Favorite kind of Friday.

It hasn’t rained enough in Israel this winter, but when it has rained – it’s really, really rained. Which is just perfect on a Friday when you’re home, cozy, coming off the baby furniture high from the day before, and your husband knows how to make homemade chai lattes. 

Of course, we’re always hoping for snow here in the Jerusalem hills where snow may be just a degree celsius away… But for now, we can boast thick hail:

And nothing goes better with a gray, rainy Friday morning than a crapload of pancakes for just two people: 

Rain, rain, come our way.

Jerusalemites are celebrating the rain that began as a lightning show last night. I woke up just now to pleasantly discover that it’s still going.

We’ve had a bad winter so far this year, the kind where everyone – to an annoying degree – talks about how terrible the situation is and starts judging each other over how much water they waste.

You know it’s gotten bad when at least three of your social conversations in the past week have involved a discussion of desalination.

Hebrew-speaking dogs.

I’m sitting on my couch and I hear a scratch at the door. My first thought is, did a jackal from the forest across the street come all the way upstairs to haunt me?

My second thought is, it does, however, sound like a dog.

After peeping through the door, I realized it was a dog. A big, fluffy, yellow, gentle, wet and smelly dog. And it was indeed ‘knocking’ at my door.

This is the second time a dog has confused our apartment with their owner’s. Tzur Hadassah is filled with domestic dogs who are sent to roam free and come home whenever they please.

We tried to shoo it away but it insisted on coming inside. He probably lost track of the scent of his trail since it’s really the first or second big rain we’ve had here.

But I felt sorry for him, probably wanting to be home curling up in his pillow. I realized we could send him home with a few key words.

Shev. The dog sat and I checked his collar for a house number. Nope.

Bo. We made him come towards the steps to go downstairs.

L’mata. I tried to encourage him to go downstairs but he needed more, he needed company, so we bo‘d him all the way down, until he started wandering over to the apartment building next door, which looks exactly like ours.

Hebrew-speaking dogs. There’s no place like home.