I’ve just arrived home after an outing to dinner with my husband and sibs-in-law at El Vaqueiro, a South American/South African steakhouse near downtown Jerusalem. The restaurant offers an all-you-can-eat option that includes a parade of different meats that you are encouraged to try (they bring each to the table, one by one) and then you can choose more of your favorites. There was South African beef sausage, roasted turkey breast, chicken wings, veal and turkey rolls with dried fruit, beef stew cooked in a traditional South African clay pot, entrecote steak, corned beef, barbecued veal, and asado, South American roasted steak. Oh yeah, and in case you’re still hungry, endless plates of Israeli salads, bread and oven-roasted potatoes. Sounds delish, no? It turned out to be the most unsatisfying meal of my life; I didn’t eat a thing.

At first, it was easy to just sit there and watch everyone sample what was obviously a delicious display of food; my body was completely not interested in having anything like meat to deal with, and I was content to sip my hot water with mint. However, as time went on the dishes became more and more fragrant and the food started beckoning to me. Finally, I decided I would eat. But the minute I thought of putting even a bite in my mouth, all the thoughts of everything I’ve just read about factory farming came rushing back and I just couldn’t do it. I literally could not eat it. For those of you who know me, this is definitely a new one.

T-minus twelve days (!) until we leave for home. After our doctor’s appointment this morning, Shuie and I took Yonah to the mercaz and sat at a cafe and chatted. Shuie is thankfully very peaceful about our decision to go now and encouraged me that I shouldn’t feel badly about leaving. “Everything happens on Gd’s timetable,” he said. “There’s so many things that affect so many other things, and Gd knows the reason why it’s time. Maybe us going will enable something good to come that might not have been able to happen while we’re still here.” Can you see why I married this man?

My current brain buzz is about what we’re going to do when we get home. Shuie has a couple of great options waiting for him in Cape Cod (More on those when they’re finalized), so it’s possible we’ll be sticking around there for a while. As for me, I’ve got a very likely job possibility teaching in Cambridge, MA. The timing works out because I’d be filling in for a maternity leave who will be coming back at the end of April, exactly when I’m due. The problem is that if we stay on the Cape, that would mean I’d be commuting an hour and and a half each way. I know people do it all the time and sometimes you gotts do what you gotta do. But I honestly don’t know if, physically, I would be able to handle it. As my husband says, right now I go on a five-minute walk and I’m ready to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. So, we’ll see. I’m going to go and visit the school when we get back and I’ll get a better sense of what things would look like and if, realistically, it could work. Now if only I could think hard enough to speed up time…

Shira called me on her way to the Cape, where our dog since childhood, Jazz, is being put to sleep. Jazzy was a beautiful golden retriever with a puppy’s energy, even into her teens. After we moved out of the house, Jazz became Mom’s baby; she was constantly with her and followed her everywhere. I guess it’s fitting that now she’ll follow Mom again to wherever she is. It’s a strange thing; I haven’t lived with Jazzy for years (after my parents moved to Manhattan she went to live at our friend Billy’s farm on the Cape, where we were free to visit her whenever we wanted), but this feels like such a huge loss. It’s not just saying goodbye to this wonderful animal, but also to the piece of my childhood/adolesence/young adulthood of which she was so vital a part. The tinkle of her leash throughout the house and the tap-tap-tap of her paws on the wood floors were part of the soundtrack of our house, and she is present in so many of the memories I have of my family. She’s even in some of our formal family portraits.

And of course, it’s like losing Mom all over again. Losing that part of my life is so painful because it’s just one more piece of Mom I can no longer hold onto. It’s been seven months, but moments like these make the pain feel so fresh. Even watching my father haul his luggage up the stairs the other day brought tears to my eyes because it was like saying goodbye to her, too. How can someone who is no longer here still be so present, so vivid in my mind? Sometimes I can actually hear her talking. It’s a strange, sad thing, letting go of someone you love so deeply. You don’t lose them all at once, but piece by piece. Eventually, all you have of them to hold onto are what is living inside of you.

I hope Jazzy’s last hours on earth are painful and free of pain. Thank you, Shira, for being there to take care of her.