How do we mourn over 700 murdered Israelis? One by one, story by story. If you can only hold one or two photos in your mind, take this one to symbolise the utter barbarism of the Hamas attack on Israeli civilians.

This entire family was wiped out by Hamas terrorists who attacked their home on kibbutz Nir Oz. Mother Tamari, father Jonathan and three young children: 6 year-old twins Shahar and Arbel and 4 year-old Omer cut down in cold blood just because they were Israelis.

And like them hundreds more Israelis. They were not "collateral damage" in a strike on a military target, they were the target, the object of this Hamas attack was the wholesale massacre of Israeli civilians.

New fruit

Sukkot is known as the holiday of joy, referred to in the Bible simply by the Hebrew name "haag", which just means "holiday". One of the ways many people traditionally enhance the enjoyment of meals on Sukkot is by adding new fruits over which one can say the blessing on new things. It can be a new fruit that you've never had or just a new fruit of the season, but it symbolises happiness and blessing, especially on this harvest festival.

Part of the joy of Sukkot is also to host in one's sukkah hut, hospitality is a huge aspect of the holiday, there is even a mystical tradition of "ushpizin", "guests" from biblical tradition, one of whom is said to visit the sukkah on each night of the holiday - Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, David. This custom is there to highlight the importance of hosting - including new guests in one's holiday celebration each day if possible, widening the circle of joy and hospitality even during a week when we symbolically leave our homes and camp out in a makeshift hut in the garden or balcony or in homes with neither maybe in the street or building parking area. "Hosting" new fruits feeds in to this concept, enhancing holiday joy, welcoming new guests. :-) I am a sucker for new fruits. I'm like a magpie when I hear about a farmer who's working with a well known local agricultural research centre trying new fruits that will grow well in our climate and soil, fruits from around the world that may be hardier in low water conditions or flourish with recycled water or in extreme heat or sandy soil - all sorts of projects to diversify what is grown in our region. So there are all kinds of farm growing small trial quantities of fruits that many of us have never seen or heard of before. Sometimes they succeed and that fruit becomes a commercial success, grown in large quantities and sold widely in markets and supermarkets, sometimes it remains a niche acquired taste or too delicate to mass market and you just have to know where to look for it at certain farm markets or certain online produce sellers or market stalls who work with these growers. So this Sukkot dinner our "new fruit guests" included ambarella fruit, about which I'm still making up my mind, though certainly different and peanut butter fruit, which is, well, a small reddish fruit that tastes uncannily like peanut butter, everyone really liked it for the surprising flavour, the fruit's appearance and texture gave no hint of what to expect, so much fun!

The caring of doing

Our community has been reeling from the tragic loss of a young boy from a very rare cancer. On Friday hundreds, maybe more, turned out to his funeral on a glorious spring day, flocks of migrating storks, pelicans and kites high above escorting him on his final journey. His parents are some of the most dignified and noble people, turning this heartbreaking occasion in to a celebration of a short but beautiful life. So much laughter through the tears.

We came home smelling of rosemary, pine and cypress, common native species planted at cemeteries here to offer comforting, pleasant fragrances. I just wanted to mask those scents though with something strong and life affirming.

I guess cooking itself is a life affirming activity and it was good to be together in the kitchen, even if we were throwing together our Shabbat meal on autopilot. DH made a chulent with kishke from the freezer seasoned with half a jar of tandoori paste he found in the fridge and a copious amount of fresh spring garlic from the garden.

I grabbed some chicken drumsticks from the freezer and turned them in to a riff on doro wat, subbing potato chunks for the boiled eggs as we were out of eggs, inhaling the warm vibrant fragrance of the berbere seasoning mix and the coconut oil based (non-dairy) niter kibbeh blend. Put some aside in the freezer to take to the mourners later in the week.

DH put up a pot of basmati to go with the saucy stew and warmed a pot of vegetable rich turkey neck soup from the freezer with extra to take over to a family who's mother has just had major surgery. Found tinned pumpkin puree and condensed (non-dairy) coconut cream this week, so also threw together a couple of quick pumpkin pies to take round as well.

Even when you feel totally drained Friday is Friday and there are Shabbat meals to prepare and errands to be done. The immediate family the mourners, they are the only ones who step back, take a week out of time to focus on their grief and loss. The rest of the community keeps up the rhythm of life for them, tries to offer consolation just by being there. I don't think that anyone knows how to comfort a family facing such a loss, the doing is there perhaps to give the wider community a way to care when there are no words.

Swallows and swifts

The Twins stood for quite some time motionless among the tall meadows of wild mustard and barley, transfixed by the aerial display above, around and in front of them.

Throngs of scimitar winged swallows and alpine swifts wheeled and darted through the air beneath overcast skies. Were they busy hunting flying insects on the wing or playing an immense game of tag? Or maybe both?

It was a thrilling spectacle of nature that no one else seemed to have noticed: cars, bikes and runners going by on the pavement below this hillside island of nature, the occasional dog walker strolling along a nearby trail, eyes down, oblivious.

The Twins thought it one of the most incredible sights they had ever seen as the stunningly agile birds swooped so close to us we could feel their wings rushing by our faces and a couple of times their tiny clawed feet came close enough to barely brush my head.

The swallows kept close to the tops of the vegetation, the swifts preferred to be slightly higher up, but both were low enough that we could make out the texture of their beautiful plumage, variations of colour, the subtle differences between the shape of the swifts and the swallows, the details of their tiny faces. So intent were they on the aerial chase they didn't seem to mind the three humans standing there in the meadow.

Twin Q was fascinated, studying the avian airshow, loving every time they banked and turned with effortless grace, the way the long tails of the swallows billowed out like streamers.

"Look Imma, I can see the red on the swallows' faces and their little beaks, how bright and shiny their colours are. The swifts have more boring colours but they fly faster."

Twin H was practically melting with joy and love. He adores cute creatures of all kinds and these charming birds had him firmly under their spell. His hands squeezed together in glee he stood there with a silly grin plastered on his face, eyes shining.

"They are so cute Imma, I love their little faces. I'm going to give them names. That one is Snuni (from snunit, Hebrew for swallow), that one is Nuni and that smaller one is just so cute I think I will call him Awww, because I'm just awwing at how cute he is"

Pomegrantes like wine

Another name for the holiday of Sukkot (Tabernacles) is Hag Ha-asif, literally the festival of gathering, referring to the late summer and autumn harvests of many key traditional native crops like figs, grapes, pomegranates, dates and the start of the olive harvest.

"Hag" (chag, haag, however you transliterate it :-)), the Hebrew word for festival comes from the Semitic root H.A.G, referring to something circular or going around in a circle. It's the same root that the Arabic Haj comes from, referring to the pilgrimage to Mecca. Hag reflects the concept of time as cyclical rather than a straight linear progression, the rotation of the seasons, the harvests, recurring themes. In the Talmud, one of the key ancient Jewish texts collating a mix of law and lore, Sukkot is simply referred to as "hag", festival, with no identifier, it is considered the pinnacle of rejoicing, of celebration. It's a time when there is plenty to eat, barns are full of the freshly gathered produce. The heat of summer is hopefully moderating. The rainy season has either just begun or hopefully on the way, a time of hope for new beginnings. In the traditional agricultural society of our ancestors it was a time for everyone to relax and rejoice before the work of preparing the next round of crops, a time to pause and give thanks when everyone's bellies are full. In modern times most people are no longer working in agriculture, but plenty of home gardeners can relate to the same ideas, and even if most of us these days live in urban apartments our window boxes and potted plants are just as relieved to feel the heat and dry weather starting to break. On Sukkot it's popular to visit farms and at least symbolically celebrate the harvests in some way. We visited a few this week. One is a family owned and run fruit grower who has been observing the traditional Shmitta sabbatical year, marked every seven years. During this year they maintain their trees with vital activities like watering and essential weeding, but they don't plant anything new, prune or do tasks that would enhance the trees. It was interesting to see that their fruit trees looked wonderful, except for their vineyards which seemed to have been allowed to lie completely fallow this year, the grapes turning to raisins on the vine. The farm grows two varieties of avocado. One which is tastless, grown for organic cosmetics, and another which was huge and shiny, like big glossy green eggs. They are still hard, but looking forward to trying them when they ripen more. The one I tasted on site with some juice of the lemons we picked was out of this world tasty. We got to pick the most stunning Akko pommegranates, a type that is an attempt to reconstruct a traditional ancient variety native to the region. They are at their peak right now and a delight to eat straight from the tree, to quote a friend, the taste was "so rich it was like eating wine". The satsumas were just as tremendous, bursting with juice and flavour, possibly the best I have ever tasted. The fragrance as they were plucked from the trees was intoxicating. Likewise the lemons. The farmer's daughter I spoke to called them lime-lemons, but to me they looked and smelled like Meyer lemons, a very deep yellow and a distinct perfume that was different from the typical lemony aroma and definitely not lime. I went home and used them to make our family favourite lemon pasta I usually make with the freshly harvested lemons from our own tree (very different variety of lemon, equally delicious though) We enjoyed tasting the locally produced honey and a fascinating presentation about their apiary. My friend couldn't resist purchasing a gorgeous honeycomb to take home with her and share with her Sukkot guests. A very sweet and delicious way to celebrate this harvest festival.

Nostalgia

You would think wouldn't be surprised by now, coming around the corner on the 18 bus and seeing the circus tent, fairy lights, go carts and carousel of the First Station leisure complex. I should be used to it but somehow it still surprises me every time more than two decades after the station shut to trains. 

It's certainly a cool place to hang out these days. You can find everything from traditional Middle Eastern grill and hummous to Italian to creperies to east Asian fusion to smoothie bars to burgers to boutique beer breweries and chic bars, from super duper Mehadrin kosher certification to none at all and open on Shabbat.

On an August night it is crowded with locals and tourists alike, restaurant tables spilling out on to the cobbles and decks which were once track and platforms.

The "First Station", the original late 19th century Jerusalem train station built when the region was part of the Turkish Empire, later expanded during the period of British rule, a mix of Ottoman and British colonial styles. 

I have fond childhood memories of this place, back when it was actually the Jerusalem train station within walking distance of the historic walls of the Old City. I remember as a little girl taking the train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem with my mother.

Back then it was a sleepy old railway line, lazily chugging its way up from the coastal plain, slowing even more as it began to wend its way through the foothills and then mountain passes climbing up to the Israeli capital. How slow was the train? Jokes ran the gammut of you'ed get there faster on a camel, a donkey or even on foot. It was faster to take the bus. 

For all its inefficiency, ancient rolling stock, uncomfortable seats and snail's pace though it was a charming line, especially the section from Beit Shemesh to the Jerusalem central station, which passed through some of the most beautiful mountain scenery, the Sorek stream, pine forests. And it did so so slowly that you had time to appreciate the view, snap a few photos (if the windows weren't too smudged) and enjoy the journey.

But in the late 1990s it was decided that having a noisy, smelly, dirty diesel train route going through the heart of the city was not such a great idea. The city's station was moved to the more industrial outskirts and the beautiful Ottoman era stone station was turned in to a leisure area with bars, restaurants and entertainment along the old track, waiting rooms and even signal box. The section of track running through prime residential neighbourhoods became an urban park, beloved today of runners, cyclists and parents pushing prams and pushchairs. 

First Station today is a fun, happening, recreation area but part of me still misses the old working station. There was something magical about pulling in to the heart of the city, right in the middle of everything, a short walk from some of the most iconic Jerusalem sights, including the majestic walls of the Old City. When the train arrived at that station you really felt that you were in historic Jerusalem.

Sitting in the bustling modern leisure district tonight I closed my eyes and thought back on those memories. The summer throngs melted in to late 20th century travellers and in the thumping beat of 21st century electronica wafting along from a nearby bar I could imagine the clickety clack of the rails, the vibrating rattle and whine of a gritty engine, a hint of diesel on the night breeze, the sweet-tart taste of a freshly squeezed orange juice from the old time station kiosk.

Lizard soap operas and myna dramas

It was a perfect Shabbat for the garden, the spring weather bringing out a flurry of activity among its varied residents.

The liittle boys arranged plastic chairs in the middle and we enjoyed a mellow couple of hours watching our local soap opera played out by the Lebanon lizards who live on and in the wall, using the surrounding trees and bushes as their playground.

"Shhhh!" Twin H admonished Mid Bro in a theatrical whisper "you''ll scare them away and then we'll have no one to watch."

Then he resumed his studious, quiet observation of the wall's denizens as they darted and climbed over and between its uneven stone cladding.

"Ahhh" they'd all give a collective gasp when the dominant blue headed male chased a wayward little lizard along the top of the high wall, and at some stage the little guy would admit defeat and drop off the wall in to a bush or the herb border, pick itself up, and steathily resume its climb up the wall, cautiously, in the shade of a bush or sneaking from crack to crevice.



At some point the resident agama lizard made an appearance, a mini-dinosaur of dark armour and spines in contrast with the sleek, brightly coloured graceful Lebanon lizards we more commonly see.

He was a giant by comparison but was content to enjoy his sunny spot on the wall, basking in the warmth which had at long last made an appearance after a frigid March.


He paid no heed to the antics of the smaller lizards with whom he shared the wall, ignoring them as a resigned, experienced older patriarch might the excited banter of his young progeny.


The little boys resorted to hand signals to draw attention to any new creature making an appearance. Look right and over the lemon tree, down among the purple flowers of the lavender, up top near the abundunt citrus trees of our neighbour. Remember when the wind blew oranges and clementines off their tree in to our garden? They tasted so good.

From time to time the show was interrupted by a surprise new comer, and a rustle of excitement swept over the human audience:

A honey bee industriously working on the lavender blooms

A butterfly flitting lazily around the African iris (dietes bicolour)

A coal hued male blackbird feasting on worms pulled from the compost pile.

Determined ants from the anthill in an earthy corner going about their regimented ant business.

An oblivious young jay swooping down on to the ground right in front of us, intent on finding a quiet spot to devour its contraband peanut pilfered from a neighbour's bird feeder.

Doves, sparrows and crows nipping at the fragile twigs of tall trees in search of nesting materials.

A kestrel hovering in the sky hunting for its lunch.

Migratory Alpine swifts zooming and wheeling like a Battle of Britain dogfight as they pursued flying insects.

The hysterial cacophony of the pesky myna birds up on a neighbour's rooftop planters or feuding amongst themselves in the Queensland bottle tree.

It was this last that made Twin H look up from his studious observation of the wall to see if perhaps an even more interesting drama was unfolding high above.

You never know with mynas. We've seen them try (and sometimes succeed) stealing other birds' eggs from their nests. Seen a mother laughing dove fight a pitched battle with a myna to save her brood from a myna brigand. A pair of crows, themselves capable bullies, make a stand against these aggressive intruders.

I turned my eyes up to, scanning above the tree for good measure and there they were in the hazy, blue spring skies: a small posse of migrating storks gently milling about in the thermals, the advance guard of a huge flock still mostly specks in the distance.

Not as close and impressive in numbers as the one's I'd seen Friday lunchtime, but thrilling enough, a majestic wave of the massive avian armada that fills our skies this time of year.

They are heading north to their summer breeding grounds as they do every year, only a handful will stay to nest in northern Israel. The rest will keep on until they cross over in to Europe, confident that as every summer they will find their roosting sites as they left them, unaware of war and avian flu. 

There seems to be no bird grapevine giving them advance warning that things in their summer home may not be what they expect. Some are heading for Lithuania, Latvia, the lands of the Baltic Sea, maybe some also to Poland, Romania.

Most though are returning to Russia and Ukraine. Who knows what awaits them there. 

The little boys call out to the storks sotto voce "take the people in the north shalom and sunshine from Israel!"