My Mother’s Chicken Soup

For two weeks I was sick. I am not sure if it was a virus or if I needed antibiotics. I am sure, though, it was not unique. At first I attributed my condition to the frequent travel back and forth to Jerusalem. I would embark the bus with a t-shirt and get off needing to add two more layers. Constant temperature changes, I thought, were the reason. But then I noticed others had exactly the same symptoms, and they did not visit Jerusalem.

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So I looked for someone to blame, but I was too weak and the body needed to rest.  I could have simply touched the light in the corridor of an apartment building or the seat in the bus or the door to the local bakery.  One thing for sure, it goes around and everyone is subjected to the same.  Kids are the easiest conduits, they feel the most miserable, but they also recuperate the fastest.  But then we, adults, are attacked by the same bacteria or viruses, and "it ain't fun."   I was eating plenty of fresh citrus fruits, and some kiwi, although it is out of season (it has more vitamin C), and onions (trying the sweet, purple version, and the white and the yellow) and garlic.  I had honey and plenty to drink.  What I did not have is my mother's chicken soup.  The soup works wonders for it takes all the miracle ingredients nestled within the chicken along with celery and carrots and some noodles and makes you recover.   I only found a Yemenite restaurant that serves chicken soup, and for me it was more a meat-soup with all the # and heavy texture.  My soup needs to be gold-transparent.  It must be served very hot and seconds offered.  And then I need to go back to bed and let the soup do its wonder and the body fight the trillions of invaders that keep multiplying until the definitive moment arrives beyond which recovery starts.   The soup at the Yemenite restaurant was undoubtedly with large parts of a chicken, and I asked for a second and was too delirious to notice what I was eating.  It was not my mother's wonder chicken soup, so it took me two weeks to start getting better.   When you next talk with a friend or colleague or a neighbor who is sick, go to the grocery store and bring that person two oranges or a pastry or – if you find or can make – an Ashkenazi chicken soup.  [There are no delis here, the likes of which we are so accustomed to in the USA.]  The person will be grateful – first for the attention, second for the food.  Half the recovery is one's own state of mind, and we all need to feel cared for.   Remember to wash your hands often, but do not be afraid.  Almost all of us will have to deal with an outbreak of cold or a flu, each at a varying degree.  So continue exercising, eat well, enjoy the outside (walk three times a week – or even better, more often) and bring laughter into your life.