64 The Cheese of Safed

On Friday I payed a visit to Ha'Meiri dairy in Safed and saw the 'boutique' family dairy. I heard stories about Safed and about how cheese is made, was taken to the cellar and saw the Safed cheeses rest in straw baskets encased in salt, and bought wonderful cheeses to take home.

After everyone had finished buying cheeses only we remained, and we found it interesting to walk through the rooms of the house and look at the pictures on the walls. And then Meir Hameiri arrived. We told him that during the tour that his son Yaniv had given us, he mentioned many of his father's stories and Meir decided to take us to his archives in which he chronicles the history of the people of Safed of 1948.

The building in which the dairy is located, which formerly was also the family home, is situated on the western edge of the city, above the cemetery slope and opposite the Miron mountain. The house served as a front outpost in the War of Independence and also as a hiding place for 'Etzel' arms. During the shelling by the 'Arab Salvation Army' the house was destroyed and after the war was again restored.

When we were just about to leave after having heard countless stories, we asked Meir about the cemetery of Safed. He said that he is the synagogue's treasurer and since today was Friday of the first of the month, he was about to bring to the holy man of the synagogue, Rabbi Maveritch, the slips of paper with the wishes that the worshippers had trusted him with. 'Follow me' he said and got into his car. We followed him to the cemetery. When we arrived Meir told us how he had discovered the cave in which Avraham Dov Maveritch is buried and how with his bare hands he dug and disclosed the grave.

On the way to the cave we passed the grave of Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of 'Shulchan Aruch'. After visiting the cave and going a short distance further up the mountain we came to the grave of Rabbi Yitzchak Lurie (the Ari). I realized that unintentionally I had come to Safed to visit the graves of holy men.

But now, seated before a plate of cheese, I neither think about the stories of the elder of Safed nor about the graves of holy men. I am satisfied with myself for having taken the trouble of going to Safed for the taste of home-made cheese – cheese that was made by hand and was waiting for me in a straw basket.