Eyes of Yidden. All kinds in different bodies dress and garb from all walks of life yet saying wanting the same thing.

One is covered with only the eyes showing. One only wears black another only white. Men in royal gold stripes. All running — walking actually it’s Shabbos — the same race: Who can be the closest to Hashem?

Now there are distractions at least during the week as Geula is probably the busiest section of Jerusalem. At any one moment 100 people can be crossing at the four-way intersection.

A popular saying is “If you can’t find it in Geula then you don’t need it.”

So how is it then that thousands of drumming talking running people suddenly disappear from these now empty wide and glowing streets?

Even roosters can be heard crowing.

A chassan is escorted to shul with the kehillah singing behind him.

Young children sit in the halls of the buildings singing Shabbos songs.

I keep remembering the story about someone who advised a particular king “Try to make your kingdom stop working once a week. Close all their shops and doors. Dress in fine garments and clean till it sparkles.”

I don’t know exactly how the story ends but I know it didn’t work.

But here in Geula it works.

It’s something. The light that shines through the quiet streets is heavenly.

The taste of the food is different.

We the women sit in the small kitchen.

The men are in the living room.

What innocent fun we have. Like children we freely laugh and joke. Share stories of life struggles and victories.

The grandmother made a cabbage-wrapped kishke placed in the cholent. One of my children has always asked me why I don’t try different recipes. I always say it’s because I haven’t tasted anything worth the effort. But now I have.

Each time I compliment they reply that it is all in our combined merit. Then I hesitate to compliment instead I say “I’d love to say how unbelievable this chicken is but then I’d be complimenting myself.”

It takes a second till they get it. We all laugh together as if countries and centuries have never separated us.

Here I am in the place I always dreamed of tasting in the Heavenly city with the heilege people sitting in a tiny kitchen with ten women.

And what is the beauty of it all?

It’s fun. And warm. And accepting. And more than anything else the most amazing part is that it feels like home.

We speak in Hebrew though their native language is Yiddish and mine is English. We all apologize for our linguistic imperfections. But it all sounds perfect to me.

How could this be? A person comes from across the world across cultures comes to a home in the center of the universe sits down in another language and feels at home. Feels like family.

It’s in the eyes those windows into our hearts that show our love for another Jew.

I was once listening to a rabbi speak about love for other Jews how even if you hate another Jew you have to love him in your heart.

We walk into shul packed with black-scarved ladies. I take a seat in the back until I am escorted to the front. “You are our guest” they say.

I daven my usual davening trying not to be influenced by how much everyone else sways.

I am introduced to the bubby the aunt the seven other aunts and their children grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

At the kiddush they make sure I eat and drink.

Wow. We’re really here. We have won the race the race for Heaven. I saw it with my own eyes.

Shabbos in Geula.