Pesach in Autumn

My year is ending as it began, by dropping in on Porto Alegre’s Jewish community for a large seasonal fest. This time it was Pesach, which feels just as odd to celebrate in the fall as Rosh Hashanah did in the spring. Although, southern hemisphere Jews do have apple season going for them, which makes for better charoset. For the sake of novelty, my folks opted for matzah and kosher wine from São Paulo over the Israeli imports. What more could Israelites know about matzah than Paulistas?

Continuing the southern-hemisphere theme of events seeming to be backwards, we only attended a seder on the last night, expecting to drink the four cups of wine before asking the four questions. Hosted at the Jewish camp/country club in a wealthy the southern suburb was a fabulous community seder, designed for the children – as a seder is supposed to be. That said, its not-so-kid-friendly late-night commencement prevented us from staying past the matzah-ball soup. I do remember the pre-dinner seder, though: Instead of taking turns reading from old haggadot, they prepared skits, videos, and a a puppet to draw in the kinder, who sat together at large tables in the center of the room. I’m still a bit confused over the difference between the songs “Ma yafeh hayom, Shabat Shalom” and “Ma nishtana halayla hazeh,” but maybe they’ll answer that question next year, or rather next spring.

Festa de São Jorge/Ogum

Coinciding with Pesach this year was the week-long festival to São Jorge/Ogum, touted as Porto Alegre's second-largest religious festival next to that of Nossa Senhora dos Navagentes/Iemanja. Public events included religious processions, blessings, Catholic masses, Umbanda ceremonies, informational forums, and the perhaps-not-so-coincidental victory of the futebol team Internacional (a.k.a., colorados) against Paraná in the Copo do Brasil.

Other noteworthy sightings included an awkwardly small São Jorge/Ogum riding on top a fire engine

and in person riding among gaúcho Calvary in an Umbanda parade

Festa de Nossa Senhora dos Navegantes/Iemanja

Explanation to follow.

Festa de Oxum

On the night of December 8, I stayed at home with a favorite babysitter while my folks went to a nearby beach for one of the biggest Afro-Brazilian religious festivals in the city, the Festa de Oxum. There was a centrally organized Batuque ritual and many, many small celebrations all along the beach. The low light offered opportunities for some fun photographic experiments.

This is Oxum, the orixa of fresh water, riches, and gold.

The scene down the beach


People praying and spirits arriving via low-light blur

Offerings to Oxum

The Batuque roda


O-zoom

Brazilian parents tend to be less rigid about bedtimes than us. These lucky kids to got to join the roda near midnight while I was long-gone in dream-land...


A happy low-light accident with painterly results

Concluding the festivities with fireworks.

O-boom.

Celebrations of Children

Finally a country that prioritizes children – at least recently. It seems like every weekend is another celebration of children. September 27 was the Catholic day for Saints Cosme and Damion, and then last Friday was Children’s Day. The latter is the kid's equivalent of Hallmark’s Father’s and Mother’s Days, but many people get the day off. Celebrations for Cosme e Damião – as they’re called here – continued well past the 27th, into the weekend and next week.

My playground had an offering of sweets and candles by a tree. But a more festive event for me was the Umbanda ceremony to the Ibeijadas, African spirits of twin children who through Afro-Catholic syncretism are associated with Cosme e Damião, two Arabian brother doctors who helped cure the poor for free in Jesus’s name. When we first arrived I ran into the center of the ritual area, where all the action was; but was quickly removed, unfortunately. So while dad videotaped the ceremony from a fabulous vantage point on the drummer’s platform, mom and I circulated with the other moms and kids – seated around the ritual and eating in the kitchen. It was hard to tell why the ceremony was going to wind up being dedicated to children because for the first hour, adult spirits incorporated the mediums one by one, ushering in a session of rigorous dancing and singing. The Iemanjás were fairly passive, but the Oguns wielded swords and the Xangos and Juremas weren’t holding back either. But all of a sudden, after greeting Ogum again, the music changed and the Ibeijadas took over many of the mediums. They fell to the floor, rolling around, laughing, joking, pushing each other, sucking on pacifiers, handing out candy, playing practical jokes, and generally acting immature. How insulting! That’s not how us, real children behave! We roam around, seemingly aimlessly, hopping from one distraction to the next, making unexpected demands on our parents, all while refusing to eat or drink anything except yogurt and crackers. Nonetheless, it was nice to be recognized.

For the long weekend of Children’s Day, we fled to the coast with our neighbors and their daughter. The coast of Rio Grande do Sul is mostly one long sandy beach – though they say it’s not all that by Brazilian standards because of cold currents and silty water from the Rio Plata. Where we were, in Torres, along the border with Santa Catarina, is apparently the best beach of the state and kicks-off the better beaches to the north. Several high basalt mesas distinguish Torres from beaches to the south. At the top of one were paragliders and a street vendor selling Catholic saints on small boats. At the top of another was an interesting mix of flora, including passion flowers and cactuses.

It was great to get out of town, having been in POA for over a month, and having not yet seen the beach while in Brazil. It also gave me an opportunity to wear my all U.V. protective suit, hat, shoes, and sunglass combo. I may look funny, but, hey, I don’t need to find a Halloween outfit. I’m going as the ol’ kid-of-paranoid-and-gear-happy-North-American- parents. Sadly, this photo was taken minutes before I began shivering and began the painful onslaught of a 103-degree fever. Ah, the benefits of daycare. Nonetheless, the folks enjoyed a Thai shrimp dinner made from mom’s peanut butter, as well as crab, fries, and beer on the beach. Polar is the state’s cheap beer and a favorite of Exu Tiriri – but that’s another story.

The Gaúcho experiences Photoshop

Jewish High Holidays

The Jewish High Holidays also fell in the first weeks of our arrival. Numbering somewhere between 9,000 and 15,000 Jews, Porto Alegre has a considerably smaller Jewish community than São Paulo or Rio de Janeiro, to say nothing of Buenos Aires. Nonetheless it boasts a certain pride in its affiliation with this distinctive state, exemplified in books and flyers we’ve seen.

The religious services of most if not all the synagogues, however, depend on leadership and, consequently, liturgical music from elsewhere, mainly Argentina. The rabbis of the two Reform synagogues are both Argentines in their late-30s to mid-40s. At the small Sephardic synagogue an Ashkenazi Lebavitcher rabbi was brought from São Paulo and apparently is learning the Sephardic melodies and chanting style. A French Lebavitcher rabbi started his own minyan in Bom Fim, the historically Jewish neighborhood. And so on. A wife of one rabbi said that the services of the Reform synagogues are ‘mirrors’ of those in Argentina and their musical repertoire is continually replenished by Argentine musicians who visit. Not as many families with kids Noa’s age appeared at the services we attended as they have in the playgrounds near our apartment, but we were pleased to find many welcoming and helpful people in both synagogues.

Of the two Reform synagogues we attended on Rosh Hashana, one per day, the melodies of the Centro Israelita (which was Orthodox until 15 years ago when they changed affiliations to attract younger congregants) sounded closer to Jewish summer camps in the U.S., though with four-part choral arrangements and the accompaniment of electric piano and clarinet. The other synagogue, SIBRA (founded by German immigrants in the 1930s as a social welfare organization) featured more chasanut, that is to say an elaborate repertoire of seemingly older melodies sung in a more operatic style.

Because of heavy rain on Yom Kippur, we returned to the closest synagogue rather than venturing out to the small Sephardic synagogue. The only differences from R.H. were that the hall was packed with people, probably twice the numbers from before, and there was non-stop chatter, especially during the day of Yom Kippur. During the Torah service, leaders on the bimah tried to quiet the congregation, but their success was only temporary. The congregation was only quiet when asked to stand, after which they resumed chattering.

Semana Farroupilha

When we were planning our trip to the capital of Brazil’s southernmost state of Rio Grande do Sul, I told friends and family unfamiliar with Porto Alegre that it is located half-way between São Paulo and Buenos Aires. The same may also be true of the city’s culture, or so we have found of two, simultaneous week-long celebrations that coincided with our arrival: Semana Farroupilha and the Jewish High Holidays.


Semana Farroupilha commemorates the Revolution of Farroupilha in 1835, Rio Grande do Sul’s temporary revolt against Brazil. The separatists rejoined Brazil a decade later, in exchange for amnesty, but the memorializing of this event fuels state pride and informs its gaúcho identity.




Similar to the Argentine gaúcho, the Brazilian version, based on self-reliant ranch hands who historically helped hold Brazil’s southern frontier during at least one war with its Spanish neighbors, is easily recognized with his high leather boots, a wide-brimmed hat, thick belt and dagger – the women wear long, puffy dresses in bright solid colors. Because of this political history, as well as its ranching industry, the state is often dubbed the Texas of Brazil.

Commemorative events we attended were a concert of gaúcho music in our neighboring park, a parade on the last day of the week, September 20, and, Acampamento Farroupilha, a weeklong (re)enactment village in another city park next to a year-round rodeo and an enormous BBQ restaurant that seats 600. Each year gaúcho cultural organizations from around the state (established in the last few decades as part of The Gaúcho Movement) inhabit wooden huts in the village where members tend to BBQ pits, play music, etc.

Meanwhile the public visits for daytime recreation, touring the village and observing trappings of the gaúcho lifestyle: watching rodeo competitions, eating BBQ and drinking green tea and beer, listening to gaúcho music, and buying souvenirs like big hats, big boots, and big belts. Similar to any other faux-frontier village, but without actors it’s less about reenactment than enactment. In any case, it proved great fun for us and Noa especially enjoyed the horses and roosters.


Gaúcho music is similar to other Polka-influenced, accordion-based music traditions like Forró, Norteño, and Zydeco. An interesting feature is the song competitions held during festivals of the gaúcho cultural organizations. We didn’t witness any, or so not to our knowledge.

It was dumping rain on the day of the parade, so we watched it on TV. Perhaps because of a pride in the gaúcho’s heartiness or for the sake of TV cameras, those marching in the parade didn’t hold umbrellas and few wore any rain gear – including the children in the parade. After a procession of military, police, fire, and personnel from other municipal services, the gaúcho portion of the parade began. Horses, wagons, floats, period costumes, everything you would expect and all introduced on TV by sentimental announcers. And so ended a soggy Semana Farroupilha.