This morning I woke up and glanced at the henna stamp on
the palm of my hand. It was a sign of just one of the many strange, but mostly
memorable events that happened the night before.
After a day of
mostly aimless strolls, I arrived at my friend’s apartment on Ruth Street. I
watched as Rony hastily changed clothes, trying desperately to get ready before
his folks arrived.
In
just a few moments we were all hopping in a car en route to Jerusalem.
I hadn’t seen
Rony’s parents for nearly 8 years. They were two of the kindest people I’d ever
come across. Now here we were in Israel, nearly 6,000 miles from New York
getting ready for their son’s wedding.
The five of us
crowded into a Subaru 4 x 4 and made our way south for the pre-wedding
ceremony. Rony’s fiancee, Ella, a Yemenite Jew insured us we wouldn’t be
disappointed by the food and traditions that date back thousands of years.
“Nick, I can’t
believe you are actually here!” Rony’s mom said.
“Yes. I’m here,” I assured her.
I caught up with Rony’s folks as he and Ella made
frantic calls to friends and family confirming there whereabouts, and that they
were in fact coming to Jerusalem as advertised.
We talked about travel and art as Rony’s father offered
interesting tidbits of history.
“He’s my Google,” Rony’s mom joked.
Our ride to Jerusalem felt strangely familiar. I felt
almost as if I’d returned home. I had only been to the Holy City once but felt
as if I was visiting an old friend.
It wasn’t until later I appreciated the irony of feeling
such peace in a place fraught with tension and complexity.
Before we entered the synagogue for the festivities Rony
asked me to wear a yarmulke and to remove the crucifix around my neck. Neither
turned out to be necessary, but I wanted to make my friend feel at ease.
I’m
told getting married is a bit stressful.
Soon, the guests
started to arrive. At first it felt like a light rain before giving way to a
steady downpour. Each person beamed as they approached Rony, offering some
congratulatory prose and a hug.
I spent much of
my time speaking with Yuval, Rony’s brother, and his in-laws; a delightful
elderly couple originally from Jerusalem who happened to have a son who lived
in Pasadena. We nearly fell over when we discovered I’d lived just a few blocks
from him.
Yuval’s
father-in-law told me he and his wife had recently moved from Jerusalem because
they felt more and more unsettled about being secular Jews in a community where
it no longer felt okay to be so.
I also spoke with
Ella’s cousin, a young man named Anthony who’d lived an extraordinarily
interesting life, especially for someone so young. We traded stories about
living in Shanghai.
His father
approached with a full plate of food and listened attentively before offering
some theories on business, the world economy, and history. He was a nice
gentlemen but I couldn’t always tell whether he was talking to me or lecturing.
The ceremony itself is hard to describe. It was delivered
in Hebrew, the garments worn entailed large golden coats, and a tall triangular
shaped head piece replete with elaborate jewelry.
Even I took part
in the action wearing a traditional Yemenite robe and dancing the night away
wondering when, if ever, I’d experience such an event again.
There were also
elaborate sweets, lots of delicious Kubaneh bread, fruit, vegetables, and did I
mention bread?
Eventually
the night came to a close as Ella, Rony, and their close friend Karen drove us
back to Tel Aviv. Earlier in the evening, I wondered if Israelis had ever tried
to make their own cars to which Rony responded, “Once, but it did not go well.”
I finally arrived
back at good ole’ Pinsker Street. Karen dropped me off at about 1:30 am just in
front of an argument between a young man and woman; a couple in or around love.
I
don’t miss that, I thought to myself.
I thanked Karen
for the ride and made my way inside the apartment. The lights were dim and the
air conditioner in my room had been turned on. It was the only sign I wasn’t
alone, something I’d started to doubt the past two days.
I laid down
without bothering to change, exhausted at all I’d seen, heard, and learned — most for the
first time. After a few moments of trying to get comfortable I felt myself
start to drift away.
I
fell into a deep sleep.
My first in a
while.
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