You may have read the headline in The Times of Israel:

“Woman killed, man seriously hurt in Jerusalem Old City gas explosion”

What you didn’t read is this:

Their names were Claire and Izaak.

They were my neighbors.

They were our “family” when we sheltered in the Byzantine well during the Iran war.

They were our friends.

And that was my home.

And yes, I almost died.

On Thursday, I got home earlier than usual.

When I entered our courtyard, I smelled gas.

I live in one of those Old City compounds where families share a courtyard but each has their own unit.

Sometimes the rooms aren’t even fully connected — a bathroom here, a living room there. The Ottoman Empire was a jigsaw puzzle, and its architecture follows suit.

Our neighbor below us — Claire — was 80 years old. Her grandson had a room in one section but lived with his grandmother. Her son, Izaak, daughter-in-law and younger granddaughter lived in another.

The gas smell was everywhere.

In the Old City, gas balloons are common.

They’re connected to stoves or heaters and periodically replaced when they run out.

Accidents happen, but they are extremely rare.

I remember thinking about the challah and grape juice I still needed to buy for my son. The next day he was going to be Aba Shel Shabbat at preschool and he was so excited.

I said hello to Claire who was sitting on the chair just below my stairs, her walking cane leaning against her leg.

I was probably the last person to speak to her.

I went upstairs to put down my bags before heading back out.

I was halfway down the old stone steps when I realized I forgot........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)