A couple of weeks ago I had one of those days where circumstances bring about epiphanies from the ordinary.

My cell phone’s batteries, unbeknownst to me, didn’t get charged properly even though I dutifully plugged the charger in before going to sleep. In the morning, I plucked the phone out of the charger on my way to the car and, blissfully unaware of impending crisis,  drove to Ramat Gan to spend time with my oldest daughter and her baby.

I was meeting Gershon at a restaurant later in the day before joining friends to go to a movie. Which restaurant? What time? We hadn’t finalized either choice. Why bother when we could talk later on the cell phone?

I parked my car outside Hana’s apartment and used my cell phone to call the automated parking payment provider I use.  I could only pay for 2 hours of parking at a time but, hey, no problem! I’d call again in two hours to renew the process.

Two hours later my older granddaughter came home from daycare to excitedly see her first bicycle. It was her afikoman gift and I’d brought it so we could take it out for the first time.

We all trooped downstairs but when I went to call and renew my parking – whew! good thing we came down in time because we saw the meter guy checking a few cars up from mine – uh oh! no phone batteries.

Yikes!

I called Gershon who promised to call the automated parking place to rescue my car from danger and we made up to meet at 6 at Aroma in the shuk. Okay. All’s well that ends well.

Or not.

I told the meter guy what had happened and that my husband would take care of it.  One crisis averted.

It turns out that learning to pedal a bicycle isn’t as easy as it might be but Yarden loved the bike anyway. All pink and sparkly as she likes everything to be.

We parted ways. I got to my eye doctor appointment in Jerusalem. Finished in time. Got to Aroma in the shuk. No Gershon. 6 o’clock passed. 6:15 and 6:30 passed, too. Ordinarily I’d call to see what was up and make new plans if these didn’t work. Hmm.

And then I saw a familiar face. A woman. Smiling. Waving. At me.

Took a minute but it dawned on me that it was Michal – a woman who lives a few streets over from me. She teaches nature classes to the children in my community. I hardly ever see her now that all our children are grown and have moved away. I heard, though, that she and her husband, a nature guide,  just got back from a month in India.

I could feel a nice, warm feeling spread through my heart. I’d always liked Michal.

We hugged and chatted and then I told her what was going on.

“Why not call him on my phone”,  she asked.

Saved!

So I called Gershon on her phone…but he didn’t answer. We decided she’d send him a text message and laughed that neither of us was sure what we’d sent since we didn’t have our reading glasses on. Wow! She’s alot younger than I am. I’d always thought of her as such a young person. Reading glasses indeed!

As we parted I began to think about living in the same community for 30 years. In my days of wandering from the Bay Area to Orange Country to Sonoma to San Antonio to Madison – and moving from apartment to apartment in each of those places – I sure never thought I’d live in one place for 5 years, much less 30.

For the past 30 years I’ve lived in a small, religious community in Israel. All of that is a bit foreign to me. Small. Religious. Israel. And I’ve certainly had my issues with it all at one time or another.

Small means everybody thinks they know everybody’s business…and how it should be best conducted. Monkey chatter out loud – or almost out loud – in the background all the time.

Religious equals rules, rituals and, for me, rebellion.

Israel’s an amazing, beautiful, intense place and, more than that, it’s Home, but it also means a foreign culture, a foreign language and all those foreigners!

Needless to say, I’ve had my ups and downs with my community. Many, MANY times I’d have moved away if Gershon hadn’t been so connected to the community and intransigent about moving.

But as I watched Michal walk off I realized something about long term relationships.

If you can endure them, the ups and downs, the irritations and frustrations, the anger and hurt, the rub of too small and the sloppy discomfort of too big, they endear themselves to your heart, making a place that’s warm, familiar, comforting and safe.

There are 650 families in my community. About 100 of them have spent the last 30 years with mine. They’ve known me in all my metamorphoses. They’ve watched my children grow up as I’ve watched theirs. There were times when mydifferences from them chafed – them and me.

Some of my children still feel resentment toward our community about the gossip that accompanied their childhood and the cultural differences from the home they grew up in. None of them have chosen to raise their families here.

But for me – I think my relationship with my community is like my relationship with my husband. We’ve been together 37 years. (who even does that anymore?) More than once “we’ve called it everything but quits”. I look around at all the people who don’t make it past the inevitable crises of marriage and feel alot of gratitude that we made it to this place – this peak of the mountain – where we have that lofty perspective of a lifetime of companionship.

Hana and Archie were together for quite awhile before they decided to get married. She asked me a few times how you KNOW when he’s the right person and it’s the right time. I gave her that annoying answer we give – “When it’s right, you’ll know.” And she did.

The beauty of a long term relationship is like that. You don’t know how worth it it is until you get there.

A community. A partner. A friend.

Enduring equals endearing.