Efo at rotsa l'gor? Ani rotsa l'gor b'Jerusalem!

This weekend, my roommates and I had the esteemed pleasure of spending our second Shabbat in Israel in Jerusalem. What a weekend it was! I feel like I should start from the top, and explain to the world that I have never had the need to take public transportation before. Now, however, I believe that I am going to be a pro, in a very short time. A walk to the Central Bus Station, or tachanah h'merkazit, a bus ride to Jerusalem, a quick switch at the tachanah h'merkazit there, and to Harris's house we go! How he handled four girls in his apartment for three days, I'm not sure, but we are very grateful! (* Harris is a very good friend that Rachel and I know from ATC, our Temple in Stoughton, who made Aliyah three years ago.)

It seems to me that every time I set foot in a tachanah h'merkazit, I have an experience. This time of course, was no exception. After about twenty minutes on the bus - a coach bus mind you! In Israel, a lot of the city-to-city buses are coach, but have standing room as well - the driver pulled over to the side of the road. At first, there was no concern, it is quite common for bus drivers to let passengers off in the middle of nowhere, instead of at an actual bus stop. However, when he pulled over for the third time on the side of the highway, and the air-conditioning on the bus went out, the sleepers started to startle, the Haredim began to become impatient, and I started to have a panic attack. The bus, we deduced, was indeed broken. Luckily, two other buses heading the the tachanah h'merkazit in Jerusalem were passing by and pulled over to lend a hand. There was a mad rush to the rescue vehicles and the whole ordeal must have lasted nothing more than five or seven minutes. We arrived in Jerusalem, sweaty and overwhelmed, but in one piece. And what a nice surprise! Harris was waiting at the tachanah h'merkazit to take us back to his apartment (by bus of course).

Thursday night the girls and I went out to Ben Yehuda Street, where people dance in the street before and after Shabbat, and there are many shops (offering many touristic things) and all different kinds of restaurants. We ate dinner, played in the street some, and then took the bus back to Harris's apartment to sleep before our busy Friday.

Friday was a day like no other. Five years ago, I went to the Kotel and the Old City of Jerusalem with my Temple Congregation. I did it again a year later with Birthright. My heart has strings that reach from Stoughton, MA to Jerusalem, Israel. That is the only way I know how to explain it. Really, there are no words to explain what Jerusalem does to me, and there are even less words to explain the song those strings play when I walk through the Jaffa Gate. For me to be able to do it again, on Shabbat, and know that I will be able to do it however many times I want to during my months in Israel, puts the biggest smile on my face. 

Rachel and Harris
as we walked
through the
Jaffa Gate.

I have tried for five years to explain to Rachel what the Old City looks like, who lives there and what they do. I've tried to tell person upon person what it feels like to touch Jerusalem stone, to kiss the Western Wall, to precociously lift yourself up on chairs to witness the men on the other side davening. There are no words. Having the good luck to witness someone experience the Kotel and the Old City for the first time is something I pray that everyone has, and to see Rachel's face as she walked through the Jaffa Gate for the first time only added to the magic of Friday. We spent a significant amount of time at the Kotel and browsing through the Old City, having lunch and hitting the Arab Shuk for a few hours to shop for scarves and bags. It was a wonderful afternoon. 

I have never, in the past, really done the whole "Shabbat" thing. I have gone to Temple on Friday nights, of course, but I have never sat down and had dinner afterward. Harris took the four of us to his Shul, a whole thirty second walk from his house (it's across the parking lot!), and what an experience it was! First of all, the Shul is Sephardic, and the four of us, separated from Harris because the Shul is also Mechitza (meaning that the women are separated from the men, whether they sit on a balcony or there is a divider) had a very hard time trying to follow the melodies. The women were beyond nice to us though, they came over and made sure we were on the correct page several times and really made us feel welcome. They were friendly and it was over all, a great experience. The service took about an hour and fifteen minutes and before we knew it, it was time for Shabbat dinner. Harris made chicken, potatoes, matzo ball soup, knishes, broccoli, salad... there was challah and desert, so much food! And it was all wonderful! I really enjoyed doing Shabbat Harris's way. I loved that dinner took hours to eat, what with the talking and the relaxing. After all, isn't that what Shabbat is all about? The food was good, the conversation was good, as was the company. I cannot wait have Shabbat at Harris's again. 

A view of the Kotel

Saturday was also a great day for me. I was able to meet up with Gery, a good friend of mine who happened to be the guard on the ATC trip in 2006, and his fiance Netta. They picked me up at Harris's and we went out to a wonderful lunch. It was fantastic to see him and wonderful to meet Netta.

As I said before, there really are no words to explain Jerusalem. I understand that some people can go there, and not feel anything at all. In the past though, I have attributed a lot of my connection to Judaism to Jerusalem. Something happens to me while I am there. I don't know that I have really felt that I was actually in Israel until I put my fingers on Jerusalem stone this weekend. I am now confident in my abilities to get there, the bus isn't that scary after all, and as Harris so many times told me, that's how you get there. 

Me, Rachel and Naomi
inside the Israeli Shuk

SIDE NOTE: While Matana, Rachel, Naomi and I were walking through the Old City, actually on our way out to head back to Harris's to ready ourselves for Shabbat, a man stopped us to make sure that we had somewhere to have Shabbat dinner. What an incredible thing. To be honest, I don't know that that would happen in America. Inviting total strangers to your house for dinner? I highly doubt it. People have been so nice, everywhere we have gone so far.

SIDE NOTE II: I learned a lot this weekend. Harris is always able to answer most of my questions with ease, and believe me, I asked a LOT of them. On a funny note, I this fun-fire owning, suburban girl learned what "end of the line" meant (much to Matana's dismay!). Coming back from the Old City on Friday we just happened to hop on the right bus, but going in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, the term "end of the line" is universal, and when we got to it, we were forced off the bus and what was supposed to be a twenty minute ride, turned into one that lasted almost two hours. But, you know what they say? Hakol Beseder. It's all good.

Thank you Harris!

Leaving Jerusalem is always hard, and this time was no exception. We said goodbye to Harris though, and hopped in a cap to get to the tachanah h'merkazit (public transportation is a little bit different on Shabbat) and caught the first bus back to Ramla. 

*A song to check out: Jerusalem, by Anouk.