With New Year's Eve 1999 falling on a Friday night, Israel's rabbis
were presented with a dilemma: how to reconcile the wishes of
observers of the Jewish Sabbath with those of revelers awaiting the
raucous end of the 1900s.
It is an especially delicate issue in Israel, where the
sensitivities of the faithful of many religions must be weighed,
because the calendar that is turning so conspicuously is based on
Christian events. The Jewish calendar, which turned in the fall, is
now at the year 5760, a rather ho-hum number.
Large celebrations for Dec. 31 were scheduled at the
International Convention Center in Jerusalem, at Rabin Square in
Tel Aviv and elsewhere throughout the country, but hotels were
threatened with the loss of their kosher status if they permitted
New Year's Eve parties on the Sabbath and a loss of business if
they did not.
Israel's Chief Rabbinate decided it would permit celebrations at
hotels if they could be confined to facilities that would be sealed
off from other public areas.
Air, but no minibar
A Venice-based company called -- we kid you not -- Genuflex
unveiled its state-of-the-art confessional at a
religious-merchandise trade show in Rome called Art-Chiesa,
according to a wire service report.
A company spokesman said the confessional was developed partly
in response to the expected boom in demand for penance during
Rome's Jubilee Year.
The walnut-finished booth was described as "spacious" and
includes full soundproofing, heat and air-conditioning controls, a
black leather seat, soft lighting and the option of a "hygienic
filter" or a clear glass partition between penitent and
confessor.
The price per unit was projected to be about $6,250.
Mondo cane
Chien means "dog" in French, and dogs seemed to be a recurring
theme during Insider's recent trip to France.
For one, we noticed an inordinate number of people traveling
with their dogs, first along the concourses of De Gaulle Airport
and then aboard our train ride from Paris to Strasbourg.
Near us on the train were two rather large mutts, taking up a
seat apiece and free of leash or carrier, next to their
masters.
But even before we left U.S. airspace, there had been a
canine-related delay on our flight out of New York.
As the plane was taxiing prior to takeoff, the pilot came on the
loudspeaker and made an unnecessarily alarming announcement about a
"sucking sound, like a vacuum cleaner," coming from the
engines.
In time, he came back on the loudspeaker and began his
explanation, in French. We heard the word chien, which prompted
some chuckles among French passengers, and then the pilot
explained, in English, that the sound was coming from the special
ventilation system for pets traveling in the cargo hold. We
laughed, but we were not amused.
Dead-on diagnosis
In Key West, Insider toured the local cemetery with a guide.
Among those interred in its 20 acres are sailors who died in the
explosion aboard the battleship Maine in Havana harbor in 1898.
Also in perpetual
residence here are, it seems, generations' worth of the eccentrics
for whom the Conch Republic has become renowned
For instance, on the mausoleum of the Roberts family, B. Pearl
Roberts has as her epitaph "I told you I was sick." She was,
indeed, a notorious hypochondriac, according to the guide.
In another part of the cemetery, spotted on a man's tombstone
was a thought contributed by his widow: "At least I know where he's
sleeping tonight."