenly my blatherings were interrupted by a divine force, one induced by God or Bill Gates (if they are separate entities), one which told me that Internet Explorer needed to be shut down and absolved me of my heretical speak.

While I found my arguments in defense of the tortilla sound...namely...

1. A tortilla is unleavened. A tortilla is flat...flatter than matzah...and flatter than Keira Knightley.

3. No one knows what's in a Chipotle tortilla. It could be made from any of the five grains used in matzah (my guess would be the spelt) or even things that aren't grain or even food like plaster, the skin of synthetic fruits, or the blood of those Christian or Muslim children that libelers accuse matzah-makers of using.

REGARDLESS...before I anger the forces that be with further exemplars of my hubris, I decided to leave it at that today and instead, really cherish what it is about the burrito that I enjoy. This is designed to be more of an homage to the burrito as I appreciate what I cannot consume during this traditional week of the exodus.

I am reminded of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself in my thoughts about the Chipotle burrito. The Chipotle burrito is inherently flawed much like the world and a poor substitute for the real burritos of Southeast Texas upon which I grew heavy in my younger years. Thus, in consuming Chipotle, I am, in fact, acknowledging the dearth in life, accentuating the greater yearn toward betterness and wholeness that I feel whenever I consume something that is not what it is supposed to be (and will likely end me someday as well).

It is an old (possibly bygone) tradition in Judaism to always leave aside a portion of food during a feast to memorialize the loss of the Second Temple. Legend has it that a debate once broke out about whether Jews should stop eating meat in order to adequately mourn the loss of their spiritual center. The movement then moved to ban fruits and eventually to just eat simple grains and water. But this didn't seem like enough.

A rabbi weighed in and disagreed with their practice, asking its advocates why they continue to eat grains if the Second Temple is lost. So they said they would stop eating grains. When they rabbi asked if they should stop drinking water, the advocates replied that they would die without the water. The rabbi made his point.

His pronouncement: You should eat the normal foods, but not everything. Just as you should stucco your house, but leave part of it bare to show that our lives are incomplete without the Second Temple. While I do not leave any part of the Chipotle burrito uneaten, the fact that it is a (decidedly lacking and) proximate incarnation of the perfect meal bears a similar meaning.

Thus, while back in the days of Second Temples and East Texas burritos, the houses and rooms were (in Whitman's words [Song II]) full of purfumes....the shelves are crowded with perfumes.

The Chipotle burrito (as an emblem of post-70 C.E. or 2000 C.E. life) is is not a perfume...it has no taste of the distillation...it is odorless...it is for my mouth forever...I am in love with it....

While I am not sure that I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked for a Chipotle burrito...save for maybe a free one...I know that now in my week's practice where I cannot embrace even the shoddy facsimile of a perfect meal, I am still twinning the observances with meaning, which while imperfect is hopefully good enough. As for Chipotle, I am still mad for it to be in contact with me.

Happy Passover and have a Good Friday.