O Jerusalem

We were greeted by a slightly frazzled man with a full beard, large glasses and kippah, dressed in a red robe, and trailed by a cat. The faint smell of bread and spices wafted from the warm kitchen behind him. It was 6 am in Jerusalem – the morning mist had lifted and the city was springing to life; just another January day in the holiest of cities. Noah hadn’t expected us this early, hence the robed attire, but happily showed me and my sisters to our loft-like rental apartment on the 5th floor. Unit #6, replete with kitchenette and dishes, shower squeegee, and pristine view of the Knesset via balcony, would be our temporary home for the next six days. Having spent much time visiting and living in Israel, and not wanting the overpriced tourist experience of staying in a hotel, we opted for the independence of a b&b for our vacation. In actuality, nowhere in the literature about Beit Noach did it promise any semblance of breakfast. But that was fine with us. There was plenty of Turkish coffee and fresh baked goods to be had within a 10 block radius of rechov Narkiss.

My sisters, Avi and Rachel, and I spent our week in Jerusalem just, well, being us. Avi was on a year-long program, Shalem, but gave up many nights of dorm life to hang in our homey Narkiss Street pad. Our close proximity to the shuk meant we could avoid the early Friday afternoon mob scene, instead picking up our Shabbat groceries in the morning, a time when the shuk is still teeming with energy, but not so much as to induce anxiety and arguments in the fresh pita stalls. Not wanting to waste a minute, we ate overstuffed hamburgers just off of Ben Yehuda, had massages in Ein Bokek, visited the Kotel and the Old City, strolled through Yemin Moshe and Rechavia and Mea She’arim, took in the breathtaking Yad VaShem Memorial, enjoyed sushi and beach time in Tel Aviv, and sipped Tuborg beer at a cafe in the Russian Compound. At night we drank tea, surfed the web, and slept like babies in our loft.

Shabbat was spent devouring our own home cooked meals of spiced shnitzel, fresh salatim and Marzipan rugelach in the little apartment, and catching up with friends from home over lunch in Nachla’ot. Delightfully at ease in a swirling sea of Hebrew and history, it felt, at least temporarily, as if Avi, Rachel and I were just another family living in this special Middle Eastern city.

After growing attached to the little apartment on Narkiss, the week came to an end. We packed our bags, tidied up the kitchen, enjoyed one last gaze from the balcony and with heavy hearts, returned our key to Noah (who waved goodbye in civilian clothing).

That’s the thing about Israel. Whatever you do, exhilarating or mundane, it just feels like home.

(For your own non-touristy Jerusalem experience, check out www.bnb.co.il.)

A Comedy of [Ex-] Errors

Picture the scene:
it's a wet and obscenely humid day; the smell of rain hangs in the air. i'm sticky and sweating, more than normal. my hair is huge and although the curls are defined and full, thanks to humidity, it is rather afro-like and cow-lick-y around the forehead, yes thanks to the humidity, and the genetics of the ancient Hebrews. i'm smack in the middle of a school day, running errands between brooklyn and manhattan, wearing ripped paint-splattered jeans that are too big on me, with a hole in the crotch, and velcro sneakers. i am still sweating; salty beads dripping down my chest, being absorbed by my blue bra. i didn't sleep enough last night and my eyes are tired. no gloss on the lips, not even chapstick. i'm most likely tainted with and offensively reeking of hydrobromic acid and calcium chloride pellets from today's endless organic chemistry lab. i'm probably 8% radioactive and should not be touching others until i have thoroughly cleansed. i have 4 daily news newspapers sticking out of my bag, each with a half-done su-do-ku and almost-finished crosswords.

cut to:
i walk briskly past radio city music hall, marvel at the purple-robed graduates, congregating outside. think to self, "aww, that's nice. hunter. i like graduations." enter subway station at 47-50th streets. lament not treating myself to fancy dean and deluca latte in rock center. look up from disheveled appearance, suddenly lock eyes with . . . ex-boyfriend's wife, emerging from subway staircase. feel confused, "hey, i know that face. wait a minute... what a coincidence.." nervousness. dart eyes to the right, see purple-graduate-robe-clad ex-boyfriend materialize next to brand new wife, also emerging from subway steps. feel flustered. hot. why am i still sweating? take 3 steps backward. smile. awkwardness. exchange hi's, am told that ex's mother and step-father are mere steps behind me. swivel maneuver. suddenly surrounded by many family members, descending upon the subway cement quadrant into which my tired sweaty disheveled overwhelmed feet are currently stuck. wait, am i naked? am i about to give a speech? is this the dream sequence? brain filling with carrie-bradshaw-esque thoughts "DAMNIT. this isn't my perfect date outfit!" and when asked what's new, respond with "i'm gonna be late for school." [ref: "i have a baby." "i, have a date!" - see sex and the city, S. 6, Ep. 1, 2003.] as a side note, i happen to be carrying the very starbucks stainless steel mug i [accidentally] stole from ex's house in 2000.

location change:
ride downtown B train with said ex-boyfriend, wife, mother, and step-father. have conversations on train, contents of which i now cannot recall, lit by bad flourescent lighting and a faint stench of day old beer and wet socks. nervous giggling. study family members. have a laugh at graduation robe's silly fake sleeves under actual sleeves. you know, the straight-jacket type. overwhelming. act like 7th grader. still sweating. the party ends at west 4th.

proceed to finish su-do-ku on ride to brooklyn.

super-human su-do-ku speed severely hampered by spontaneous underground family reunion and abnormally high levels of sensory overload oxycoagulase coursing through bloodstream.

fade out.