A Jerusalem Vignette

We had just finished saying our goodbyes to my visiting aunts. I sauntered out of the hotel, and as I exited, watched a couple emptying out of their vehicle. The man’s back faced me as he assisted his, I assumed, wife from the back seat, and upon his silver hair sat an obvious black kippah.

Observing more closely, I saw they were dressed in their Shabbas clothes — he in a suit of black with a white shirt and black tie; she in an elegant, floral pencil skirt with a long-sleeved blouse and possible sheitel — and probably returning from shul since Havdalah had passed. I also knew just on the other side of the hill stood one of the major, local synagogues, and we were near the Overland Park eruv.

Without hesitation, passing them by, I greeted, “Shavua tov!”

The man abruptly turned around, a look of surprise on his serene face, and before he even found me, echoed, “Shavua tov!”

I watched from my peripherals as his wife asked him a question, presumably about why he unexpectedly wished someone to have a good week. Seems appropriate she would be shocked since not only were they no longer at shul, but I don’t live in Borough Park. I also had already changed out of my Shabbas clothes, so my lack of traditional appearance did not suggest they were still in friendly territory.

Speaking in what I possibly, hopefully heard to be Israeli Hebrew, the man explained to her as they entered the hotel, gesturing to me as I continued on my way. I offered proof for this husband’s tale as I turned back and waved with a genuine smile spread across my face. A part of me wanted to stay and schmooze, but my mother needed to get home to bed herself.

As we left, though, my heart soared.

I mused and delighted over that brief interlude only to realise the lingering joy I felt came from a memory: the memory of being in a place where as you walked down the ancient cobblestone streets, awash with the dimly glowing yellow streetlamps, people freely greet you with the same heartfelt wishes.

It reminded me of Jerusalem.

And for that precious moment, I was transported back. I was home.