Tchotchke

One of my co-workers once lived in Israel for a couple of years. She recently made a return visit. Because she knew T was interested in Judaism and Israel, she asked me if she could bring him a little something from the trip. "Sure!" I said. "Anything at all!"

When she came back last week, she handed me a bag of goodies. There were tourist brochures and maps, a couple of coins ("Don't get too excited," she said, "because they aren't worth much."), and a few other doodads. The next day, she brought another bag full of memorabilia.

One of the gifts was this little oil lamp. I believe she said it is from Nazareth Village. It's tiny, only about three inches across. She said cheap olive oil is perfectly fine to burn in it. (T calls it the slutty oil, as opposed to the extra-virgin.) Traditionally, the first pressing of the olives is for God, the second is for cooking, and the third is for lamps.

I have olive oil, and it won't take too much to fill up this little guy. As soon as I figure out where to buy, or how to make, wicks, we're going to have us a working lamp.

When one has a lamp, of course, one must keep it trimmed and burning.