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Since the winter had finally decided to commence, I had been wondering when I’d be able to make it out to the slopes and try on some ski-boots for size. Naomi’s idea to spend a weekend at her friend Carla’s holiday house near Mt Tremblant didn’t work out in the end. But on about the 10th of January, the Ghetto Shul broadcast a Facebook message to declare a trip to the same area for the weekend of the 20th. While it was strange that they should advertise by Facebook before they did by email when there were only 20 spots available (apart from organisers), and despite the cost of $85 excluding any ski gear rental and lift ticket at the notoriously expensive mountain, I jumped at the opportunity.

“Fire on the Mountain,” as it was advertised, was the inaugural, annual Ghetto Shul ski-trip. Surprisingly, it seemed as though the Shul was struggling to fill the spots. They gave an incentive that the price could still be reduced. And while Josh was initially enthused in advertising the event, he found his way into a hospital bed with an infected appendix, and out of the hospital bed without one, and so ended up being unable to join us. By Thursday night, there was a little despair as to whether we would still have a minyan.

I had also spent the week trying to acquire ski gear if I could. I decided some long underwear would be worthwhile with the temperatures even Montreal was getting to, so I bought a pair of them, but was less appreciative of the idea to spend another $40 buying ski pants, or getting expensive gloves or goggles. Thankfully I already had a warm jacket which I acquired for free from the McGill Chaplaincy Service. In the end I was able to take advantage of Josh’s predicament, and so he lent me his pants (suspenders and all) and gloves.

In the end, when I made it with my bags to the shul at 10:30 (for 10) on Friday morning, I discovered that Arié, Nathan and Avrumi had been roped in at the last minute but were only going to be staying till Saturday night, and would leave with Rabbi Leibish and Dena. With departure time set sharply for 11am, we finally had everything squeezed into the two rental vans and Leibish’s car, to leave at 11:30.

The group in total turned out to be fifteen: five women and ten men, bearing NNW toward the Young Judea Kinneret-Biluim campsite where we would set up our fire inside a cabin and get comfortable for the next few days. The said cabin was up a hill from the entry road at the site, and although the first van attempted to climb it, instead it rolled back down and nearly into the ice-bank. We unloaded the cars in the icy, snowy weather and schlepped their contents up the hill, while some were more interested in sledding down it on what were basically sheets of flexible plastic. I had a go too, but discovered that I was headed to the side of the path and didn’t know how to stop and so just landed up skidding down through ice-hardened mud without the sled beneath me.

Inside, Arie stoked the fire; Dena and Hava (who along with Maya seems to have organised the weekend) were preparing for dinner. Jason attempted to snowboard down the hill; Avrumi—who although a Montrealer is also a Vizhnitzer Chassid, and so has been limited in his snow sporting—took up the challenge to borrow Jason’s board, and found himself undecided between falling on his front and on his back, although eventually he did manage a full run. A few people played a little football and frisbee, while others prepared themselves and the cabin for Shabbat.

After all had showered, candles had been lit and the sun was well into setting, we began kabbalat shabbat prayers. In usual Ghetto standard, they were led by Leibish, but, claiming it was his holiday, he had me do maariv. Without the crowdedness of the Ghetto Shul, we were able to dance a little larger; having begun in only the late afternoon, we were able to sing a little longer. The sound was beautiful; sweet and powerful voices working together to create an awesome atmosphere.

Dinner too was nice, with Dena’s home-made whole-wheat challot, some great schnitzel and vegetable dishes from Kosher Quality, and of course a little more singing and some words of Torah (I just can’t remember from whom). After dinner we had a little more leisure to play games like Blockus and Taboo and Scrabble (backwards / scoring anagrams style) and for me to entertain people with my (ancient) visual illusion cards which I’d decided to pack as my contribution to the fun. We also took the chance to walk outside around the campsite through the snow by night (thankfully Hava knows the location like home). Some reading, too, and it was soon time for bed.

I was one of the first out of bed in the morning, and as 9:30 came around we thought it would be about to start gathering everyone else up. I volunteered for wakeup, with the likes of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning…” and my poor take on the Islamic call to prayer. Soon enough we were on our way through the morning prayers, but with Leibish leading hallel for rosh chodesh, we found that it was nearly midday when we finished the Torah reading, and our stomachs were getting impatient. We (it was Blander, I think) called for a discussion on the plan from here on in: it was agreed we would break now for kiddush and snack, and then move onto Mussaf and Mincha right away. Everyone had just turned towards the kitchen when a voice called out (Leibish’s? I was wondering the same though) suggesting that we might put the Torah away first. I led its return with a climactic ending, leading us into a snack of grape juice and chocolate cakes.

We lost track of time for a few minutes, after which some of us realised that lunch was yet to come and we needed to get back to it. So, in keeping with the strange punctuation of the song Ki Eshmera Shabbat we had mussaf wegham minha (the former in festival tune in honour of Shabbat / Rosh Chodesh) before setting up for lunch. Lunch included more salads, vegetables and cakes, but this time also a cholent that had been (as cholents do) in the cooker since the night before. And more singing, of course, and a lively and far-reaching dvar torah from Sara.

The afternoon was a time for more games and walks and reading, but considering the length of the morning’s prayers, and the lateness of the lunch, and impending sunset that meant yet another meal, there were only 50 minutes for any of that leisure. I took them as well as I could, and went for another walk through the snow, this time alone, until at one point I found myself lost. Thankfully, tracing back my steps I found my way back to the cabin, in time to wash my hands and begin the third meal.

We pulled out another of Dena’s challot, another tub of great Israeli hummus and enjoyed ourselves once again. Before singing the usual three tunes to Psalm 23 (the most-tuned psalm in existence, I’d guess), Leibish presented an idea for us to ponder: In that week’s Torah portion, Va’era, God speaks to Moses and Aaron, and “commands them to/regarding the Children of Israel and to/regarding Pharaoh” (”ויצום אל-בני ישראל, ואל-פרעה מלך מצרים”) to let His people go. Why does it say both to the Children of Israel and to Pharaoh? The Midrash Tanhuma points out that this makes Pharaoh and the Children of Israel considered equals, and demands respect for the Egyptian leader. But why did a stubborn tyrant deserve such honour? So, after we did the singing, most people around the table eventaully came forth with an idea to answer the question.

By the time we were ready to finish the discussion and the meal it was 6:15pm, well after Shabbat had ended, even by the most stringent and expansive opinions. With Maariv and Havdalah, the day had officially ended and the night was ready to start. On guitar, mandolin and table, Blander, Eli and Alex made us some music. After taking a group photo, Maya and Hava called a meeting in which they told us (a) pay for the weekend, but it’s only $65 now; (b) the night skiing that was being considered was closed (I wouldn’t have gone anyway) (c) but we could go tubing instead…!

So everyone ran and got their ski pants, warm scarves and coats on, and eventually when everyone was ready (Arié abstaining), we got into the vans and headed out, getting lost along the way. We fussed around trying to sort out money for the venture: a group of 10 would cost $10 per person, but the remainder would cost $15 each, and splitting the cost fourteen ways was just confusing. After some fussing the woman at the counter reminded us in her Quebecois accent, “I’m only open till 9:30.” I looked at my watch and that meant we only had 50 minutes to tube. Still, when we eventually got out there, grabbed our tubes and found ourselves at the top of the hill, we were ready for some great fun. Basically, all that is involved in tubing is sitting into a tube and holding onto the handles, letting the ice slip under you while you fly down a hill loving the thrill. Well, that’s what it’s like the first time. The second time you either look for a faster slope, or for someone to slide down with: you hold their cord, they hold yours and together you speed on down again. After each run, there is a rope conveying you in your tube back to the top of the hill, arguably just as much fun as going down. Especially when it has thrilling episodes like Dena standing up (for whatever reason), the conveyor being stopped, Dena being told to sit down, Dena sitting down and thus detatching her tube from the upward ride, and instead rushing down the mountain screaming, about to fly into chairs and tubes at the bottom, them being pulled out of the way just in time.

Soon enough people were getting experimental, and were trying to organise the whole Ghetto Shul group into a network of tubes to slide down together. Unfortunately, it was not a very organised network, and moments after beginning the slide, three of us felt our tubes slipping out from beneath, and went for a roll: Maya’s had gone over the edge of the track and was no longer reachable; Avraham’s had gone down still held by someone’s hand in the group spinning away below; mine was thankfully in Avraham’s hand, so I brought it back to the top and took a seat, going down to join the rest of the group at the bottom. There I found that Eli had also lost his tube, but only later on. He managed the rest of the journey holding onto someone else’s rope, sliding down the hill face-first. He didn’t seem to have any complaints, though.

The second and third attempts at the group-tube experience were more successful; with a bit more structural engineering of a web between 9 of us, we all got to the bottom safely and exhilirated. I got some good footage, too, only I’m trying to work out how to incorporate movies into my photo gallery. In the meantime, there should be some great pics there!

It was closing time and we headed back home, managing to get lost once again on the way. When we got there, though—along with people getting changed into more comfortable wear, Leibish, Dena, Nathan, Arié and Avraham getting ready to go, and Avraham deciding instead to stay in order to try skiing as another first—there began an attempt to prepare some pasta for dinner, Hava promising a good sauce (tomato, garlic, onion, brocolli, not sure what else) alongisde. Others read, or just chilled, or watched a movie. Ezra took upon himself the role of packing cold cut-filled rolls in zip-locked and labelled paper lunchbags. Dinner (garlic bread too) was eaten to the accompaniment of the Sandler classic Billy Madison, which only ended around 1am before a long day of skiing ahead.

The morning was to start at 6:30, with wishful thinking to get to the mountain for opening at 8. I was again among the first out of bed. This meant that after shacharit I had a few minutes to go down the hill and take some photos of the scenery that I otherwise wouldn’t be able to catch. We were finally on our way at 8:15 (Maya and Ruthie still to stay in bed for a while), and my car-load (Hava driving me, Avraham and Adam who was feeling sick) arrived in the village’s Lower Village to find out that Jason had stopped at a presumably cheaper and shorter-queued equipment rental shop along the way for those lacking. Of our car, only Hava had gear, but we decided not to turn around to join them, but to go get our own at Tremblant. The queue wasn’t long at all anyway, so we filled out rental forms (while Blander still acted sick) and went to the attendant, where he asked me “Is this actually your first time skiing? We have a special deal for first time skiers: rental, lift ticket and lesson for the price of the lift ticket!” This was a relieving idea. Tremblant, I had been told, was an expensive mountain. But even at it’s $80 (incl. tax) lift ticket, I added it up quickly and my entire weekend had amounted to $160 which is a fairly good rate on food, board, tube and ski!

Between deciding whether to use the lockers there or up the mountain at the base (where we would have to go for our rentals with the lesson), fussing about waiting for Jason and company, and losing Blander only to find him slumped over a table with his eyes closed not looking too great, it was 9:15 when we finally got outside to head up to the base.

Once we found the right building at the other end of a cable-car ride, the three of us in for a first-time-deal (well Adam had skied before, but only once and not this season) signed up and paid for the day (ski lesson at 9:45) before being fitted with boots, skis, poles, and pants in Avrumi’s case. When we got out of the rental shop, though, it must have been 9:50 because our next opportunity to be taught how to ski was at 11:45.

Not willing to waste a couple of hours, we started on a training slope nearby. We went up the conveyor-carpet and came down on skis, which seemed just about as easy as falling (leave it to gravity), except when coming toward the bottom and so needing to somehow stop. This practice slope was also nicely decorated with plastic obstacles protruding to the ground, painted colorfully with flowers, bees and lady-bugs. This should have been a clue to us that we were a little old for this training slope, but we only really found out when Adam was informed so by a helpful stranger.

Adam figured he was ready for a mountain (after all, he’d done it before), so we took “the Flying Mile”, a chairlift, through the cold sprays of a series of snow-makers, to halfway up Mt Tremblant, where we (me and Avraham) attempted to follow Blander (= Adam) down a green (beginners) path. Soon after beginning I discovered quite a steep hill on the route, at which point—Blander having passed well ahead—I began to wonder how to slow down in these ski things. It really was getting too fast and there was still some hill left, so I figured, “hey, maybe that ice-bank on the side will help slow me down,” and slow me down it did, by throwing my over the edge of the track, detaching my skis, and letting me tumble down the hill a little. In many ways it was fun, but I realised that I might need to find a better way of slowing down before the day was done (and in the meantime just hope for shallower slopes).

So I stood there on the hill, trying and failing to click my boot back into my ski, when Avraham came sliding down the hill—having fallen further up—and took another tumble nearby me, suggesting that I need to click the latch down first to put the ski back on. This made an inordinate amount of sense, so it was advice I took, before realising the next problem: you can’t put on your skis while facing down the mountain, because the moment you put weight in them, they want to be at the bottom of the hill, not the top. Either way, I did eventually make my way back to the base surviving only one fall, and found the experience exhilirating, with the rush of cold (eventually too cold) wind in your face, and the beautiful scenery of white and trees and tiny people gliding down the huge face of the mountain. Despite enjoying the view, having no momentum on flat parts of the track was just annoying, as I would have to just push myself along with my poles.

I got down to the bottom (it probably took half an hour for the first run) and figured there was time for another go at the same hill before meeting an instructor. But first I wondered where my companions were. With Hava having expected us to have made it to the 9:45 lesson, I had no idea where she might be; probably boarding down some tricky hillside somewhere. Blander who had raced ahead was nowhere to be seen (I wouldn’t know how sick he was still feeling). Avraham must still have been a while behind me, so I waited, and waited some more, and was ready to give up when he finally came into view in the last part of the course and struggled to stop at its end. He was a little more reluctant because of the time, but I convinced him to come up with me for another run. I fell on the same slope again (this time not by “slowing down” on the ice-bank, but by failing to swerve out of the way of another skiier refitting her skis), but again it was my only fall.

Now, after our second run, it was coming upon 11:45. We also realised we wouldn’t know how to get a hold of lunch now that our lesson time had changed, but luckily we saw the rest of the group about to take the gondola to the peak, where they were going to have lunch. Because Avraham and I were going to have a lesson, we would have to save eating till later.

We met our instructor Eddy, who immediately began to right all our wrongs: he showed us the way to the adults’ training slope; he told us how to put our skis on, and not to do it on a slope, but at 90 degrees off you could then turn to face downhill. He showed us how to slow down, and within a few short runs we could actually do it. And then we were turning a little and following him, and sooner or later the 1.5 hour lesson was over.

After a toilet break, and a little trouble getting in touch with Maya who wasn’t skiing but instead just handling the lunches in the chalet, we took the gondola up to the top of the mountain and eventually found her reading notes at a table in a corner. We took a seat with our lunches, for me one with lots of meat, and one with lots of meat and chips (Ezra who made them being a New Yorker that does it deli-style with more meat than anyone could possibly need).

Now being at the beautiful (but maybe a touch intimidating) peak of the mountain, tired out from a lesson and from lunch, I wasn’t so sure about taking another run down. I was a bit tired. But Blander (who was maybe meant to be taking a break of some kind after being sick) came back up and joined me and Avraham on the slopes again. We took the same beginner’s route, although from higher up the mountain it wouldn’t have that same steep patch Eddy had suggested it would be easier.

So while I was more skilled and now knew how to slow down a little, and how to play with turning back and forth, I was also more tired and therefore prone to falling. So I did. And while the slopes weren’t generally too steep, there was one icy patch which—although I had been warned—I slipped up on.

It was getting late, and La Tèlècabine (the gondola that took us up to the top) was closing at 3:30. I was feeling even more tired and unsure about doing another run, but we went up again anyway, although we didn’t find Maya at her table; the chalet was now mostly empty. We did find the rest of the group outside though, about to set off for their last run of the day. Once your skis have made their way over the edge of the hill, you’re as good as gone and have to take the rest of the way down. This time, the hills were nearly empty. It was quiet. The sun was setting, and getting in my eyes. The scenery was more beautiful than ever. I was tired, nearly ready to fall asleep standing, and my legs were straining and becoming sore. I knew that I knew how to slow down, but I just couldn’t convince my legs to do it, or didn’t have the patience for it, or something. So between my laziness, my tiredness, and the newness of the sport, I rolled down the hill again a few times, bringing the day’s tally to an awesome effort of 10 falls. I was very impressed with myself.

Avraham and I returned our gear, with a long, relieved sigh as the boots came off. We took a walk through the very pretty but equally fake (Disney World-like) Tremblant village and eventually found the rest of the group, standing outside of a shop and licking sticks which held upon them lumps of thick maple syrup. This Canadian experience wasn’t one to miss out on, and I would have got my own except that Maya didn’t want what she had left. So I took hers, rolled the syrup through ice as was customary, and licked the stick clean. Great stuff!

Half the group still had to return their equipment to the shop they had visited on the way in, so the rest of us in Hava’s car arrived home much earlier and put some tea on the boil, snacking on leftover food, getting changed and getting packed.

By the time we got back to Montreal, I had had a good nap, and was ready to drop all my belongings on my bedroom floor (where the bag remained, packed, for a few days) and get into the bath. It was over an hour before I made it out from the steaming, soothing tub.