Israel

Ari Sinay

            My dad tells me to get prepared to go into the old city.  Today we are making our annual visit to the Western Wall, a symbol of the state of Israel.  As we drive through the narrow streets of Jerusalem, men are walking to synagogue their kids by their sides, ready for morning prayers,.  As we get closer to the Jafa gate, the landscape and the feel of the city change dramatically.  Old brick and cobblestone from biblical times cap the roads and houses of the city in strong contrast to the newly paved streets and apartments of Tel-Aviv and Haifa.  Vendors and traders line the streets of the city, wads of money stashed in one hand and a cigarette in the other, selling every kind of merchandise. 

We stop and pick up a gift for family and continue on our way.  As we pass King David’s castle, the Arab village of Au-Gosh is visible.  The town made infamous by rock throwing and gun turret noises during the night is starkly quiet.  We park and make our way to one of the holiest sites for the Jewish people.  Security is heavy, we walk through metal detectors and are monitored by soldiers.  When we are done praying and ready to leave, the subtle and smooth voice from the Dome of the Rock starts up.  This interferes with my prayers, and serves as a reminder of what is on the other side. 

            Later that night, my cousins and I gather.  I get kind of antsy after a couple hours realizing that we haven’t even begun to leave the house yet and it was already ten o’clock.  They laughed at me and in Hebrew called me a “silly American.”  We finally left at around eleven.  They took me throughout the city and showed me places I never knew existed.  Whether it was the cool nightclub, the bakery with pizza pockets to die for, or the fact that I returned at six o’clock in the morning; my life was definitely enriched that night. 

The cool breezes of Jerusalem’s evenings are soothing after a long day of heat.  As we approach the grand marble steps to the synagogue, I hear the soothing voice of the cantor who has already started the opening psalms of prayer.  The congregants’ faces light up when they see us. 

Everyone knows my dad from their childhood so he is greeted first:

“Michael! Manishma Achi?”  (How are you my friend?)

“Col beseder Baruch Hashem.” (Everything is good, thank God.)

I am next:

“Manishma chamudi?” (How are you my dear.)

“Beseder hacol tov.”  (Everything is good.) 

The elderly keeper of the synagogue greets me: “Arrrrriiikkkk!”  He pinches both my cheeks at the same time, then reaches into his pocket for my annual present. I feel him slip a candy into my pocket.  It feels good to be here again.  I look at the altar, decorated with colorful scarves and soft lighting, where three yeas ago I stood reading from the Torah on my Bar-Mitzvah.  The lavish Persian carpets on the floor along with the luminous chandeliers above us, are mirrored at home.  I bring a prayer book to my dad and one for myself and we start to pray along with the congregation.

    After prayers we head home to my grandmother’s apartment.  She is waiting outside the door to greet us with her sparkling Sabbath clothes, her favorite purple scarf draped over her head for modesty, and her loving smile filling the room.  I give her a hug and kiss:

“Shabbat Shalom.” (Good Sabbath.) 

We are hurried to eat.  There stand my aunts, uncles, and cousins waiting for our return.  I greet them all with hellos and kisses.  The pots are opened, and the tickling smells of stuffed peppers along with the spicy tahina dip swarm me.  The table fills up with the traditional foods.  I eat like a man those nights.  Later, we all sit outside on the terrace of the apartment for dessert and tea.  From there, I could see all of Jerusalem—the new hotels under construction high on the mountain, the grand soccer stadium—it is all visible. 

These recollections are some of my fondest memories in my life.  It is a glimpse into another part of my life.  Although I was born here in the United States, I hold dual-citizenship with Israel.  My father is Israeli and so is his family.  Because of this, I am able to experience the best of both worlds.  From the rich traditions, food and culture of Israel to the freedoms, education and opportunities of America, I am lucky to have been able to reap the benefits of both worlds.