Jerusalem 2025

Baruch Dayan Amet. After a yearlong battle with lung cancer, my dad passed away at the age of 82, on August 23 right before Shabbat sunrise. We buried him the same night, under the beautiful Jerusalem sky. We had planned to come to Jerusalem in March 2023 for my dad’s 80^th birthday (had the tickets and all) but my own diagnosis canceled those plans. We booked the flight for May 2025, but the airline canceled it because of a Houthi rocket that landed near Ben Gurion Airport. Unexpectedly, we found ourselves on a fairytale trip to Europe, spending 5 nights in Dublin and 5 nights in Vienna. This time we made it and thankfully, on time.  

Things with my dad’s health went downhill steep and fast. It was a long road for us. A five-hour drive to Newark where they delayed our plane for an hour and a half because there was too much traffic for the takeoff. About nine hours later we landed in Vienna. They delayed our plane for an hour because there was too much traffic for landing in Israel. After about three and a half hours we landed in Ben Gurion. Initially, we had planned to go to my mother-in-law’s who lives in Petah Tikvah–much closer to the airport–but I felt that time was of essence. So, we drove to Jerusalem for another hour and half, 28 hours total without sleep. My dad was still conscious, he recognized us. We brought the jacket he wanted to see (he left it in State College on my parents’ last visit, three years ago). He asked if the pin with Penn State symbols was still in the pocket. We had never checked it; I inserted my hand and found the pin. That was Thursday evening. We drove to Petah Tikvah to come back Friday morning. It was a long, 34 hours day for us.

My husband found a beautiful Airbnb in Ramot, not far from my parents’ apartment. The street is green and peaceful, palm trees neighboring pine trees and the maples (a southern kind), with cactus trees of different shapes adorning the stairs that connect the streets. Jerusalem is a city on hills; the streets are circling the sides of the hills and are connected by the passages made of the same beautiful white stone as most of the city.

Saturday felt a bit surreal. My mom called from the hospital at 5:30am. My dad was gone. We went to the hospital, picked up some paperwork and took my mom home. We went back to our place and had a few more hours of sleep. Went back to my mom’s and had some fine Scotch with the best Viennese chocolates. An amazing social worker at my parents’ place called the Kadisha services on Saturday evening, around 9pm and set the funeral for 11:30 pm of the same day, per Jewish tradition. She even went with us to the cemetery. Nice and considerate ultra-orthodox men performed the burial. My husband read Kaddish three times. We returned to my mom’s after midnight and had some more Scotch and more Viennese chocolates. I’m pretty sure my dad would have approved. He always had a particular appreciation for life’s joys and pleasures.

We held Shivah at my parents’ building’s club at 4pm on Sunday. It was peaceful; some people could come, mainly my parents’ neighbors, and others planned to come later in the week. We have been enveloped in love and support of dear friends and family, near and far for which we are so grateful. On Monday, I felt I spent too much time in the recent days inside cars, planes and buildings and really wanted to be around trees. We went for a walk in Jerusalem Botanical Garden and had lunch at the restaurant where we held our chuppah all these years ago. The restaurant terrace overlooks a pond that is now filled with ginormous lotus flowers, the size I had never seen before. I raised a glass of limonana (a lemonade with mint) to my dad and immediately five swallows appeared high in the sky. I looked at the phone and the time was 3:03 pm. My dad’s birthday is March 3rd.

On Tuesday we went to the Old City and the Kotel. We are no tourists in this place. I spent a decade of my life here, my entire twenties. I took this route countless times: from the Jaffa Gate, through the Armenian quarter to the Jewish Quarter, downstairs to the Wall. It’s been twelve years since I touched these stones. Everything has changed and yet, nothing has changed. On Wednesday we went to the center of the city to walk on the streets we used to love so much. The weather was perfect, no sign of the heat wave of the previous weeks. White stones, green trees, purple and blue flowers creeping on the walls, pomegranates hanging from the trees. On Thursday we ordered a tombstone, an elegant white stone (here they call it the Jerusalem stone or Hebron stone) with letters made of the same stone. Per Israeli habits, the man asked about us, where we live and what we do. When the tombstone was installed the following Tuesday and we came back to his office, I said I don’t wish him to not have any clients, but I wish the clients would be 97 years old or older. He smiled and right before we left said to me: “Continue to teach! This is the most important thing!” Yes, sir. This is the intent.

There is a special saying in Hebrew for condolences that translates as “May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem”. The meaning of it is a parallel between the personal and collective sorrow of the Jewish people. The Hebrew version of the phrase has the word “place” in it. I can attest to the fact that the place is soothing and comforting us. As if Jerusalem was expecting us, opened her arms and embraced us. Right now, for many people inside and outside the country, it is a symbol of tension, conflict and war. But it doesn’t have to be. Several years ago, commenting on the future of the Middle East in his opinion piece in NYT, Thomas Friedman wrote that there are two choices in this region: to bury the future for the sake of the past or to bury the past for the sake of the future. He meant the neighboring countries but the same feels relevant for Israel itself. May my dad rest in peace; may this place find peace; may this place choose future.