In Jerusalem, even the snow is holy
I have only three reasons to wax nostalgic for Jerusalem: three magical days in 1992, when my children and I were trapped in frost.
Until a week ago, eight years after I left Jerusalem − a city with which I have been conducting a love-hate relationship for the past 40 years − whenever the weather forecast called for snow at elevations of 800 meters or higher, my heart was immediately flooded with longing and a sense of missed opportunity. I missed the sudden quiet that descends when the white flakes start to flutter from...
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