Oneg Shabbat

Today has been a little weird.

I am not hosting the meal tonight but still had to cook a couple of dishes. No problem except that in my usual fashion I had left the purchasing of certain vital ingredients until this morning and then I didn't feel well enough to go out.

After a while I began to feel better. Luckily as I was about to go out my Dad came round, delivered the lemons I needed and gave me a lift up the hill to the shops.
By this time it was 10:30 and I had to be home by 11:40 for the children.

I had good luck in finding the birthday present I needed pretty quickly. Then I walked to our small shopping centre keeping my eyes alert for any sign of the children as they walk through the centre on their way home.

Nearly forgot one vital ingredient in the supermarket but remembered at the last minute and got out of there quickly as my efficient friend was working the till and when she is around the queue moves fast.

Then to the greengrocer who also had just what I needed and finally to the cafe where they sell the eggs. Lucky again - I bought the last tray of eggs.

I arrived home and began to cook. The children turned up after about 10 minutes and as I was putting the quiche in the oven, my husband walked through the door.

He was home earlier than usual because today was the azcara (yahrzeit or memorial day) for his paternal grandmother.

He helped the children practice on their musical instruments to keep them occupied and out of the kitchen while I made a chocolate mousse and then, while they tidied up, I finished off the tabouleh. I have been a little cautious about making tabouleh recently as the quick couscous often becomes lumpy and tasteless. Today I added the seasoning first, with lots of fresh lemon juice and olive oil. When that tasted good and the couscous was well separated, I added the chopped mint, and finally the tomato and cucumber. According to my husband, this house's expert taster, it is delicious!

I changed quickly and we left for the cemetery. We travelled the road through the Arab villages, Kfar Yassif, Yarka etc. The traffic was heavy and when we got to the junction the traffic coming from the direction of Akko was blocked solid for more than a kilometre. We phoned to warn my in-laws but luckily it was a problem traffic light, which was at that moment being sorted out. The traffic dissipated quite quickly so no one was delayed.

The original Akko cemetery, like the one in Nahariya, is next to the sea on what used to be the edge of town. When they ran out of space a new local cemetery was created far out of town, along the road to Carmiel. It is impossible to reach without a car as there is no public transport and there is a steep walk uphill from the main road. However, it does have a lovely view across the fields to Haifa.

In some cities the Chevrat Kadisha (burial society) makes a lot of fuss about anything non-Hebrew on gravestones. In Akko I think they have given into the inevitable: Along with the Hebrew there was plenty of Russian as well as a smattering of English and Amharic (Ethiopian).

Next to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather there was a grave with a chessboard etched into the covering slab and there were several graves where the corner of cover slab and been cut away and flowers planted beneath so they poked through - pretty if a little creepy.

One grave had been turned into a rock garden. There was no flat covering stone. Instead there was a mountain-shaped chunk of rock, roughly carved on one side and 'terraced' on the other. The 'terraced' side was covered in smooth stones and nestled in the stones were small pots of hardy but colourful plants. It was quite beautiful.

After paying a quick visit to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather, the relatives arrived. There were the hugs and hellos, then we made our way to the grave of my husband paternal grandmother and my father-in-law read the appropriate prayers followed by a few moments of reflection.

Then we washed our hands and ate some cake.

As we got in the car and drove home the sky was already starting to darken even though it was only 3:30pm.

We drove past Regba, which is between Akko and Nahariya, and maybe I subconsciously recognised her but my eye was caught by a young woman at the bus stop trying to hitch a lift. At that time of a Friday afternoon there are still plenty of cars but no buses or taxis.

A glance at her long sleeves and long skirt told me she was religious. She was definitely cutting it fine to get home in time for Shabbat. I almost told my husband to stop for her but we would have had to pull across three lanes of heavy traffic. Instead she got a ride with someone who took her to the main junction into Nahariya.

She immediately started trying to hitch another lift from the drivers stopped at the red light. Again, she attracted my notice and when she caught my eye she asked if we could take her to Shlomi. Of course! I immediately called her over and her face lit up with relief.

As she settled into her seat she thanked us profusely. My husband remarked on the lateness of the hour and the fact that Shabbat came in at 4:15pm. She replied that she had though she had until 4:15 pm but her mother had just phoned in a panic because Shabbat started at 4:05 pm. Either way she had been worried she would be stranded somewhere in Nahariya.

My husband drove along at his usual smart clip and we chatted with our pleasant hitchhiker. Shlomi being so small it was no problem driving her to her doorstep and we left her there at 4:01 pm.

It was a pleasing way to start the Shabbat.