Goodbye Wall

With this posting the last post that you presently see when you scroll to the bottom will be replaced by the one above it. This happens every time a new post appears. But this time it'll shake me up because the bottom post is presently the post I wrote before leaving Israel.

It was two weeks ago tomorrow. I called the cab for noon. The flight was 4:30 PM. It had been changed from 8 AM. I appreciated the extra hours in the holiest place on earth. But I didn't want to push it. So I planned to leave with plenty of spare time.

I went to my favorite morning minyan. A man named Efrayim Caspi runs a beautiful davening daily at 7AM. He leads three minyanim a day there. He owns his own special Torah. He also owns scrolls of all the books that are publicly read like Eichah. He wears white pants and sneakers and a knitted kippah. He looks like he's 60 something. The minyan is slow and orderly. At the end there were special Tehllim recited, plus a daily Mishnah, plus daily Tehillim. Mr. Caspi strikes me as a refined and holy person.

I had a nice little chat with him the day I left. It put a closure on my memories of him, which included going through security with him and his Haftorah scroll at minchah time on Tisha B'Av ("Hoo Iti," he told the guard as we walked through, unchecked), having him assist me in getting a pair of Tefillin on the day I took my knapsack without my Tefillin), and having him point out to me a man that I didn't have to but that he felt was appropriate to give tzedakah to (the man who lent me the tefillin).

After minyan I lingered. It was one of the only days that I stood close against The Wall. I prayed to G-d at that holy place, knowing I'd soon have to travel 6000 miles for the zechut. Soon I had my last Bonkers bagel with cream cheese (a shmear that some consider criminally expensive, but not me) and got one with tuna for my airport lunch.

Then I finished packing while Danny Sanderson played from my laptop. I wanted to write a long piece for the blog. I wanted answers. I always do. I didn't reach that point. I was rushed and sat for a few minutes. A short poem that disappointed me was birthed. I posted it and headed out to the cab.

A saintly man, who's name I didn't get, appeared as from no-where and helped me with my bags. There are no streets in the Jewish Quarter, so we schlepped my book heavy bags to the parking lot. On the way I heard my name called. It was a colleague/friend. I explained that I was rushing to the cab. "Time for a quick hug?" he asked. Yes. Then I caught up with my assistant. The waiting driver greeted me cheerfully (my experience with cab drivers was quite positive) and off we went.

I got through security with no problem. I had been very worried about the weight of my suitcases, but apparently they were fine. I had a carry on and a knapsack and no-one seemed to mind. The handbag weighed about ten times more than the minimum, but they didn't weigh it. I found a wonderful little record store that was actually reasonably priced and loaded up.

The waiting area was empty. I ate may tuna, said some phone goodbyes, and boarded the plane. I liked my seat, in the very last row. I had forgotten to call for the very kosher meal, but my travel agent took care of that. Soon we were in the air and I was eating my Bedatz meatpie. My seat mate was pleasant and interesting (see second paragraph here). The flight was smooth.

It was a comfortable and easy exit - too easy. Just as I will soon press publish and the last words of my recent trip will disappear, so too I packed and rode and flew, and five and a half weeks all but blinked away forever. All but.