I'm sitting on the floor of the airport now, stretching my legs before this long, long flight home. A man in a black hat and a long jacket is shoving a lulav and etrog into other people's hands, so they can complete the sukkot holiday's rituals, which is kind of a mitzvah, but also uncomfortably aggressive for my taste. I don't know what to think - I like to be left alone at the airport. I need my thinking time. The flight began boarding about ten minutes ago, and the masses flocked to the door, as if sitting down first really matters, because you're not going to have to do that for another eight hours - it's also not like your seat is going anywhere. I think my calm demeanor proves that I am officially a frequent flyer. (This is my 22nd flight in the last year?! I just re-counted that number a few times in utter disbelief - what a wondrous thing)...
Last night, my Pardes friends gather at my behest in the Aroma cafe on Emek Refaim. I had a most excellent turnout, which made me feel very loved, like my time here was a success, like I had been a valuable member of this temporary community. I began to struggle enormously with the fact that when I left, they would all stay, their collective identity would permanesce (apparently, this is not a word), and I would be doing my own continuing, but in a complete other sphere of reality unlinking to theirs. This was probably melodramatic, considering that that night alone, I had also gone to Ben Yehuda street for some last minute souvenirs and in just one hour, ran into five people I knew. If that happens in Jerusalem, it can happen in my new neighborhood of Lakeview, just with fewer camp folk.
On my last day (yes, we're working backwards here), I went to a sukkah lunch on a rooftop, where we could get a glimpse of the dome of the rock, glowing golden in the sun. About fifteen of us enjoyed tomato soup, cheese borekas, tofu salad, apple crumble and classic salatim dishes before lazing around in the late afternoon sun. I convinced a few people to talk a final walk to the parks overlooking the old city, and there we stumbled upon Yemin Moshe's stone walls and flower gardens, and a sequin-covered bride taking pictures with her husband. I explained to a small boy that breaking a glass screen to an old carriage by the famous windmill would be 'muksa' - not permissible on the Sabbath, but then I went and took pictures of the panoramic view from the Old City center through East Jerusalem, and off to my apartment in the distance. Perhaps hypocritical, or just synergistic in this unique nation.
The shabbos day ended with a seudah shlishit, meant to be had in a sukkah, but moved due to the first and only rainfall I experienced. The skies opened up and the heavens pour down, which seemed funny since rain prayers only get inculcated into services next week. Sometimes the people's prayers are granted before they even have the chance to make them, I guess. Or, everything is just beyond our control. We sang more shabbat songs, and I thought about how weird the whole culture of a bunch of 20somethings singing in a foreign language with mediocre voices in okay harmony really is - but I do love it.
I loved that, and everything else in the last ten months. Upon this, I will greatly expound after I've boarded my flight, settled in, tried to sleep, failed, watched the only movies I haven't yet seen in-flight (we're running out of good options here), and then decided to write again.
So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight...
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