Babette

Having managed to sleep in the 38 square inches allotted to me by Delta Airlines and having my luggage wondrously find its way more or less unscathed, I am once again reminded that Israel is a land of faith and miracles. Today marks the arrival of the Pope. Although I am someone intrigued to discover the impact of his (is that a capital “h”?) arrival is this already profoundly over relgiousized and politicized city, my single greatest concern is the impact of the visit on Jerusalem’s overcrowded narrow streets and the near psychotic drivers who inhabit them.

It is 3:30 am on the night/morning of my first full day in Israel and I have already witnessed one of the small and unpublicized miracles that make Jerusalem the Holy City and Israel the Holy Land.

It takes a special kind of masochist to choose to confine oneself to an overstuffed moving chamber after spending 11 hours and 22 minutes on the flight to Israel but that is what I chose to do. There were 8 of us in the sheruth to Jerusalem and I found myself tightly wedged between one of the four black hats in the minivan on my right and a slight young and profoundly non-Jewish looking woman on my left who, based on my keen understanding of culture and anthropology, along with her sandals and socks, had to be from Europe. Being fully intimidated by my neighbor to the right (both geographically and religiously) I struck up a conversation with Babette from Amsterdam. Here is what I learned:

Several months ago, Babette came to Israel to be with an young man she had met in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, when she arrived she discovered, to her dismay, that the prospective Israeli suitor was already engaged. She found herself alone, a stranger in a strange land.

But, she said that she was curiously drawn to this ancient city and instead of falling in love a young man, she fell in love with Jerusalem. She found herself spending almost every Friday night at the Kotel mesmerized by its energy. And so she stayed. She found herself feeling like an Israeli and doing all the things an Israeli might do including getting in an auto accident. So she travelled home to Holland where she discovered that, rather than getting engaged in Israel, she had gotten a concussion.

But while back home in Amsterdam, she uncovered something remarkable; her grandmother’s sister was Jewish. Based on this discovery, she is uncovering what she believes is her own Jewishness. A trail of documents, dating back to the Holocaust, seems to have confirmed her personal revelation. It has made her understand that, perhaps, in travelling to Jerusalem, she has truly come home.

So she plans on staying. She has no work but seems unconcerned. She is ready to begin the process of Aliyah but she has no idea how to proceed. I told her about Nefish b-Nefish. As it turns out, our Sheruth neighbor to the right is the Chabad Rabbi of Salt Lake City and he gave her the name of a woman’s yeshiva that would welcome her in. The sheruth stopped on King George Street, Babette squeezed down the aisle and disappeared into the Jerusalem evening.

It is 4:09 am. The imam is calling the faithful to prayer. The Pope will soon arrive. The Kotel will swell with Shaharit. It will soon be dawn of another day in Jerusalem.