הבן שלי בא לבקר

He has arrived.

Eight months after I told my son good bye at the Toronto airport, eight months after moving across the world to Jerusalem, Michael came to visit, or as I've been saying in one of the Hebrew phrases I've mastered, "הבן שלי בא לבקר"



I've been anticipating the visit so long, so keenly, that I made myself sick; headache, anxiety, tears, obsessive cleaning. Yet when he came down the walk, smiling, cool as a cucumber, I relaxed completely.

He was completely relaxed, though tired from traveling after a day that would have sent my anxiety meter soaring.

How did I get such a great -- thoughtful, calm, kind, sweet, easy-going -- son?  What a blessing!
What else would get me to sit down and "blog"(a practice I dislike)?

Yet my sense of gratitude, of wonder, of love is so great that I must put proverbial pen to paper.

It's 8:45 Friday morning in Jerusalem, and I have not rushed off to the pool and the farmer's market, my usual pre-Shabbat routine. Instead, I sit outside and muse, because Michael's here.

Look -- up on your screen: It's a cat! It's a screen! It's a blog post!

Yes, I know, it's been six weeks since I posted; six weeks of living my life. It's surprising how quickly the new and unusual has become routine.

Today is nothing but routine. It is Yom YaAzmut - Israeli Independence Day. The modern state of Israel is just 68 years old - not that much older than I, and look what this tiny country has accomplished.  Even in the midst of my daily routine, I look around me in wonder at the beauty and harmony in which we live.  Yes, we are surrounded by enemies. Yes, we are the most reviled state on earth, yet life here is so sweet, so joyous, so united.

So on this day with no ulpan, I sit on outside with my iced coffee, my laundry drying, my flowers blooming, and oh! I got myself both a passion fruit plant and a honeysuckle and am at last creating
my dream terrace.
 

Last night, I heard the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra play Hatikvah, the Israeli National Anthem, and I my heart swelled. Don't misunderstand - it's not a fairy tale. Yesterday was Yom HaZikaron, when we remember those who died for Israel, and in the afternoon I sat with a friend whose son was killed fighting that we might live.  She wept.  His loss, even after all these years, filled the room and I thought about all the empty spaces left by the 24,000 who died for us.

24,000 - just that we might exist.
I stand with Israel.

This week

"Where've you been, Susie? Your brother was worried."

There's an 8 hour time difference between Jerusalem and East Texas, home to my brother, Andrew, and his family. They are early to bed and early to rise, leaving a narrow window for FaceTiming: 2-3pm Jerusalem time.

Not once was I home at that hour.

One day, I had study group. Twice I was at the pool.

Another afternoon I spent waiting for a routine test at Hadassah Hospital.





(Waiting - the universal language).








Another afternoon, I went bed shopping.  Friday afternoon, I visited a sick friend, then rushed to prepare for shabbat, which had been delayed by the Jerusalem Marathon.

So, not home.  Not in danger. Not ill. Just busy, which is good.

The most important thing I can share this week is by Farhana Rahman, an American Muslim, who describes the miracle that is Israel. Farhana, take it away. 

The lay of the land

Shalom chaverim - Hello friends

Three and a half weeks since I arrived and I am still busy, busy, busy.

The daily challenges of being an immigrant -- I can't say that it's a steep hill to climb. It's more like a rocky path that winds through craggy hills. You're up, you're down, there's an unexpected ravine, a steep slope, a U-turn, then suddenly a meadow.

Monday night, I smelled something burning.  Not the hotpot. Not the stove.
Last summer, the same burning smell meant that Arabs were burning the forest. This time, they were burning part of East Jerusalem

My musing about the smell and the unreported destruction was interrupted by a phone call from Macabi, my kupat cholim (HMO). They had scheduled a next-day appointment for me with the rheumatologist, making me as giddy as kid with a new toy. As some of you know, I have a chronic illness -- a well-managed chronic illness. I need to keep it well-managed and I was only able to move to Israel because the specialized care I need is available.  Last week I'd been informed there was nothing available until mid-May and here was manna from heaven

One hill climbed. Another lay ahead; my late-in-life claustrophobia which rears its head on crowded buses (the preferred method of travel to Tel Aviv).
Next day with Bach's Rescue Remedy under my tongue, I made it to Tel Aviv safe and sound, and found my way by city bus to the clinic.

There I took a number and waited, anxiously. Given the language barrier and my anxiety, the appointment went well, and I came back to Jerusalem with written (in Hebrew) orders for a slew of tests.

With help, got those booked, and got back to the business of full-time ulpan.

I-N-T-E-N-S-E. Working so hard to recognize every letter and every word. To read fluently. To write accurately. To speak correctly. To keep up with the class. To find your place, in class, on the street, in Israel.

This morning, at the post office, I saw a hand-lettered sign on one of the windows and slowly sounded it out: "Sagur". Closed.

The meadow. I'd reached the meadow.

Like clockwork

Every Friday, like clockwork, the blessing of Shabbat. Work ceases, devices are turned off, and we have a real day of rest.  In Minnetonka, I celebrated Shabbat with rituals, both religious and social; but there was no sea change. Life went on, uninterrupted.

In Jerusalem, everything changes. Work stops. Offices close. Stores are shuttered and roads are empty.  Even here, at Bayit Hatsfera, things have quieted down. No ulpan today - and it's a different ulpan this week.

I switched from Ulpan Morsasha to Beit Ha'am, the biggest, oldest Ulpan in Jerusalem. Word on the street was that Beit Ha'am was too academic. On the contrary, I am finding it livelier, more engaging and practical than Morasha. My classmates, all new olim, are from Colombia, Brazil, Argentina, Ecuador, Ethiopia, India, Ukraine, France, Kyrgystan, Russia, Belgium, France, England, and South Africa.  Jews from Colombia, Brazil, Argentina, Ecuador, Ethiopia, India, Ukraine, France, Kyrgystan, Russia, Belgium, France, England, and South Africa.

Mind-blowing.

Ulpan is four hours a day, five days a week, and there is no getting around it -- it is a haul. Yes, learning is fun, but there is a ton of new information coming at you for four hours each day.  Just sitting on your behind for four hours is a haul.

In addition to which, I've continued my olah hadasha bureaucratic tasks. So many hoops to jump through, so many tasks to complete. So, yes, I was glad today was Friday, erev (the eve of) Shabbat.

House, clean. Dishes, washed. Flowers, on the table. To one and all, near and far, Shabbat Shalom.

Company

A key part of my vision for my life in Jerusalem was company - family and friends coming to visit. That's why it was so important for me to find an apartment with a real second bedroom, not a tiny afterthought.

And this week, I had my first company.  My brother, Marc, and sister-in-law, Debbie, were in town for a convention, and I was delighted to see them here.


They didn't stay with me as they had already booked a hotel and I've not yet bought a bed for the guest bedroom. Nevertheless, it felt so haimisch to have them here.

Debbie came back the next day while Marc was in meetings. We sat and talked, looked at family pictures, and simply enjoyed the day, even as the sounds of drilling and repairs by handymen in the apartment swirled around us. 
We never had the leisure of these one-on-one visits, away from children and work, in Minneapolis or Milwaukee. But over 60 in Jerusalem - apparently this is the good life.

Erev Shabbat

I raged. I wept. I prayed. I asked God, "Why?"
Then I mopped.

Yesterday, 21 year-old Tuvia Weissman was stabbed to death buying dessert at his neighborhood grocery. Shopping with his wife and baby, he and another shopper were attacked because they were Jews by teenage Palestinian terrorists.

How am I supposed to react? What am I to do with my rage and sorrow?
So after praying, I mopped. Shabbat is coming, and regardless of what happened yesterday, must be observed.

When I went out on my Shabbat errands, I saw a city full of people doing the same: picking up challah and flowers, greeting friends at the shuk, enjoying a half day of blissful sunshine. The coffee shops were and markets were full, the playgrounds filled with children and families. The joyous hustle and bustle that proceeds Shabbat in the city of David stops for no one.

Until 2:00pm when the shops close and families go home to prepare.  Now it's quiet and I, too, have come home - הביתה;-to write, to muse, to prepare for the Shabbat Shalom we wish for Israel and the world.