By JanetheWriter
In an earlier post on this blog, I wrote that I love to read the wedding announcements in the Sunday New York Times.  I also read the obituaries--almost daily--and am repeatedly amazed by the fascinating array of people portrayed and the interesting lives they led.

Avraham Biran, the biblical archeologist who excavated layers and layers of Tel Dan was just such a person.  His obituary in this week's paper, more than weaving the tale of a fascinating man and his life, released a flood of memories of my first visit to Israel, which included a quick stop at the site of the excavation.

Each of these remembrances, from the oily grit of the tarmac on my fingertips at the old Ben Gurion Airport to the wonderfully chewy bread from a roadside bakery on Raziel Street in Jaffa--my first meal in Israel--holds a special place in my heart.  That whirlwind week--from Tel Aviv to the Golan, Kfar Blum to Netanya, Caesaria to Jerusalem--took me to emotional highs:  salty Mediterranean sea spray, the Haas Promenade and the Old City, and to deep sadness embodied in the flashing blue light atop a lone police car parked where, hours earlier, 11 innocent people had died and more than 50 had been injured in a rush hour suicide bus bombing in Rehavia.

Although we are months away from our annual springtime recitation of "Next year in Jerusalem," Avraham Biran's obituary refreshed my memories and my desire to be there again.  Tonight, even as the soulful strains of Kol Nidre echo around us, let us remember Jerusalem and pray for her peace in 5769.

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