Zalig Uiteinde is what the Dutch wish one another on December 31. Uiteinde is a word that does not exist in English, yet its constituents are similar to out and end – an ending-out? I would translate the blessing as “a blissful ushering out of the end”. It gives space to that time between the old and the new. It gives duration to the end, before the new year begins. In fact, December 31 is known as oudejaarsdag, "old-year's day", holding out just a little longer, rather than the more eagerly forward-looking "New Year's eve".
That liminal time between the Old and the New, when all possibilities are still open, is perhaps not unlike the Days of Awe, between the Jewish New Year and the Day of Atonement. That is a time when fates are determined and one has a chance to be inscribed in the Book of Life before it is finally sealed, at the closing of the Yom Kippur service.
As a child, growing up on the Dutch Caribbean island of Curaçao, I always felt that zalig uiteinde meant waiting out the end of the year, to see what would happen. Perhaps I was expecting something magical to take place, something extraordinary, prophetic.
Two memorable practices would take place in that liminal time at the end of the year. Both were meant to expel all evil and make sure the New Year would bring good fortune. There were the ubiquitous fire-crackers, believed to chase away the evil spirits with loud blasts. But what still lingers on with me is the sweet fragrance of sensia, the custom of infusing the entire house with incense on the last day of the year, a custom adopted by all sectors of the population, regardless of their religion, and whether they really believed in the forces of evil. This is what was for me the essence of that time between the old and the new, that space between what was and what will be.
The custom of sensia is described in the following excerpt from my book, House without Doors - as told by Mira, the book's 12-year-old protagonist:
On the last day of the Old Year we go through all the rooms of our house with sweet smelling incense, bringing good luck for the New Year to every corner of the house. Then we continue with the sensia through Didachi and Opa's elegant mansion, as if they are one and the same house.
Sensia s a very old custom. Didachi remembers doing it when she was a little girl. Everyone on the island does the sensia and all the Jewish families do it too, even though I am sure it is not a Jewish custom. Papa Djo and Mamita do the sensia in their house in Skarlo, and Tantan Beca in the Penstraat, and even the Jewish families in the modern houses in Mahaai continue to do it. Every New Year's eve they all do the sensia together with their servants and all the members of the household, in order to smoke away all the Evil Spirits. We would not dare take a chance and have a year of bad fortune.
Since Titi died, doing the sensia has never been the same, even though Mami does it now by herself. It was Titi who did it most thoroughly. Perhaps it was her way of keeping the Zumbi away.
We light the coals in a little iron box in the alley and when they are red hot, Mami sprinkles the seven kinds of incense on top. When Mami brings the incense home from my uncle's pharmacy, I beg her to let me smell the seven little bags. Each one has its own special scent and they make me think of the smells in the Pietermaai Church, where I would go with Titi.
Would these be the Myrrh and Frankincense that the Three Kings brought to the-little-baby-Jesus? Then it is definitely not a Jewish custom, I thought to myself one day, but did not say anything.
After the incense starts to spread its scent, the box of burning coals is lifted on a shovel and together we carry the sensia through the whole house, making sure not to forget a single corner. We pass the sensia under every bed so that the sweet white smoke will bring good luck to everyone who lives in the house. We take care to drench my schoolbooks in the white smoke and the notebooks full of stories I am writing and Papi's workshop and rain meters and Mami's sewing-table and Dito's skeleton collection, my accordion, and of course, the study downstairs with all the filmmaking equipment so that Mami and Papi will make many more beautiful films in the coming year.
Then we cross the narrow space to Opa and Didachi's house and carry the tray through every room in that big mansion so they too will have a year of Good Fortune. We go through the fancy sala and the hadrei and through Didachi's corner where she listens to her records for the blind and where her friends come to read to her. Then we carry the sensia through Didachi’s bedroom, and Opa’s dressing room and in the end, we do the kitchen.
On the way to the kitchen, I always want to go up the wooden stairs with the tray and bring the sensia to those rooms in the attic where we are forbidden to play. But Didachi assures us that her own servants will do the sensia in the rooms upstairs ‑ as if she is afraid we will discover something up there in the attic, something we are not supposed to know.
Then we return to our kitchen and go down into the alley, where each of us has to jump three times over the lingering embers, so that the smoke of the sensia will drive away all the Evil Spirits and we can be certain to have a year of Good Fortune.
When Titi was still alive, I would beg her to take the sensia into the water-room, just before we put out the coals. I wanted to make sure the bulging cistern, brimming with water, would hold out for yet another year.
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for more on House without Doors see: www.ritamendesflohr.com/house-without-doors/