A Change of Place, A Change of Pace

As we exited Ben Gurion Airport last evening, the sweet scent of the orange blossom trees was the first of the senses to reawaken after a more than seven year absence from Israel. The recent heavy rainy season had left the land green and lush. The barren land, I remembered from my first visit in 1971, was replaced by new buildings, roads, and modernization one could not have even dreamed about 40 years ago.

Our driver, my husband Saul’s brother, lives in Jerusalem. His wife Meira and he have a family of four grown daughters, close to our children’s ages and in sync with them though separated by oceans and continents all over the world. Our first night would be at their home, where they so generously invited several of Saul’s colleagues and their wives, all of us here for an international meeting of pediatric urologists. (I am here on vacation as his wife until we travel to Greece to visit my colleague and give a lecture next week, if their airport reopens). This group has convened for more than 20 years, and I have made good friends of not only the wives but also Saul’s colleagues whom I would have only known by name if not for this organization (AAPU—American Association of Pediatric Urology formerly SYPU—the Society for Young Pediatric Urologists, changed about 15 years ago—they got old pretty fast).

As we reached Jerusalem, we were bathed in the evening air which is mythical to all save those who live here and by now probably take it for granted. It hugs you and lulls you into a sense of belonging, a sense of safety, even as you remind yourself that the safety may be only an illusion should violence erupt. (Two trips ago we faced Katusha rockets from Lebanon as we travelled up north and were enjoying a meal in a restaurant in Kiryat Shimonah. We ate and then ran to our accommodations at a former army camp while we waited for the decision of whether we would spend our night in a bomb shelter or the barracks. The bombing stopped and we were spared the experience.)

But last night, eight of us sat around the dinner table at their home. The conversation was loud while excited voices shared opinions about politics here and at home. We were not all Jews, but no matter, the excitement of this super-charged but oh-so-holy-place brought out the sounds of ideas and opinions, never lacking here no matter what your persuasion or how long you have been in the Land. You would never have imagined that at least 6 of the 8 of us were quite jet-lagged as we talked deep into the night.

The guests eventually made their way back to the hotel, where we would join them the next day. We finally settled down to sleep (staying up as late as we could so as to correct our circadian rhythm), only to awake 8 hours later, bathed in the sweet light shining off of the Jerusalem stone.

I had honestly forgotten why we keep coming back, often over my protests which I think are by now habit and should be left behind. Our senses now filled with a not-so-new place, we are ready for a week or so of a change of pace. I will write when I can.