Salvation

He was quite persuasive, plus it was a paid trip to Eretz Yisrael. How could we say no?

And so, after receiving instructions from our rav — not to spend too much time alone together and that Yaakov should keep a steady morning seder — we were off. We arrived Tuesday evening, slept off the jetlag, and spent Wednesday catching up with friends and family. Yaakov made sure to stick to his seder, my father enthusiastically approved of my choice in chassanim, and it seemed to me that life couldn’t get better. By the time Thursday rolled around, we were overdue for a trip to the Kosel Hamaaravi.

Yaakov headed off to learn, I went to meet a friend by the Bell Tower on Rechov Yaffo, and we made up to meet afterward at the corner of King George and Yaffo to catch a bus to the Old City.

It was the summer of 2001, and the Second Intifada was in full swing, but we were too high on life to tap into the fear. As I hugged my friend goodbye after our coffee date, I remarked, “I know they say it’s a war zone here, but I really don’t feel it.”