This year in Jerusalem

In the Old City, in March, the cobblestone streets are wet even though it hasn't exactly rained. We step both gingerly and quickly. It is Friday and the sun is setting. I am adamant that I will be at the Western Wall for Kabbalat Shabbat on my 30th birthday.

He and I have reached a comprimise, after all , it is my 30th birthday, not his. So we quickly wind our way from Jaffa Gate to the Western Wall. We are caught in a wave of ultra-Orthodox, soldiers, and tourists. My feet remember the path from my first trip to Jerusalem and I don't even have to look for signs. My bones know where the Western Wall is and I simply don't need directions.

Before we left the hotel, we wrote down our prayers. You must respect the laws of Shabbat and cannot write once you pass security. So we have our prayers in our pockets when we get to the plaza. From my purse, I pull a kippah out. "What? Why do you have that?" he asks.

"You think I'm letting you go in there with a paper kippah on?" He takes the blue and white knit kippah from me, we kiss and go into our seperated areas. I sneak between Russian Jews and Israelis and Americans and French and Australian Jews. I find a small area by the wall and touch it. I start with the Shecheyanu. A prayer of thanksgiving. "I'm back, God, and you took care of my prayers. I'm here with new prayers, I'm a demanding Jew, what can I say?"

This year I know to bring a small siddur and I open it, so I can properly say a few prayers. After I finish, I touch the wall again and slip my prayer into the cracks. I walk backwards, covered in goosebumps, past the dancing soldiers and yeshiva girls. Past the woman who passes out scarves for modesty.

When I get to the plaza, he's already there, but he forgot and left his kippah on. I smile. We kiss. We leave the wall and the Old City. We are in search of a non-Kosher restaurant where they light fires and brew fresh coffee. I know just the one, down the hill from Dan Panorama, I ate there on Shabbat last year.

After dinner, we go back to The Citadel. Yes, I know, I'm recreating my first trip to Israel, but this time I'm with him. On Saturday morning, I let him sleep in and I sneak down to the pool that overlooks the Old City. It is warm enough to swim and I have the pool to myself.

What a wonderful way to start my year of being 30! I'm in Israel, it is shabbat, I'm swimming in the most beautiful pool in the world. I'm grateful to be back after barely a year and that this time I'm traveling with him.

He comes onto the balcony and yells at me. "Coffee?" Yes! "I'm on my way." I wrap the huge towel of Egyptian cotton around me and sit at a table. He comes down, followed by a waiter. I drink my coffee while I dry in the Israeli sun on Shabbat. After I'm dry, I put my clothes over my bathing suit and we go to breakfast.

Of course I eat avocados. How can I skip them? I don't care that I'll break out tomorrow, they are too lovely and afterall, we are here together. The rest of the trip is a blur, but my birthday is etched in my mind forever. Our kids grow weary of hearing the story every time we go to Jerusalem, but it is one that will be passed to our grandchilren and their children.