Upon my return to Israel, I spent my first Shabbat at my nephew’s home in Kiryat Menachem, a charming suburb nestled in the hills of Jerusalem. The city’s growth was impossible to miss—there was a buzz about the expanding train services, and the cranes dotting the skyline hinted at the changes underway. Yet, Kiryat Menachem retained its unique charm, feeling like a “fifteen-minute city” where everything you need is just a short walk away. With its preserved green spaces, this older neighbourhood was perfect for a leisurely Shabbat stroll. We took full advantage, walking along the Shvil Yisrael (the Israel Trail) and soaking in the vibrant hues of Jerusalem’s spring flowers.
The kids, of course, were the highlight of the weekend. My seven-year-old nephew, Eitam, was incredibly excited to show off his Purim costume. He had chosen to be the Saba—a sweet, grandfatherly figure who hands out candy during Shabbat services in synagogues worldwide. Armed with his actual Saba’s cane and a bag of sweets from the local store, he took on the role with gusto. My eleven-year-old niece, Yehudit, wasn’t about to be outdone. She transformed into her teacher with a dress, purse, glasses, and even a wig. Watching her strut around the house, mimicking her teacher’s mannerisms, had us all in stitches.
The following Shabbat, I settled into my new home in the Katamon neighbourhood, a quintessential Jerusalem enclave. In this place, the buildings must be clad in the city’s signature pink Jerusalem stone, giving the streets a timeless, cohesive look. Lined with those distinctive pink stone garden fences, my street felt like something out of a storybook.
Moving into my snug apartment was like stepping into a new chapter of my life. The space is small but cozy, with an enclosed balcony that brings the outside in. That first Saturday afternoon, around 3 o’clock, I captured some photos of the place, which featured kids and their caregivers—women and men, all enjoying the peaceful Shabbat together.
One of my first neighbours, Joyce, who had just moved from Toronto to Israel, welcomed me with a delicious homemade challah that felt like a warm hug from home. Eager to explore more local flavours, I tried food from a nearby eatery that caters to the Shabbat crowd. The area is rich with synagogues, and I was particularly drawn to the Chabad House Synagogue, where I learned about their post-service lunch tradition.
Attending their Friday night services was an eye-opener. On my way home, I encountered a group of people standing in the middle of the road, deep in conversation. One of them recognized me—it was the broker who had recently sold her mother’s apartment to me. She invited me to join them for supper and lunch the next day. It was an unexpected moment that instantly connected you to a new place.
The next day, as I made my way to the synagogue, I passed by a schoolyard full of children playing—a heartwarming sight that reminded me of the universality of childhood. I found the adult service inside the synagogue and was pleasantly surprised to hear a woman giving the Sabbath talk in an Orthodox setting. At the Chabad kiddush after the service, I sat with two English-speaking women with deep ties to Jerusalem and Israel. One was visiting her in-laws, and the other was a divorced woman embarking on a new journey in our neighbourhood. As we talked, we discovered a shared history—we had all lived on Lake Street in White Plains, NY, during nearly the same period years ago. One of those “small world” moments made you smile and marvel at how interconnected our lives can be.
These connections, both new and old, are what made my first Shabbats in Jerusalem so special. There’s a warmth here, a sense of community that transcends time and distance, and I’m so grateful to be a part of it.