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.)