Last Monday I returned from a fourteen-day journey to Jerusalem. The life I lived in those fourteen days is fresh in my heart and my mind. So fresh that the story is not quite word ready. But I’ll tell you this:
Jerusalem is a stunning and hard-edged city that shimmers glorious pink at sunset. I spent a part of each day with a man and woman, the elderly parents of the man who shares my life. They told seventy-year-old stories about fear, war and scarcity. I learned there was a time when a man risked taking a bullet to the head by hiding under blankets to avoid taking a shower. And I was given the family recipe for buttermilk cake (a true and honored right of passage.)
I walked through alleys and breathed air thick with the energy of generations of souls. The best briny olives were offered with every meal and twice, on the way home from Tel Aviv, I savored sweet and spicy hummus in Abu Ghosh.
As the light changed throughout the day so did the golden dome. Sharp and bright one moment. Gently burnished in another.
That was my journey, too. Sharp and bright, soft and burnished.
So many moments to hold.
You can see a few of these moments here.