The Bagel Boat

A Jewish boat lover looks back at the wake.

Things have been heavy lately, so I decided this week to share something light, a guest post sent to me back in the early fall by Friend of the Cholent Ned Porges. For a long time it felt “too soon” to share a light-hearted story about a man and his boat. If you’ve been feeling war news fatigue, please take a few minutes to read this and remember that life is short but full of opportunities for joy.

Shabbat shalom,

Emily

The Challah Day/courtesy Ned Porges

The Bagel Boat

By Ned Porges

It’s been inspiring to read Sean Keeley’s bagel weekly review of local bagel shops. It reminded me that there is another meaning and that is to “bagel” someone. My wife, Phyllis, taught me how to turn the word bagel, a noun, into a verb. To “bagel someone” is to find out if someone else is Jewish by dropping a Hebrew word, a Yiddish phrase, or maybe a question that would cause the other person to indicate that they too are Jewish. On a sunny day last fall before Yom Kippur, while walking in the neighborhood, we stopped to admire a dog on a leash. Within a few seconds Phyllis said, “L’shana tova” to the dog. The other couple quickly responded with a “yom tov.” Connection made. 

I didn’t realize that, I, too, was bageling people for years before I knew this.  I was a founding member of the Seattle Jewish motorcycle club, The Tribe. My motorbike’s license plate was “OY VEY.” Other members had bagel plates like “KSHR HOG.” It was fun. People would sometimes tell us about their Jewish friend’s motorcycle or their fun experience of riding a motorcycle in college. I am now in my octogenarian years and have given up motorcycling. But I am still in recreation mode with boating. It’s been over 20 years now of having a bagel boat. Here’s what I mean.

My first memory of boating was in a rented rowboat, my mother at the oars, my older sister sitting in the back and me hanging over the bow. This was in New York’s Central Park in the 1940s. I also recall the time my grandfather took me fishing off the New Jersey coast on a charter boat. I accidentally dropped the fishing pole overboard, to grandpa’s dismay. A few years later, my dad took us fishing in a rented open boat out on Jamaica Bay in Queens where we lived. I had all the aquatic Boy Scout merit badges: rowing, swimming, lifesaving, and canoeing. Seems water, like motorcycles, was in my blood.

Forty years ago, we moved to Seattle, the boating capital of the world, or so I was told. My first boat was a little 20-footer, with a small cabin and a small inboard motor. We had started a family and the wife was not happy with my boating passion, but she soon came to tolerate it. The kids loved it. Then I began to experience “two-foot-itis” – the habit of incrementally buying bigger boats. Next was a 22-foot powerboat and then a 24-foot cabin cruiser. Was great to moor on the water in front of Gas Works Park on the eve of July 4th and watch the overhead fireworks. 

Part of the fun of boat ownership is naming the boat. That first smaller boat was painted an unattractive avocado green so we named it Guacamole.  The next was named, 4X2 (Four By Two, a reference to us and our four children).

Over time, the kids grew, jobs changed. Boating took a hiatus, but I still went to the annual boat shows. I even did presentations for several years on “How to Buy a Boat.” I took all the Coast Guard boating classes, read books on navigation, and occasionally went with others on their boats. But I had to give it up. 

Twenty years later, after I  retired,  I couldn’t resist getting back into boating.

It took months to decide what model boat we wanted. It was to be a 32-foot Bayliner, twin diesel. We went to Tacoma, to Everett, Anacortes. We visited boat brokers, read boating magazine ads. Finally we found the one for us. This “yacht” accommodated six people with three berths, running hot and cold water, a shower, a full galley, sitting room on the back deck for the afternoon wine, and an upper deck. 

It had it all, except for the name. Nautical tradition has it that the name must be easy to say, easy to recall, meaningful to the owner, and one of a kind. We spend months thinking about a name. We considered “Ahoy Vey,” but that was taken. Finally, in the Spring of 2010, I, the captain, and Phyllis, the Admiral and bagel-master, came up with Challah Day. We did not break a bottle of wine over the bow, but we did celebrate with glasses of left-over Pesach red Manischewitz. This became our bagel boat. 

If someone did not pronounce it right, Phyllis would sometimes explain that it was a Jewish twisted egg-bread. One time, going through the Ballard Locks, a woman in the crowd up on the observation area yelled to us, “I get it, I get it!” and waved her hand, hamsa style, with a big smile. Other times, people would comment on what a clever name it was for a boat. 

Now in our later years, sadly, the end of the cruise is near. Life must move on.  I will miss our bagel-boat. Many good memories and lots of pictures remain. There is a brass Hamsa on the galley wall. The mezuzah on the cabin door is special. We have entertained numerous people from our Beth Am community on board. One of my sons in New York and I have twice cruised the San Juans, Phyllis and I once went for a weekend to Victoria, B.C., several college fraternity brothers have come to Seattle to cruise with me on Puget Sound, and recently we did the daunting Deception Pass crossing (one more off the bucket list). 

After several weeks on Craig’s List and numerous inquiries and lookers, Challah Day sold. The new owner is 102 years young, a lifelong boater who was looking for a boat for himself and his 50-year-old grandson. He first came to the marina escorted by his attendant. He tread slowly with a walker. He was, however, sharp as a tack, as they say, and knew his boats. The following day, he came this time with the grandson, another experienced boater. After about 20 minutes of looking at the interior and asking questions, the young man went out to chat with his grandfather, came back aboard, and said, “We’ll take it.” 

That evening, Phyllis and I went down to the marina and climbed aboard to have one last glass of wine. A teary eye toast to years of adventures, fun, and hosting family and friends. The next morning, we went to the license agency, signed the papers, deposited the check, and again experienced some sad feelings. Our bagel boat we named Challah Day ten years ago is now a fond memory. If we ever get another boat, which is doubtful, we’ll call it “Challah Day, II.”

Bon voyage und zei-gezunt.

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What else to read this week

A local elementary school teaches students about “activism” by showing them videos of pro-Palestine protests, including clips of toddlers and children chanting “free, free Palestine.” StandWithUs Northwest, an Israel advocacy organization, sent a letter to Syre Elementary in Shoreline to express concern about discrimination. The school has not responded to the letter.

Happy Presidents’ Day. I thought I’d reshare this interview from last March with Isaac Amon on “Religious Freedom, the Inquisition, and the Founders” about the importance and uniqueness of the American concept of religious liberty. Have a nice long weekend!

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