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Not striking a chord is perhaps a better-case scenario for an intellectual/experimental opera gone wrong — in 1964, an audience in Florence found the dissonant music of Alois Haba's "Matka" so painful, like someone "spitting out a mouthful of rusty nails," that they began walking out by the end of the first scene.

Jews, Rachel explained, don’t believe in hell, but they do believe in Olam Haba, which translates to “a world after death.”

If Doña Isabel's sopa de haba was on the menu, made from dried yellow beans with a magnetic funk that could be smelled down the street, I would sit, ������sApping photos of my meals to my Mexican cook comrades in Brooklyn.

“Bruchim haba’im. Be welcome. Be secure.”

Haba had four extra-base hits in the doubleheader split, one more than he had in 15 games last year.