I reached 2500 views last week, which is pretty crazy. That's like 25 people looking at this blog every day I travel. Which, is weird, because I can't even name more than 10 people who I think would be that interested. There's also the statistic that tells me three people in Bulgaria have clicked here, and I really can't explain that either.
GoogleMaps does not explain inclines in walking directions, so never trust the app, I've learned the hard way. Last night, I got locked out of my apartment and ended up in a friend's home, with a British doctor making me tea and sambucas. No complaints there - best lockout ever. However, the time crunch put pressure on me to speed up and get ready for my one chance to actually go out on the town. Because I spend all my time doing crazy religious stuff, it was nice to stop by a birthday party and take an hour break from all the Judaism, theoretically. Everyone there was American and Jewish, most people recognizable from the New York or USY scenes of days passed. I'm looking forward to moving to Chicago where hopefully I'll play a little less Jewish geography. After about an hour, our Pardes school crew of six decided to take a hike - literally. We planned to walk across to Nachlaot for a Persian midnight Selichot service. This would mean I'd walked in Arnona, Talpiot, Emek Refaim, Katamon, Rechavia and now, Nachlaot in one night. And, each area required ascending and descending all kinds of inclines, some better suited for hiking boots and a staff. I was in my trademark beaten rubber flip flops. My feet and ankles were destroyed from the tomato picking of the afternoon. Somehow, I stayed a happy camper the entire time. We saw the Knesset parliament glowing up on a hilltop, and the brightest orange half-moon that looked like a tangerine slice dangling in the sky.
When we finally made it to Nachlaot, we were relieved to reach Ohev Zion Synagogue. We met up with a bunch of other Pardesniks around midnight and got a brief history of the synagogue from the wife of the founder's great-grandson. Last year, the community had withered, old and quiet. In 365 days, her husband and his brother had created Carlebach-style ritual experiences for a vibrant community of liberally-orthodox 20somethings. The place was a total mobscene. I ended up sitting behind the synagogue, in a courtyard looking through the stained glass at the shadows of men inside. People sang in an excited yet mournful way, pleading with God, celebrating the community, hoping for a better year - if I had gotten a seat on an wooden cushioned bench, I probably would've more comfortably enjoyed the service. There were droves of women huddling around the windows outside even, peering in, reading prayers off their cellphones and occasionally, texting or snapping pictures.
By 12:45, I was really too tired to be standing up and listening anymore, but the service had an intrinsically fascinating quality - these brothers have created something that really pulls people in.
I taxied home, sleepily, clutching the rider with me as our driver raced an invisible competitor through the bus lanes to get us home. I fell asleep quickly, knowing that I'd be facing my day of atonement the following afternoon. Yom Kippur had arrived, stealing from me a shabbat in Israel, replacing it with a fast day of repentance. We're hosting a huge BreakFast in our apartment, so my one day off from school will be busy with shopping and cleaning and prep. I can already taste my everything bagel with lox, tomato, onion and vegetable cream cheese. Can you?
No comments:
Post a Comment