This post is the twelfth in a series about 25 years living in Israel.
Since I met my husband, nearly every year we have celebrated Pesach outside of Jerusalem. That is ironic, because the Haggadah, the ‘liturgy’ for the first night of Pesach, the Seder night, assumes that one hopes and aspires to be in Jerusalem ‘next year’. After all, already in the Torah the Israelites were commanded to be in Jerusalem for the three pilgrim festivals: Pesach, the Feast of Weeks and the Feast of Booths or Tabernacles.
But our good friends live in the Galilee, and it is a pleasure to join them for the Seder.
I love to be in the Galilee. I love the rolling landscape, the oak woods, the green and the flowers in this time of the year. But every time I get back to Jerusalem I know that is were I belong.