As a young girl, I always dreamed of making Yerushalayim my home. There was always a deep sense of pride in knowing that this was our land, our heritage, and that someday I would have the privilege of living in the very place that has shaped our history. A land where our eternal connection to our roots runs deep. I envisioned the golden glow of its stone buildings at sunset, the hum of Torah learning filling the air, and the deep sense of belonging that comes with living in the heart of klal Yisrael. But while the dream was vivid, the reality took a little longer to materialize.
The wait for my other half was longer than many of my friends, but eventually, our paths crossed, and the dream began to unfold. Just weeks after our wedding, despite the uncertainty and unease surrounding the ongoing war, we boarded an El Al plane, hearts brimming with anticipation and trepidation. My husband dove straight into kollel life, adapting with ease. I, on the other hand, faced the bumpy—and sometimes overwhelming—road of adjustment.
Back in London, I had been an established teacher, a firm fixture in my school, surrounded by colleagues and students who knew me well. In Yerushalayim, I was just another newcomer in a city teeming with young couples, many of whom had already built their careers and their growing families. Meanwhile, I was starting from scratch in a highly competitive job market.
The kitchen, too, was a foreign territory for me. Cooking daily meals, once an occasional activity, was now a non-negotiable part of my routine. There was no option to pop over to my parents for an uninvited meal or to casually raid my mother’s fridge for a comforting taste of home. Grocery shopping required a crash course in decoding unfamiliar brands and products, each aisle presenting a new challenge.
Adjusting to apartment living was another adventure of its own. Gone were the spacious hallways and extra storage closets of my childhood home. Instead, I found myself playing a never-ending game of Tetris, trying to fit an entire life’s worth of belongings into a space that could generously be described as “cozy.” Every nook and cranny became prime real estate. Privacy took on a new meaning, as I quickly got acquainted with my neighbors—sometimes involuntarily, due to the close quarters of our apartments. The sounds of life, laughter and the occasional heated debate drifting through the hallways, serve as a constant reminder that I am never truly alone.
When it comes to public transportation—let’s just say Yerushalayim’s buses and taxis are not for the faint of heart. The reckless driving, overcrowding and sheer volume of people squeezing into a single space—it’s like the modern-day version of the miracle in the Beit HaMikdash, where everyone fits, despite the seemingly limited space.
Yerushalayim has a heartbeat that never stops, pulsing with an almost otherworldly energy. Everywhere you go, construction cranes loom overhead, new buildings rise—a constant reminder that the city is ever-expanding. Yet, for all its hustle and bustle, the city undergoes a magical transformation every Erev Shabbos. The frantic rush to complete last-minute errands, the blaring of horns in jam-packed streets—everything pauses when the Shabbos siren sounds. In an instant, Yerushalayim exhales, releasing its pent-up energy of a week filled with movement, noise and ceaseless activity. The city is cloaked in a serene, almost mystical aura. The streets, once alive with the roar of traffic and hurried footsteps, now echo with the soft, reverent rhythm of people walking to shul. The air itself seems to breathe out the distinct tranquility of Shabbos.
Walking through Yerushalayim is like stepping between multiple worlds within a single city. A short stroll from the charming chaos of Geula leads to the more refined chutznik-flavored atmosphere of Ramat Eshkol, where English-speaking olim have carved out a thriving community. Each neighborhood has its own personality, yet they are all united by the rich mosaic of the eternal city.
One of the greatest luxuries I now experience is living so close to such special, sacred places. The Kotel, just a stone’s throw away, reverberates with the echoes of centuries of prayer and longing. A quick bus ride takes me to Kever Rochel, where the earth itself seems to hum with the timeless whispers of our matriarch’s tears. Here, the pulse of history and heritage reverberates just outside my door. I hope I never take for granted the zechut of living in the Holy City.
And then there’s the most comforting part: Wherever you go, you’re surrounded by Yidden. It’s a sight that never grows old—people of all stripes, backgrounds and stories, each drawn to this cherished and hallowed place, each adding their unique thread to the intricate tapestry of Yerushalayim.
In contrast to the uptick in antisemitic attacks in the Diaspora, where I’ve occasionally felt the sting of a glare or discomfort in public areas as a Jew, here I feel a profound sense of security. I can walk openly with Jewish pride, knowing that I’m in a place where my identity is not only accepted but celebrated.
Settling in Yerushalayim has been an adventure—a story of challenges, growth and unexpected joys. This city demands resilience, but for those who embrace it, the rewards are immeasurable. My journey here is still unfolding, but one thing is clear: This dream-turned-reality is far richer, far more meaningful, than I ever imagined.
