As you read this, it is darkest winter in Washington. As I write, I can feel the warmth of the Jerusalem sun.

Yesterday, I sat in Independence Hall in Tel Aviv. Though it was once the home of the mayor of Tel Aviv, it is not at all imposing. Here, at 4 p.m. on May 14, 1948, Israel declared her independence. The people organizing the ceremony chose the location because it was secure --the room is sunken with only a few windows at the top. It has none of the grandeur that one might expect given the gravity of the events that occurred there. Up until moments before the festivities began, organizers were scrambling to borrow chairs, rugs and microphones.

At the end of the tour guide's schpiel, which I have heard at least 10 times, a scratchy recording of the Israeli national anthem --Hatikvah --is played. Hearing the first strains of the violins always elicits a lump in my throat. This time, emotion swelled earlier, upon hearing the shehechiyanu recited by the then-Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv.

I am traveling with 34 students from Washington-area colleges and, over the last few weeks, we have heard and recited the shehechiyanu many times. Flying to Israel on the first night of Hanukkah, we said the prayer together after lighting our makeshift menorah, fashioned from birthday candles and Froot Loops, in the terminal at JFK. [Note: It is important to note that: (a) lighting matches in the terminal is frowned upon and (b) if you ever find yourself in this situation, Cheerios do not work as well as Froot Loops because the holes are too small.]

A few days later, standing on a mountaintop not far from the Dead Sea, students recited the shehechiyanu upon eating figs and dates, two of the seven species native to Israel that are noted in the bible. Sitting on one of Israel's famed balconies outside of a hotel room overlooking the mystical city of Tzefat, students recited the blessing once again, this time to mark the inauguration of a new hookah one of them had purchased earlier that day in the open market. I can't say that I think apple-.avored tobacco is worthy of blessing, but I was pleased that my students wanted to recognize an otherwise secular moment in their lives Jewishly.

Over the course of our trip, there have been many occasions worthy of a shehechiyanu, the blessing we use to mark firsts and special occasions. We recited it over persimmons and over dipping our feet into the Mediterranean. We looked on as parents recited it to their daughter on the occasion of her bat mitzvah. We may have said or heard this blessing every day.

Traditionally, the shehechiyanu isn't an everyday blessing. Thanking God for "granting us life, sustaining us and enabling us to reach this day," it is powerful precisely because we say it infrequently.

Sitting in the Jerusalem sun, I can't imagine why I wouldn't want to say this blessing every day. I'm in a place I love, the streets are both calm and alive with tourists and there is really good falafel in reach for less than the price of a gallon of gas.

Sitting in Washington on a cold February morning, I can imagine that the urge to be grateful might not come as naturally. There are always a lot of tourists, but it's not so easy to get good falafel here. Still, I will have been granted life, sustained and enabled to reach that day. It's a lot to be thankful for. I'll try to remember that as I am putting on my boots.