I know you may not always feel it, and I don't always say it, but I LOVE YOU!

Last night got a bit crowded in our bedroom. On one side of the-not-very-large Israeli double bed was Awesome Hubby, on the other side was me. In between us, cozily snuggled and hogging the blankets were several rude, uninvited guests: Frustration, Impatience, and their ugly little brothers Self-Loathing and Depression. And of course, lurking in the corner, providing the soundtrack with his screechy lullaby was my old sidekick The Fiddler, back so soon. Who (besides Awesome Hubby who snored cheerfully through the night) could sleep in such a crowd? I couldn’t.


So I said screw you all and got up. I am no stranger to insomnia. I have spent many a night counting sheep (and giraffes, penguins, Golden Retrievers and falafel). Insomnia and I go a long way back. I'm tough, I can take her.


According to “The Secret”, another one of the self-help books I read recently, when you are in a bad mood you should try to “change your frequency.” They suggest doing this by concentrating on things you love or that make you laugh. They say it only takes a few seconds of feeling differently to change a mood. They're probably right in theory, but boy is that easier said than done! Now that I have spent a full 24 hours feeling broody with party crashers following me around like deranged, drooling stray dogs, I will try to change my mood by writing about something I love.


The topic I have chosen is going to surprise some people. I chose the city where I live, which believe it or not, is still my favorite ever of all time. The painting I posted here is the design I created for our Katuba, which was a declaration of love to both my husband and our city.

Dear Jerusalem,


I know you and I have been fighting lately, but I will always love you. You can be emotionally abusive, infuriatingly contrary, passive aggressive and hard to understand, and I will admit that so can I. But even if I leave you, My Dear, you should know how I feel.


I first fell for you because of your smell. I remember so many guided tours, where I would look longingly at your winding roads through the tour bus window, just waiting for the moment where I could finally hop off and breathe in your sweet, bewitching mountain scent. You smell like exotic flowers and trash in equal parts. I would stand with my head thrown back arms stretched out breathing loudly while my fellow travelers looked on with a mix of worry and amusement. You are a great seductress, my Jerusalem.


When I moved to Israel people wondered why a secular, modern, girl like me would chose this theocratic, conservative city full of conflict. But those who see you that way just don’t know you very well. I was completely enthralled by your mystery. To this day, I walk up and down your narrow cobble stone streets and I feel thousands of years of lives and stories and destinies. Your hills radiate with the energy of a thousand fires; late at night you can still smell the smoke.


You are complicated, Jerusalem, a city of many levels. Each of your neighborhoods is a separate universe. Those of us who live here tend to be quite territorial about our shchunot, but I will confess that I am not entirely loyal to the German Colony where I happily live. Emek Refaim street, translated as The Valley of the Ghosts, is anything but: a very much alive street full of coffee shops, restaurants and gossipy, giggling American teenagers living the time of their lives. But there are many neighborhoods that I love. Slightly up the hill from us is Baka, the German Colony's less touristy cousin, with her grandiose historic homes, orange and lemon trees and fuchsia flowers. Then there is Rehavia, dotted with your most authentic, dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bakeries, chocolate shops and cafes. And my favorite neighborhood of all is Nachlaot with her tiny pedestrian walkways, crumbling buildings stacked on top of each other like one of Chagall's shtetl paintings. Home to a mix of young artists, secular students and ultra Orthodox families, it is a microcosm of your spirit.

And of course, I must reserve a full paragraph to your pulsing heart: the Mahane Yehuda Shuk, our outdoor market, which moonlights as a dance party, jazz club and badminton court depending on the night of the week. Mahane Yehuda is over 100 years old, dating back to the early 19th century (at least according to Wikipedia). Spread between the city center and spilling over into Nachlaot, I would bet you can travel the world and never see a more chaotic and diverse scene than our market on a Friday afternoon. When I first moved here, when the shuk was still a source of culture and language shock, I wrote an email to my family trying to describe the madness. Until this day my mom reminds me of this email, so with just a few edits, this is what I wrote back then:

I still love the shuk, but I loved it more when I could just walk around and observe and enjoy the sites and sounds and smells... it's much more tricky when you actually have to buy something and everybody is yelling and pushing and elbowing and you don't understand what they are saying to you and you can't remember for the life of you how to say cucumber in Hebrew, and some angry woman won't let you grab the plastic bag that the man is trying to hand you and when he says something to her, she answers something about me being American and then yells at me (I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I think mostly Israelis just like to yell)
And at the same time there are the greasy men wearing wife beaters selling Iraqi food and just yelling and yelling and yelling "food for Shabbat! food for Shabbat!!!" like you don't hear them when you are standing less than 2 feet away... but then when you sit down to take a break, the same annoying yelling wife-beater wearing man comes up to you and tells you to close your purse and keep it closer so no one takes it. Oh Israel. On your right a Russian is fighting with her husband and on your left a little Orthodox girl is handing you free Shabbat candles, while Hasssidim with black top hats are walking by with huge yellow flags that say "Mashiah" (messiah)... and a Shanti Kabbalist hippie dude in a floor-length white robe with long, dangling side curls, arms spread wide is chanting at the top of his lungs in the middle of it all.

And this email doesn’t even mention the aisles of exotic spices, each with its own sharp scent, the rooms stacked with cheeses of every shape and size, the warm crusty breads and pitas, the rows of Chernobyl-sized red and yellow and orange peppers, lime green pamelos, oranges the size of basketballs, blood red tomatoes,cucumbers so sweet and crunchy they can calm a chocolate craving, dried fruits and nuts of all kinds, iced fish which is so glossy and alive that you expect it to wiggle at any moment.

Jerusalem, I love your scorching, dry days and your cool, fresh, summer nights. I love seeing the flickering glow as Shabbat candles appear in every window at sundown on Fridays and I love the crowds of young people in flowing white spilling out onto the quiet streets a few hours later. I love when the days begin to cool off and the smell of sugary, jelly filled donuts wafts out of every doorway as we approach Hanukah. I love your wet, penetrating winters and your blossoming colorful springs. I love so many things about you, my dear city.

I know I already mentioned reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” recently. Another insight she brings about in this wise book is a new spin on the concept of soul mates:

“A true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you
everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own
attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most
important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and
smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever. Nah. Too painful.
Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself
to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.”

That’s how I feel about you, Jerusalem. You are my geographical soul mate. It may be too intense for me to spend my life with you, but I will always love you. You have changed me forever, and for that I will remain eternally grateful.

Love,

AnKa