Good Shabbos, Goodbye

On an everyday basis, one can avoid the holiness of Jerusalem. One can get caught up in the long aggressive supermarket line, the pain of converting shekels to dollars (it's never as bad of a price as it seems), the garbage and cats that equally litter the streets, and slipping on the too-smooth sidewalks wherever you go. If you choose to subsist on a diet of borekas and shoko chocolate milk, your demeanor will generally be positive, and none of these factors will dampen your mood (unless slipping makes you spill your milk or an Israeli bumps into you and your boreka goes flying).  

One day, every week, you can't avoid the joyous, peaceful holiness of the world's most spiritual city. You can smell challahs rolling out of ovens, and you can see the roads clearing out because it's shabbos! I have absolutely loved shabbat for as long as I can remember, but no shabbat, camp or youth group or Hillel compares to a shabbat in Jerusalem. To me, the air seems sweet, the calm washes over, and I'm willed to tears with the excitement that I have shabbat in Jerusalem, and so do all of these other people around me. On the way to my favorite local shabbat spot for Friday services, I was singing to myself like the coolest loser in town because I was just so excited that it was Shabbat. I was nearly distracted from the fact I had to leave Israel in just 24 hours. At Mizmor last Friday, you wouldn't have known that services were shortened for the holidays because those Jews just love to sing and dance, filling the lack of prayers with more nai-nai-nais - we had a grand old time praising the Lord. On the way home, I was being very reflective (all two blocks), and I thought to myself how even though my practice of Judaism has not changed so much, I am so much more affirmative in my theology, which is philosophically validating to my practice in ways I am happy to discuss should you be so interested (some religious studies major will probably now find this blog and interview me for a thesis on Jewish fanatics - 'be careful what yo wish for...') 

My roommate Molly's parents came to town for their first-ever trip to Israel, and we had a splendid feast at our apartment. They made delicious lemon pepper chicken, couscous, and yams, and brought challah from the shuk that tasted like it was laced with honey and other addictive sugar things. Late into the night, we sang some songs and played some games that continued that superspiritual shabbat feeling. I remember someone drinking nana tea, someone else doing a small fashion show of a new shipment from mom, and Candace and Molly both fighting through all kinds of sickness to be a brilliant hostess. I may or may not be to blame for these communicable cold-like diseases, but the most I can do is be helpful and apologetic. 

The awesomeness of the evening led to validation of my sleeping-in morning, and the fact that with 18 hours to go, I had barely packed.