Beshert, baby.
Destiny and dance tunes. Plus, 'The Menu' and Binaca.
Hello! Bonjour! Shalom! I’m just back from Israel and feeling all the feels for the 12 days I spent exploring the country from north to south, desert to coast to countryside. I spent the first six nights traveling with my good friend, Jess, who had never been to the Holy Land before, and the remainder of the time alone. Though, I was never really alone. Sure, I was solo in the rental car (whose make I can’t even recall off the top of my head because I am not a car person) for the drive from Tel Aviv up to the Golan and Tiberias. But when back in TLV and not in the confines of the four-door sedan—or was it two?—I made so many new friends. Nights may have began with a table for one, or a lone seat at the bar, but they ended with my joining a group of friends or a couple who curiously and warmly welcomed me with a shot (or five) of arrak. That’s the thing about Israelis. They are a friendly, inviting, boisterous bunch.
What’s more, there so many moments of fate, or beshert it’s known in Hebrew. Beyond the fact that I was practically mimicking parts of my 2013 and 2019 trips—including going for a hike in the Golan on the exact same day that I’d done one and gotten lost three years prior—I had a whopper of a Shabbat with so many serendipitous moments they could make a movie about it. (Starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale, naturally.)
I’d spent the morning running around reporting a story, racing against the clock as many Israelis don’t work at all on Fridays. And if they do, they close up shop by 3p.m. at the latest. It was great to feel that rush of reporting again; the pandemic having forced many journalists behind screens and phone lines. I almost forgot what it was like to meet people in person and do interviews on the spot rather than sending out requests and waiting weeks for them to be answered. There was also an unseen energy in the air; an electric, collective feeling that a deep repose was about to descend. I dug it and tossed out “Shabbat Shaloms!” like ushers do Playbills in a packed theater: One for you! One for you!
In doing so, I met so many more people—including the chef of Opa, a restaurant I had wanted to go to, but as a result of schedule shifts, didn’t end up booking. But there I was, on my last day in Israel, standing before the chef as she ordered ceramics from the potter she employs to help her vegetable forward cuisine pop on the plate. (I was there to meet the potter.) She invited me to dine that evening; promising to make room for me at the counter next to her at the pass. Only problem? I’d already agreed to join a friend at their home for Shabbat dinner.
“That’s OK. Go there first, and come to me after,” she said.
Considering all I’d eaten over the last 11 days, the idea of embarking on two dinners—something I’d always marveled at food critics for being able to do—seemed crazy. But she was insistent. (That’s the other thing about Israelis!) And since the first dinner was called for 6p.m., and it was a bit wild that I ran in to her in this way, I agreed to a 9p.m. seating and opted to err on the side of hunger for the rest of the day.
Then, while watching the sun set from my friends’ Neve Tzedek balcony from which he served a modest meal of pasta and salmon (small portion for me, s’il vous plait!), I got to talking to his other guest, a yoga teacher. Turns out, she teaches at the very studio I’d been told to try and it’s RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER FROM MY HOTEL! As luck—or beshert, rather—would have it, she was teaching the next morning at 10a.m. and would I like to be her guest? Of course I would!
I left super high on happenstance (and also maybe a joint) to dine at Opa where I then met a lovely couple visiting from London who live in…WAPPING. That’s right. The very random neighborhood I lived in in 2013, when not even locals had heard of it. We practically closed the restaurant down and I ended the evening walking through Park HaMesila with the moonlight leading the way.
What even is this life? I wondered. It’s a good one, that’s for sure. There are no accidents. Things unfold and happen as they are meant to. I truly believe that.
So! I’ve got a jampacked letter for you because it was technically supposed to go out the week I arrived in Israel. (What’s that? You didn’t notice? Great!)
I hope you enjoy it and maybe find some sparkle or experience beshert this Shabbat or in the days to come.
Oh oh oh! And if you’re not a paying subscriber, but want more on my trip to Israel, now might be the time to become one. In addition to assignments for traditional media that’ll be published in the likely-distant future, I’ll be including some itineraries and restaurant suggestions in future Tuesday letters. xx — Sara
Clickable
Bring on the ‘90s time travel in Emma Straub’s new book. | The Cut
How one chef is preserving food identity in Hawaii. | Bon Appétit
Sick in France? Go to a thermal spa on the gov. | The New Yorker
A nursing mother calculates the cost of breastfeeding. | WaPo
Birding and “surveillance naturalism” at its best. | The Verge
Cobalt blue and punctuality are having moments. | The NY Times
Who’s ready to “BeReal” with photo-sharing? | The Cut
Watchable
As someone who has eaten at restaurants with big reputations, or ones that have made it onto arbitrary lists of some sort, The Menu—a pseudo thriller about a famous chef and his outrageous dining experience—intrigues me. Plus, it’s got a stellar cast including Ralph Fiennes, Anya Taylor-Joy (from The Queen’s Gambit), and Nicholas Hoult (the “boy” from About a Boy and screen-stealing star of The Great). Check it!
Currently Overthinking…
…whether I should take a gummy before going on a guided hike in the desert… [Editor’s Note: I started writing this letter when I was still in Israel, but this was too good not to share. Also, I didn’t take it.]
…what restaurants to go to with my brother while he’s in Paris and when…
…whether to take the plunge and finally get a tattouage (tattoo) with him…
On Repeat
Somehow, Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine, has taken a somewhat depressing song about needing to be medicated and turned it into my new favorite dance anthem. Sorta the way Robyn did with “Dancing On My Own” back in 2010. The song “Free,” on her new album Dance Fever, makes me want to twirl around in circles or sing aloud with headphones on; paying no mind to any tapping on my shoulder because it’s my turn to pay at the register. (True story.) A bit further on in the record, “Back in Town” is equally as somber. The whole album is a treasure.
Souvenir: Binaca
I still wear a mask on crowded metros and planes given Covid’s rapid return, which means I have the unfortunate ability to be able to smell my breath more than normal, which got me thinking about Binaca! Remember the fresh-breath spray we’d all spritz on the tongue before a date or interview? Is it still around? Does anyone use it?
Don’t forget: Sponsoring a souvenir is a perk of being a paid subscriber.