When I think of Jerusalem, I think of walking her quiet streets on Shabbat afternoon as I made my way from my home in Talpiot to visit my brother's family in Ramat Eshkol. I think of the stimulating Torah classes I took at Matan with brilliant teachers such as Dr. Aviva Zornberg and Dr. Mordecahi Sabbato; my own students at Machon Gold and Sha'alvim whose zest for learning and love for Eretz Yisrael reinforced my own. I think of the dance classes I took at Rachel Factor's dance studio, hip hop classes at the YMCA, Rosh Chodesh walks to the Kotel, and the beautiful melody of Lecha Dodi sung every Friday night at theYakar shul in the Katmon neighborhood. I think of Naomi, my 65 year old hippie art teacher at the Israel Museum, who would affectionately call me “Shira, Yafati, Tamati” a paraphrase from the book of Shir Hashirim. She was a secular Israeli but she was always quoting Rabbinic aphorisms and verses from Tanakh. I think of the hundreds of Shabbat meals and cups of cafe hafuchs I shared with friends, like minded olim, who left their formers lives and family to begin a new life in Israel. I think of marching through the streets on Yom Yerushlayim everybody dressed in blue and white waving Israeli flags spontaneously stopping to sing and dance, the joy in the air palpable. I think of my stepfather's kiddush on the first night of Sukkot several weeks after his first cousin and close friend Dr. David Applebaum was murdered, and the emotion that was felt as he reached the words “Blessed are You, Hashem our God, King of the universe, Who has kept us alive, sustained us and brought us to this season.” I think of the Friday afternoons spent delivering food packages to the poor and elderly; the soup kitchen on Rechov Agripas in which I volunteered, where gratitude and respect were always on the menu and the cook, like a mother, knew all the customers by name and told them what they needed to eat. I think of the warm Mediterranean sun beating down on me as I would walk to work, down Rechov Yehudah, up Koveshi Katamon and then a left on Chizkiyahu HaMelech, all the street names rich with Biblical and historical meaning; and I think of the delicious mountainous breeze that would set in, in the late afternoon and bring relief from the heat of the day. I think of my own wedding at Kibbutz Ramat Rachel, as I stood under the chuppah, a chorus of voices singing “Soon, let it be heard in the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem the sound of joy and the sound of gladness, the voice of the groom and the voice of the bride...” as I looked out at family and friends, their faces framed by the hills of Jerusalem.
The colorful personalities of Jerusalem; the combination of spiritual, intellectual and creative energies that give Jerusalem her unique vibe, filled my own soul in a way that made me feel complete and whole- shalem. Yeru-shalem- a city that brought me much inner peace.
These are my thoughts of Jerusalem as my paintbrush dances across the canvas, creating a colorful depiction of what was once my home. This is my Jerusalem. Forever my Jerusalem. My heart and soul longs for the day I can return to you.
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