Today, a SOLD sign went up on a lovely red-bricked house that was purchased this past Thursday evening.

Mine. 

It’s truly a miracle that on July 31st, our family will be moving into this lovely not-in-need-of-any-work home, beginning an awfully big adventure, filled with many changes.

{A miracle, yes, but also because of a wonderful real estate agent, who not only reminds me to put tights on when it’s unseasonably cold outside, but was sweet and kind when she needed to be and aggressive and businessy when she needed to be.}

Almost exactly a year ago I sat in the audience at a Yom Hazikaron — Israel’s Memorial Day — and Yom Ha’atzmaut — Israel’s Independence Day — commemoration and celebration evening. It’s one that I go to every single year, it’s an event that my husband has chaired at least two times. It’s my favorite day.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that particular favorite day was the beginning of something really special. 

And then the next day there was a flurry of Facebook photos of Jewish Day School kids dressed in blue and white parading, singing, dancing down the closed-off street to celebrate Israel’s birthday, and it made me realize that things were missing.

And then I wrote about looking for inspiration.

And then I wrote about finding inspiration.

And then after a long Yom Kippur heart-to-heart family conversation (instead of napping), we decided it was time to move back into a community we missed so very much.

And then this year on Yom Ha’atzmaut, after six full months of looking at overpriced houses that we couldn’t afford, after being outbid on houses that were almost within our reach, after not having any houses on the market to even consider, after worrying and stressing, I bought a house.

On Yom Ha’atzmaut, my favorite day, after taking photos of this year’s kids dressed in blue and white parading down the street, the school that my daughter will be starting in September, I bought a house.

There were lots of people interested in the house. There was going to be competition, there was going to be demand. The odds were truly against us, but our agent encouraged us to fill out our official offer while sitting at their kitchen stools and went to work to make it happen. That evening we sat in a restaurant on Yonge street, drinking coffees and initialing one hundred times on two copies of a signed-back offer.

I bought a house. Exactly one year later. On my favorite day.