Home thoughts from abroad. Or abroad thoughts from Home. Or something.

Being a series of letters and postcards to Ankh-Morpork from two recent school-leavers on a gap year touring the Howondalandian continent.

Carrying on the story, more or less, from the Discworld Tarot short "The Princess of Wands". In which two "Princesses" of the correct airy/fiery disposition go travelling. There will be descriptions of Discworld nations and peoples here which in the best Pratchett tradition will be taken Up Past Eleven and which may have odd echoes of places on Earth. I leave it to my readers to make up their own minds as to which parts of the general Mediterranean area may or may not be getting the treatment here. Readers of a nationality/ethnicity who suspect it's their turn in this story are free to message me with clarifications, corrections and criticism. Thank you! Slight edit after beta-reading.

Prologue: one significant and eventful night in July in Ankh-Morpork.

EDIT: Slight messing around to get the chronology and story line in synch with itself. I got to Chapter 18 and realised I was running into a contradiction that needed fixing. It's a small thing but a possibly serious one if anyone else notices. This is the timeline fix. It also gives me a chance to check for grammar and typos and tweak where tweaking is feasible.

"Looks like he's not made it." said Trudie van Stjilen. There was a "well, what could you expect" air to her voice. The rest of the small, and they realised, élite, group of newly-minted Assassins, whose numbers had been slowly augmented throughout the night, nodded assent. They were the five people still standing out of the eight students from Rimwards Howondaland, themselves the cream of nearly two hundred who had applied for Assassins' School places, who had arrived as eleven-year-old pupils. Seven long years ago.

"He was an idiot." Susannah Daniels said. She looked down, with disbelief, at the pink slip, small, flimsy and seemingly insignificant, but proof of her new status. There were five on the table now. Alongside the bottle and six glasses. One would now not be filled. Two others of the original eight had fallen by the wayside and not even got as far as the Final Run.

"We should still drink to him." Mariella Smith-Rhodes said. She picked up the bottle and there was the satisfying crunching sound, a series of fast crackling snaps, of the metal seal being broken. "He arrived with us, and idiot though he was, he survived till tonight."

She twisted off the cap and started filling glasses. Mariella hesitated on the sixth, and left it empty. The filled glasses were passed out. Then, feeling like a perfect idiot for doing so, but accepting some things are mandated, she turned to the orange, white and blue flag pinned to the wall. Then began the song. The verse began slowly, almost soberly and reflectively, then swelled to the chorus.

"Kom boerekrygers wees nou helde,
Die dag van rekenskap is hier!
Die Vyand jaag nou oor ons velde,
Staan jou man teen kanon se vuur!"(1)

Five voices took up the anthem, unsteadily at first, saluting the flag, their voices growing with each line.

"Let's not do the second verse." Susannah said, drily. "I doubt any of us could sing it without the hymn book, anyway."

"Ag, you're a Caarpie. speak for yourself." Trudie said, meaning "You are Rimwards Howondalandian like us, but your first language isn't Vondalaans and this isn't really your hymn. But we appreciate you joining in."

Mariella nodded assent. It was a sort of necessary duty, to the Homeland that had sponsored their education, and also to commemorate an absent friend. Well. Absent person, anyway.

"To Horst Lensen, presumed dead, and a perfect bloody idiot." she said.

"Horst Lensen." the others chorused. They silently remembered the perfect bloody idiot.

Then the five got on to discussing ideas for what they were actually going to do now they'd graduated from the Assassins' School.

"I knew you'd both greduate." Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes said. "Elthough I cennot sey I was not concerned. On the night of your Final Run."

Mariella and her school-long best friend, Rivka ben-Divorah, were guests in the home of Mariella's older sister, a Guild graduate and educator at the School. In deference to Rivka, the conversation was in the common tongue of Morporkian rather than their native Vondalaans.

Johanna handed drinks out. There was a clinking of glasses.

"So. You are both Essessins now. Whet next?"

Mariella looked deferential for a moment. Then she said "Well, the first thing is to esk when you'll sign the money over. Thet eighteen end a helf thousand dollars. Plus all the other money you confiscated…took into trust. With compound interest."

Johanna frowned for a moment, then laughed.

"Less the expenses of all the equipment you needed for the Bleck." she said. "You didn't think I was peying for thet out of my own pocket, did you?"

Eventually bank statements were provided and scrutinised and a final figure agreed on.

It still came to more than eighteen and a half thousand. A lot more.

Then Mariella explained why she'd appreciate access to the cash her sister had been holding in trust for her.

"We're taking a gap year, Johanna. We want to travel. We had this idea of travelling through Howondaland. The whole continent. Start at the Klatchian end and go all the way Rimwards from Al-Gebra to Caarp Town. Spend time with Rivka's people in Cenotia, and at the other end drop in on Uncle Charles in Caarp Town."

Johanna nodded approvingly.

"Keep me informed. It sounds like a fun adventure." Johanna sighed. "I wish I'd been able to do something like that after I graduated. I envy you both. Mariella, be sure not to advertise too openly you have returned Home. Or they'll sign you up for National Service. And beware of Uncle Charles. Count your fingers after shaking hands with him. And don't sign any contracts to work for him, until an army of lawyers have vetted them for loopholes."

Mariella winced. National Service had been the pineapple in the fruit basket of returning Home. And Home grew a lot of pineapples.(2) Each of the five graduates had expressed resignation to the fact this was something they'd all have to confront, and there was no getting past it. But Mariella was determined to take her time getting Home and to enjoy herself on the journey there. Seeing the elephant, it was called in Morporkian. Well, there was no shortage of elephants in Howondaland. Elephant visibility would not be a problem. At all. Mariella smiled, and went to sit with her niece Bekki, who appeared to be appalled by the dawning realisation Auntie Mariella was going to leave her life. It was time to be a loving, caring, tannie and assure her favourite niece of all the good things that would shortly start arriving in parcels from overseas.

And so we begin in

August, the same year:

Hi, Johanna!

Just a brief note to say we've arrived safely. As you can see from the postcards, we're in Cenotia on the other side of the Circle Sea. That's just widdershins round the coast from Ephebe and Tsort and not far from Omnia. Too close to Omnia, according to Rivka's people, who don't like the Omnians at all, even so long after Brutha and the Reformation.

Cenotia is a strange country. At the same time, it manages to be one of the oldest countries on the Disc – and one of the newest. If it were a person, it would have a head like that beggar Altogether Andrews. Doctors specialising in the inside of the head study Andrews, who seems to have seven or eight persons in there, who all fight to control the one body. Here in this country – well, Rivka tells me where there are two Cenotians, there will be three arguments. At least three. It is the same kind of place, Altogether Andrews as a whole country.

There is the old Cenotia, here for thousands of years with its history all around us. Even the Omnians, normally so quick to obliterate places they saw as blasphemous and unholy, left this evidence alone. It is perhaps because Cenotians also worship Om, even though they are careful not to speak his name and even in writing refer to "The Most High G-d -m" if they have to. Places holy to Cenotians are also sacred to Omnians.

Then came the wars, and many, many, Cenotians fled or were expelled by the Omnians. They spread all over the Disc. The ones who remained fled to the mountains and held down twenty times their own numbers in Divine Legionnaries. This perhaps explains Rivka. She is a descendant of these fighting Cenotians. After the Cenobiarch Brutha and the reforms, those Cenotians in diaspora began to return Home and sought to rebuild their nation. They brought with them the attitudes and patterns of thought of their nations of birth, Hence the continual tension between Old and New here.

But I'm writing as if this was an essay in History for Miss Band or in Comparative Religion for Canon Clement. I am not in school any more, and you must mark too much schoolwork!

We are in the nearest thing New Cenotia has to a capital city, called Tel Ari. Rivka's family are very kind to me and treat me as if I am a good influence on their daughter, and they are treating me as part of their family. Her mother can't do enough for me and is always attentive to my needs and welfare. Although I am coming to believe there can be too much chicken soup and matzos, as well as what was initially a most agreeably-tasting pickled herring called gefiltefisch. Brisket of beef features heavily on the menu also. Humous, tabeleh and fresh flatbread are always good, however.

There is a little tension between Rivka and her mother and father. Her mother, and her grandmothers for that, are of the opinion that now her education is over and she has graduated, it's time for her to think of the future and find a husband. And have children. Then Rivka's mother and grandmothers, and her aunts, and her married sisters, and Mrs Ginsberg from down the street, fell into argument amongst themselves concerning suitable candidates to become the husband. I lost count after thirteen. There was talk about employing somebody called a Yenta to make the decision for the family. Rivka looked at me and for the first time I saw her look worried. This is a new thing.

"Let's get out of here." Rivka said. We got out of there and found a pavement café. Tel Ari is not short of pleasant pavement cafés. Apparently Cenotians returning from Quirm brought the concept with them. Rivka's brother Avvi, a pleasant fellow and with a good dry sense of humour, joined us. I like him, although he has more than an air of Dibbler about him and as you warn me about others, I would count my fingers after shaking hands with him as well as making sure any rings I wore were still there. He warned us that the long-list of potential brothers-in-law was twenty-three names long when he left the house and had expanded to include Mr Ratner the jeweller, who is apparently seventy-one but a surefire bet for a good inheritance, when sooner rather than later Rivka would become a widow looking for her next husband.

"We've got to get out of here." Rivka said. Somehow I think she meant further away than a pavement café on the Camel Market.

"I have an idea." Avvi said. He explained. We may do this. At a late-opening market stall, I haggled for the enclosed, which is a gift for Bekki. It is a dreidel spinning top. Apparently the letter of the Cenotine alphabet inscribed on each face has religious significance and serves to focus the Believer on different aspects of "-m, The Most High G-d". Rivka thinks they originally stood for things like "double", "quits", "half your stake" and "evens". There is a short booklet enclosed on its history and meanings. Ponder may be interested in the chapter on possible magical uses of the dreidel in spellcasting and prophecy. Bekki would perhaps appreciate the bright colours of the spinning top. (3)

With love for now

Your sister

Mariella

Later in August

Dear Johanna.

Thank you for your letter! Also, please thank Uncle Pieter for his kindness in setting up the arrangement that means I can draw on my cash, if no affiliate branch of the Royal Bank is conveniently nearby, via the Embassy or Consulate in the city I am in. This makes things wonderfully simple, especially on a Saturday on Cenotia where nothing is open. On the Sabbath here, an Octeday in Llamedos would appear to be a hive of activity, bustle and human activity by comparison.

I am sorry to hear about Bekki and the dreidel. It is interesting to consider that my niece may grow up to be a fully-fledged Witch. It does appear from what you say that she has a magical streak in her. So she spun the dreidel, then with Ponder's assistance sounded the Cenotian letter on each side as they fell uppermost, then spoke all the letters in the order in which they appeared, and then a small and very confused-looking dybbuk materialised in the room? It is perhaps lucky that Ponder was able to cast a containing octogram around the spirit and that it was benevolently disposed towards Bekki, having been called into existence by a nearly five-year-old girl. I do understand that you were not amused, and I do assure you I had little knowledge this could happen, and was not intending this. I hope the dybbuk is happy in his new home at the Thaumatalogical Park and will be a useful familiar to the Emeritus Professor of Cenotian Studies.

If you remember the fifteen thousand dollars we each won as our share of a contract completion five years ago. You were kind enough to invest mine and to release it to me when I graduated, thank you. Rivka's parents were set in administration of her fifteen thousand, as part of her bat-mitzvah trust fund. It is still there and shrewd investment has augmented it. She saw the accounts and bank statements. The problem was when she asked for it to be released to her, her parents are making difficulties and telling her she will get it – when she gets married. Her mother, I think, is employing this as a weapon, telling her it will pay for a house and endow a household and act as dowry to attract a really suitable husband, and as such it isn't to be squandered now. Besides, raising her grandchildren will not come cheap, does she think the costs of supporting children come to you out of thin air, my life already, are you trying to break your poor mother's heart?

Then Rivka's mother attempted to draw me in to the debate, asking, Mariella, a pretty girl like you must not be short of admirers, I found your mother to be a very pleasant lady when we met and she wishes only the best for you just as I wish only the best for Rivka, much though she does not appreciate it, but gevalt, a mother's place is in the wrong, who am I when my daughter knows best what is right for her and scorns her own mother's advice? i'm only her mother, so what should I know? I was stuck for words. What do you say? I was thinking how so many words used by Cenotines are oddly familiar to we who speak Vondalaans, how she talked about "Aroysgevorfene gelt" for wasting money and being a reckless spendthrift and that there must be a common root somewhere (4) But all I could think of was to think of the adolescent infatuation I had on Rupert Mericet (There! I admit it! I know this alarmed you, but nothing came of it, as you would expect), and how I sometimes daydreamed of being, I suppose, Mrs Mericet. So I built on this to ease the situation and prevent a real argument from developing, and Rivka's mother was indulgent and asked many questions, and I built a picture of Rupert's personal qualities, good looks and strength of character that I know he would have found embarrassing to listen to, and Rivka's mother turned and said "Do you see, Rivka? Oi vey, your friend Mariella has a good man waiting for her, and she knows how to be dutiful to a mother who wants nothing more than to see her happily married!"

Perhaps I over-egged this particular pudding, as Rivka was grumpy when we went to bed and was meaningfully calling me "Mrs Mericet". I do not believe she is likening me to Miss Sanderson-Reeves. Incidentally, is she any nearer to marrying the older Mr Mericet? Everyone thought this is bound to happen one day. They are made for each other. Possibly by a craftsman with an interestingly warped mind and access to some very strange crafting tools, but still made for each other.

In the morning, it was agreed that Rivka will be paid a small and grudging monthly allowance from her trust fund, but this is conditional on her marrying and settling down. Rivka agreed to this, as possibly the best deal she can get at the moment. Later, she said to me that as she does intend to marry somebody, sometime, just that he hasn't turned up yet, she isn't lying to them. It just might not be for at least ten years yet.

Oh, I have discovered what it is to be a "shobbosgoy". It means that on the Sabbath Saturday, a day where the G-d mandates rest and ease from labour, Cenotines cannot even make a hot cup of tea. As one of the Peoples of the Nations, a stranger resident in the Land, I can. Being a shobbosgoy means that while I cook and prepare hot meals for the household, Rivka gets to sit in the kitchen and her religion means she can drink as many cups of hot tea and coffee as I can make. I do not mind doing this as it is a way of repaying the kindnesses and hospitality they have shown me, and it is something to actually DO on a Saturday before nightfall. On my first Sabbath I cooked bobotie en vleiss, as Mother showed us all. Rivka said this is alright, so long as I use no pork and no milk-based sauce. So they got a sort of bobotie. By the way, there are no pork butchers in this country. This may sound a small thing, but I will never take bacon for granted again. How I long for a bacon sandwich in a country where such things cannot be had, for love nor money. The same applies to prawns. Apparently some Fourecksians were arrested on the beach for offences against public order, in that they had a beach barbecue with locally caught produce. This caused strife, as my Fourecksian friends would say. Cenotia is a coast where prawns may safely swim. And lobsters. And whelks and mussels.

On Sabbath I attend Temple with my hosts. There are no obvious non-Cenotine temples or churches in this country (although there is a chapel to Offler and Io at the Embassy). We of the Nations get to sit upstairs with the women and children and have to keep our heads covered. Fortunately the service has lots of alleleuiah and amen in it as familiar anchor points, and you can sing along with those. Rivka's mother must have been talking to the priest, or else the women of the congregation were talking at him, as his sermon was to do with the advisability of a young woman marrying and having lots of children for the glory of G-d and Cenotia. He expounded on this topic at great length. Everybody looked at Rivka. Afterwards many men introduced themselves to her and some offers of marriage were made. She politely declined them.

No offers of marriage were made to me, although the priest said, in a roundabout way, that his religion is more flexible than people think, Cenotia welcomes sincere immigrants, and anyone sincerely wishing to convert to Cenotianism is always considered. A girl of another religion or etrhnicity who marries a Cenotian boy, a young fellow in a decent well-paid profession, for instance, is always encouraged to convert. (Hmmm!) People also asked me about the political situation, and about Rimwards Howondaland. I know this is complicated but can be summed up thus:

Cenotia has fought several wars since gaining independence from the dissolved Omnian Empire. The Klatchians believe Cenotia is properly part of their Empire, and tried to conquer it once the Omnians moved out. The Cenotians boast that so far, they've fought a Seven-Day War, a Six-Day War, and a Five-Day War with Klatch. And that next time, having had practice, they can get it down to four days. The Klatchians still assert a territorial claim, but are currently very reluctant to pursued it by military means.

Meanwhile, hard-line Cenotian religious believers point to the fact that in the days of their Holy Books, the greatest extent of the Cenotian kingdom made the country four or five times larger than it is today, and extended to the River Djel, taking in all of modern Omnia, large parts of Tsort and much of Widdershins Djelibeybi. They argue that what was once theirs can, by the grace of the G-d, be theirs again by divine authority. The Omnians, under their current Cenobiarch, are understandably nervous and try to get on with their neighbour, pointing out they share a language, a heritage, and many shared holy texts and beliefs. The party wanting an all-out Greater Cenotia is small, but loud. There are also people in the Omnian continuity who are, perhaps, over-compensating for centuries of anti-Cenotic behaviour, and consider the Cenotians to be the chosen Older People of the God Om, and therefore anything and everything they do is right and Godly in the eyes of the Lord Om. I see, perhaps, a guilt complex here. (5)

I am asked about Ankh-Morpork because people want to know even the smallest scrap of information concerning Lord Vetinari's inclinations towards this region. Apparently the Guild of Assassins is considered to know these things. Maybe it is, at Dark Council level, but I doubt they'd tell me. I was still at school two or three months ago. And I doubt they tell you. You aren't on the Dark Council. (There was a rumour you're in line for a vacant chair when one of the older ones "retires"? Or else, Miss Band will be elevated?)

And because Rimwards Howondaland is seen as a friend and an ally, probably with reason, they are interested in me and in our country. Their army is equipped with weapons we make or sell on, after all. According to Cousin James at the Embassy in Tel Ari, we have "military advisors" working with their army. Cousin James says hello to Cousin Julian, by the way. And also to you. It is comforting to know there is another Smith-Rhodes in this place, although compared to Cousin Julian, his brother Cousin James is a dolt. A nebbish, as they say here. A pleasant dolt, but a dolt all the same, even if he is Family.

I believe, based on Political Science teaching from Lady T'Malia, that we (that is, Ankh-Morpork) are indirectly sponsoring Cenotia to make life difficult for Klatch. But because of the risk of worsening relations with Klatch, we (that is, Ankh-Morpork) cannot be seen to be doing this directly. So arms and cash assistance (if Vetinari is actually giving actual money!) are going first to Rimwards Howondaland, Ankh-Morpork's other ally in the continent, and we (that is, Rimwards Howondaland) are passing them onto Cenotia. Is Uncle Charles still making money by selling on second-hand weapons, by the way? And of course, Cousin James Smith-Rhodes being a Second Secretary at our Embassy here is purely coincidence. As a diplomat, he is an employee of the Bureau of Foreign Affairs and is not working as an agent for his father, our Uncle Charles. In any case, Klatch therefore having potentially or actually hostile states on three sides is quite advantageous for Lord Vetinari, however he has contrived to arrange this. It means the bulk of the Klatchian army is dispersed to cover at least three avenues of threat – Cenotia, Hersheba and a country or two away, Rimwards Howondaland – and cannot easily be concentrated to bring overwhelming force to bear on any one front. But here I am, writing as if I'm preparing a Political Strategy essay for Lady T'Malia. Is it really true three pupils had to be attended to by Matron Igorina for shrapnel injuries after a whalebone in her corset exploded under the stress?

But back to attending Temple with Rivka's family. We noticed after the Service that Rivka's mother was in conversation with other ladies of the Temple, and now and again they looked in our direction. Rivka groaned and went a little pale.

"Yentas." she said.

Apparently "yentas" are the local wise women, elders of the community, who know about healing, know minor magics, act as informal Judges of disputes, and, essentially, know everybody's business. They are renowned for this.

"Oh, witches." I said. Rivka frowned and bade me keep my voice low.

"You could call them that." she said. "It fits. But not where they can hear it!"

Apparently there's an old law, from the holy scrolls, that says "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live". Rivka thinks it might be a mis-reading and it really means "thou shalt not suffer a cockroach to live." Or perhaps a woodlouse. But nobody ever tries to enforce this one. Not on the Yentas.

"We've got to get out." Rivka said. "Did you hear them? They've got Yenta Goldberg on my case!"

Yenta Goldberg is apparently the Yenta to whom all other Yentas defer. Like Mistress Weatherwax.(6) And apparently the Yentas also broker marriages. Rivka is seen as being especially wilful. This is like giving Commander Vimes a difficult and troublesome case to pursue, I think.

In any case, we are leaving town soon. We are taking up Rivka's brother Avvi's idea that as we are on a gap year, we go and work on a kibbutz for a while. There is a new one setting up near the disputed border with Klatch that needs people. A kibbutz is a sort of self-sufficient collective farm. It sounds interesting! (new address attached). I am going now to pack. We are travelling light: back packs and a well-chosen trunk each, the kind of ontents which, for instance, could easily be transferred to panniers or hung from a saddle if we have to travel by horse. Or possibly by camel.

Dear Johanna. Since I broke off this letter some days ago to prepare and to pack for the journey to the kibbutz which Avvi reccomended to us, your latest letter arrived. what can I say? At least the dybbuk is useful and benevolently inclined.

I am really sorry to hear of your continuing troubles with the dreidel. It was humorous to hear that Bekki appears to have got it to call into existence a never-ending bag of her favourite chocolate sweets, the ones you very carefully ration out to her. I understand why you have confiscated the bag and it is locked up in the kitchen. Ponder is assured these are and will remain perfectly normal chocolate sweets, the sort which are safe in themselves to eat but which in excess cause the usual management problems to parents of a small child.

The University's Professor of Cenotian Studies sounds interesting. Another of those specialist wizards the University doesn't know it has - until there is a need? You would almost suspect the very building itself calls them into being. You also met the senior Rabbi at the Cenotian Temple on Gods Street? He has the mournful and thoughtful appearance to him of one responsible for Rivka's spiritual welfare for the past seven years. I can see this would make any priest a little melancholy. At least they considered the dreidel and agreed that this is an artefact, thought lost, once belonging to the great Rabbi Gemeliael Schmuckmann of Klumpstadt-on-Ah, who apparently also had to do with creating golems. Just as well Bekki hadn't thought to spin it near her dolls and teddy bears, then! (Sorry. I should not smile. But perhaps now I perceive why the stall holder sold it to me for only fifteen shekels).

So the original is being taken, for now, into the University museum and the Rabbi believes it should remain there for safekeeping. Cenotians are kindly to children, Johanna. They are a very family-centred faith. Replacing the dangerous item with a near-identical copy for Bekki is both kind and prudent.

In token of apology, please accept the attached, which with this letter will be sent to Ankh-Morpork on the Express Airmail carpet service and should take perhaps only two days to reach you. You will find attached a case of Sharon Fruit, which are most sweet and delicious and un-known in the City. These were selected to be slightly under-ripe, so they will reach peak eating condition during the flight. I have also enclosed several of the related Tracey Fruit, possibly even more brash and garish in colour and having a sharper, tarter, flavour. (7) A horticultural treatise on how to propagate the seeds and stones into mature plants is enclosed: your neighbour Doctor Bellamy would find this of interest, and of course she has access to hothouses and greenhouses. (Please remind her that I have not forgotten about the seeds and cutting samples she asked us to find for her). The fruit might be healthier for Bekki than unlimited chocolate!

With love

Your sister and Bekki's loving aunt

Mariella.

In the next episode:

Life in a kibbutz on the disputed border with Klatch. A quiet bucolic backwater it ain't. Just right for a pair of Assassins to employ their proven craft skills.

(1) Not an official anthem in any way. But a verse from the Afrikaanerhartslied by singer-songwriter Bok van Blerk. The song celebrates the struggles of the Boer War, does not express great fondness for the British, and when you get past the multiple pineapples (1:1), is actually quite stirring and passionate. You'd have to be made of ice not to feel a lump in the throat.

(1:1) Considering van Blerk's output as a whole, you do wonder if, like some people in the Deep South who think the world ended in 1865, this guy's head and heart still think it's 1901. There's a telling video where he re-enacts the deeds of a great Boer War hero he appears to identify with. Taken up as an anthem by nationalist groups in South Africa, some of which are pining for the Good Old Days of apartheid. But the songwriter can't be held responsible for the way some people are using his song.

(2) Wasn't sure if South Africa grew pineapples or not, and if I was opening myself up for corrections along the lines of "Did you mean Hawaii?" or "Wrong continent!" But it turns out SA does, and indeed exports the blessed things.

(3) It's completely true. Wikipedia notes the history of the dreidel and its many associations are confused and lost in the mists of time. It's variably a sort of Judaic version of a Buddhist prayer wheel, as method of adding a random factor to Cabbalistic mystical mediation, and quite possibly a gambling device akin to a set of dice upon which money may be won or lost. And many other things, as you'd expect from something so apparently simple.

(4) There is: Yiddish comes out of Low German as a vernacular spoken by Jewish Europeans. Low German is cognate with Dutch. Afrikaans is a recognisable dialect of Dutch spoken in Africa. Rivka and Mariella share more than is apparent at first glance.

(5) witness the current religious movement called Christian Zionism, largely prevalent in the USA, where essentially right-wing evangelical fundamentalism gets four-square behind Israel and appears to carry a lot of clout in American government thinking.

(6) I know. Inserting a reference to that great American TV Jewish Mother Beverly Goldberg here. The woman who takes the concept of the Jewish Mother all the way past eleven. Very memorably so. Look, do you think I can write the up-to-eleven Discworld Israel and not refer to The Goldbergs at any point?

(7) low pun. Couldn't resist. Sharon fruit are a sweet and soft delicacy grown in Israel and taking their name from the Sharon valley. To non-British readers, "Sharon and Tracey" is shorthand for the sort of loud rather under-dressed girls who go around in pairs on Friday and Saturday nights. The two names go together.

Notes Dump:

In which ideas and concepts not immediately relevant to this story go into suspended animation, lest the Author forgets about them.