My last Shabbos in Jerusalem for the time being was so beyoootiful I can’t even find words. Davvening in a backyard filled with trees and flowers, bare feet in the earth, lots of people, a bat mitzvah girl leading with some startling choices of niggun, starting early with Kabbalat Shabbat and watching the sky slowly darken. Dinner at friends’, with lots of kids running around. Davenning in the morning on the Tayelet, more bat mitzvah, great glorious view of the Jerusalem and the Old City and picnicing afterwards with friends in the sunshine with this same glorious view. Having a profound and (yet still) metaphoric prayer experience staring at Dome of the Rock.
Two more finals. Packing now, lots of laundry.
I really don’t want to go. Frankly.
Tried to move my ticket ’till after Shavuot. It ain’t happening. So next thing is next.
Move wet laundry to drying rack so the sun can do some work on it tomorrow. Then, take myself up to one of the cafes here to study for tomorrow’s halakha test.
I have had Ofra Haza’s Shir HaFrecha in my head for the last few days. It’s a terrible translation–a frecha is like, a chickie who wears very tight jeans with heels, lotsa makeup, big ornate fake nails, that sort of thing. High, high femme of a very particular flavor. It’s a fabulous song, and I love that it’s really a shout-out for frecha pride. It makes me happy.