Shabbat in the Old City

I had grand plans for this morning. To wake up early and take a shower. To walk across town to Yakar: the Center for Tradition and Creativity for Shabbat morning services. To take advantage of Yakar’s matchmaking service which pairs people without a place for Shabbat lunch with those willing to host.

But then it was early. And the idea of getting out of my bed to trek across town made me only sink further into my pillow. So, Yakar didn’t happen. Instead, I made French toast for Max and I with the leftover challah from last night’s dinner. Of course, it was oven-baked French toast since our gas stove situation is still unresolved. I lounged around the rest of the morning, reading and listening to Max read me the news and writing a bit.

Around noon, Max and I decided to head out – out to the Old City. Sometimes I worry that I am becoming accustomed to this city and am forgetting to take notice of its spectacular-ness. But when the Old City rises in the distance it’s hard not to be a little awe-struck at the reality that I am in Jerusalem. The Holy City to a huge percentage of the world’s population. A very ancient and special place.

We navigated our way through the Muslim Quarter to a restaurant at which Max ate with some of his work colleagues. I found myself in a quaint and very authentic Arab Israeli restaurant where I was served lots of pita, falafel, veggies, and a huge bowl of hummus. And it was all delicious. We stopped a bit to look at the kaleidoscope of items for sale in the market. But after we were nearly trampled twice by large tour groups we decided to say goodbye to the Old City.

Max and I played a game of chess, which was difficult not only because Max is much better than I am but because my landlord was having a crying, hiccupping, screaming conversation with someone. We could hear the whole thing but between the tears and the rambling Hebrew, I have no idea what it was about. (An even stranger twist the story: About an hour later I was standing in the window looking up a recipe for pita chips on the internet and I saw the landlord greet a man with a ponytail in the door. He stroked her hair and looked longingly into her eyes. She leaned into his chest ... and then some serious lip action. You should know that our landlord is a no-nonsense about anything, single mom, university professor and this was all quite out of character.)

After dinner, Max and I went to our friend Yoshi’s housewarming party. He lives with 2 art students in an apartment on King George St. – it’s a great space minus the noise of the city that filters in through the windows. Yoshi made homemade cider and provide us with lots of ginger snap cookies. There were a lot of great people I hadn’t met before, and a lot of wonderful people I already knew. Lots of music, lots of Jewish geography, lots of fun.