2025

Good morning,

Autumn has arrived in Lisbon, almost without us noticing. Yes, I live in Lisbon now. It’s been a long time since we last spoke.

The weather has become a capricious creature, changing every moment. On the eve of Yom Kippur, the rain poured over the rooftops, and the winds joined it in a roaring rebellion.

Ter, my husband, was just strolling down the street, his steps light, and he paused for a moment in front of the display window of a small shop. At that exact moment, right in front of his eyes, a tree struggling against the wind fell to the ground, exactly where Ter would have been standing had he not stopped by the shop.

It’s frightening to think of what might have been. In my Tunisian mind, thoughts immediately sprang up about how this tree nearly turned me into a widow at such a young age, but I also felt sorry for its fate. And what would I do if the worst had happened? One thing led to another, and I demanded my husband to write a will. He didn’t expect such a reaction; honestly, neither did I.

Today, after I woke up (next to my husband, thank God) and clear skies had turned my bedroom window blue, other thoughts arose: ah! The world needs decisiveness and gradual change, but like many things nowadays, it’s become extreme and impulsive.

I give the same answer when people ask me what my favourite season is. The transition, of course. Not the transitional seasons, I mean, but the transition itself from one season to another—that’s my favourite season. That brief moment when nature catches its breath, shakes off the past and offers us a fresh start with crisp air and refreshing scents. But nowadays, in the era of global warming, transitions have turned into random skips between seasons. Even my wardrobe is confused, with sweaters and short-sleeved shirts hanging side by side, all facing an uncertain future and demanding equal attention.

My new year is already taking shape in my mind, but like baking challah, we’ll see how it turns out and how digestible it will be. Still, if you allow me, I’d like to share my plans. Later, when they fall victim to the reality that will bend, delay, or completely destroy them, you can laugh at my expense, and we’ll have a good time.

So Ter and I bought plane tickets for November, planning a weekend escape to Bucharest, Romania. After that, we’ll drive about two hours to a remote village called Câmpulung, where a villa sits among the fields, overlooking endless forests. We’ll spend November there. We’re both a bit tired of the city bustle and are seeking a place where time will slow down, allowing us to sink in front of the fireplace in the approaching winter quiet and enter a temporary hibernation.

After Romania, we’ll return to Lisbon and immediately start arranging a three-month home exchange with friends from Israel. I’m eager to return to Israel, which I miss painfully, but moving between countries is a complex process that takes time, and I find myself terribly impulsive, like the modern weather. After that, we’ll once again return to Portugal.

You’re probably wondering why we’re returning to Portugal for another period. We need to remain Portuguese residents for our next goal this year: buying a van. We’ll return to Lisbon for a bit longer—a month, maybe two—or however long it takes to find a van - fall in love with a van - buy a van. A van that will become our mobile home, allowing us to travel across Europe with greater freedom. This is our final mission in Europe before we return home to Israel. For how long? I don’t know. Until the wanderlust strikes again.

Beyond that, may 2025 be beautiful and different; for this year, I’ll publish my debut novel! It hasn’t yet received a title, but everything is in its own time. New ideas are already buzzing on the horizon, and I’m excited to move from one idea to the next. But it takes me time to transition to a new idea; after all, I am not the weather, and my transitions are a bit more gradual when it comes to writing. But once I feel ready, I’ll move on to the next novel, and when that happens—you’ll know.