Today We Are All Veterans

Today, November 11th, marks the American ‘holiday’ of Veteran’s Day.  The day was meant to celebrate the brave servicemen who risked their lives for America and were lucky enough to come home alive.  Sadly, the day has largely become an excuse for sales and shopping, as well as dreaded bank holiday and day of school closures that is cursed because most parents still have to work.

But things are totally different when you’re forced to fight for your existence on a daily basis.  When the war is literally in your backyard, at your train station or on your local highway, everyone becomes a soldier, and just making it home at night makes you a veteran in the war that is everyday life.  I want to say that it’s not always like this, but I think that thousands of years of Jewish history prove otherwise.  There are times when we civilians are not on the front lines – and there are times that we are, every minute of every day.  This is one of those times.

In every army, each soldier has a specific job.  There are those that fight in combat, and those who support the combat units.  There are those who build the camps, and those who counsel the injured.  In the army of life, everyone too has a job…most times, more than one.  These days, it is my job to protect those in my “unit”.  I am the counselor required to explain the grim realities of war, and to dry the tears when nightmares inevitably come.  I am the captain who decides whether to take my kids into the battlefield or to keep them safe at home under lock and key.  I am the search and rescue team who goes out looking for my kids the minute they are late, always wondering deep down if something terrible happened.

I write this all with a touch of cynicism.  Most days I have no reason to leave my neighborhood, which means I’m seldom on the front lines.  But my friends and neighbors do.  My husband does…and my kids do.  And so, today, on Veteran’s Day, I salute everyone who ever donned a uniform to serve their country…and the thousands of others who are just brave enough to go out and fight the war of Jewish existence with every ounce of bravery they have.  Today, you are all veterans.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

Honey, I’m Home

I am home.  I know this isn’t the type of announcement that normally requires a blog post.  Most people get home from work every day, usually without fanfare.  Except, of course, when they don’t.  And today is one of those days, one of too many days recently, where people on my route didn’t make it home.  Two stabbings today, on the one day of the week where I venture out of my house, both of which were in places I directly pass by.  What are the chances?  If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’d have told you they were slim.  The optimist in me wanted to believe that following this summer’s gruesome kidnapping and murders only a few short miles from my home, lightning wouldn’t strike twice in the same place.  My naïve self was convinced that only a week after a terrorist drove over three soldiers in my area, we were in the clear.  After all…lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, does it?  Or is that it doesn’t strike twice, but it does strike three times?  Because today a girl was killed right along my bus route.  An hour before I was scheduled to be there.  The third terrorist attack in our area in recent memory.  And more – a soldier was stabbed in the heart of Tel Aviv, in broad daylight, just because a terrorist had access to a knife…and because he could.

This isn’t a political blog, and I won’t make it into one now.  It’s about providing a glimpse into the life of an ordinary woman who sometimes makes slightly unordinary choices.  Choices that include working at a job located 3 hours away.  Choices that include leaving my family to build a new family, thousands of miles away.  Choices that include giving up the voluntary draft for a mandatory one for my children.  But oddly, in the face of recent threats to our people and to our lives, I don’t feel the need to defend my choices.  I feel the need to live life.  Without fear, (or at least with the façade of bravery).  To remember that life isn’t always about making the easiest choice – it’s about making the one you’ve chosen work out, no matter what.

I couldn’t be happier to come home to six delicious hugs and kisses…and to some of the most delicious fried chicken ever (made by my kids in cooking chug…insert shameless plug for the best after school lessons ever!).  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be – not in Europe, where anti-Semitism is rampant, not in the US, where psychos shoot up movie theaters, malls and elementary schools.

Today, more than other days, I’m both relieved and proud to say that I didn’t just arrive at my house.  I’m HOME.  And this is where I intend to stay…no matter what.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

A Mother’s “Prayer”

For most Jews the High Holiday period is one filled with family togetherness, apples and honey, and prayer.  Lots and lots of prayer – even for those who don’t utter a single supplication the rest of the year.  In my youth, I didn’t quite enjoy the prayer part of the holiday, and like many of my fellow tribesmen, I grew to fear the boredom, the over air-conditioned rooms and the long hours without a snack or ample legroom.  Things changed drastically as I got older, and I grew to realize that (1) the world can be a really scary place filled with some pretty nasty stuff and some pretty evil people, (2) I’m not in control of everything (though I often pretend that I am), (3) good intentions aren’t always enough, and (4) it never hurts to get a little bit of help from the powers that be. 

And so, there were a few years where my prayers were seriously fervent.  In fact, there were years when I returned home from shul exhausted from all that focus, concentration, praising and begging.  And then things changed again.  This year, I realized, I returned home exhausted, but for entirely different reasons.

Here’s a glimpse into how it went:

I gratefully thank you, living and eternal King, for You have

-          Yes, yes, of course you can have a yogurt, your sister will help you with it

Returned my soul within me with compassion – abundant is Your faithfulness!

How goodly are your

-          We’re on page 5, honey, it’s still the same prayers that you say every day (don’t you recognize them?)

Tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel.

-          Of course it’s ok that you spilled yogurt on your pants, and your hands, and got it in your hair. Don’t worry, I’m coming to clean you.  Don’t cry, my love, I’m not (too) mad.

Insert a few paragraphs of prayer here.

-          Of course I’ll take you to the bathroom.

Shema Yisrael…

-          We’re on page 87.  There are 124 more pages to go.  That’s probably about 3 more hours.  Maybe a bit less.

-          Of course I’ll take you to the bathroom.

Shofar blowing

-          No, you can’t go to your father, he’s blowing the shofar and isn’t allowed to speak.  You’re right, I’m not supposed speak either, but I don’t think you’d be happy if I just used hand motions for the next two hours.

Insert Amidah for Mussaf, complete with the aforementioned (and despised) hand motions

-          Of course I’ll take you to the bathroom.

Who is like You, Merciful Father, Who recalls His creatures mercifully for life!

-          No, there’s, only about a half hour left, you may not leave now.  Unless you want to take your brother to the bathroom…again…

And so, I find myself here, on the day after Rosh Hashana, with the kids back in school and the quiet restored, uttering a truly personal post-holiday prayer:

Please, dear G-d, recognize my disjoined, unfocused and incomplete High Holiday prayers not as a fault or sin, but as a blessing in disguise.  Fortunate are those who are able to tend to their children and to put the needs of others above their own.  I may not be perfect – in prayer or otherwise, but I can say with certainty that I’m trying my best.  And in this time of judgment, I deeply pray that this is enough.  

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

I Can’t…But I Will

A lot has been said and written in the past few days about the kidnapping of 3 teenagers in our area.  And while there’s no reason to recount the actual events, it’s worth taking a look at some of the things I’ve seen repeatedly online.  “I can’t sleep.  I can’t work.  I can’t focus.  I can’t eat.  I can’t stop thinking about those boys.  I can’t stop thinking about their parents.  I can’t believe this happened.”

I can’t either.  But I will.  I will sleep…even if I have to run myself ragged until my body shuts itself down.  I will work…and I will make every moment count.  I will focus… on my family, my friends, my prayers and my faith.  I will eat…and I will make sure that the soldiers in our area are well-fed as well.

I will continue to hitchhike and to pick up hitchhikers.  Not because I need to, but because I can.  Because ‘tremping’ in this country is not an act of foolishness or a way to be cheap – it’s show of the nation’s magnanimity, of faith in others, of our people’s perpetual willingness to help those in need.

I will plan family gatherings that will not be tarnished by sadness, because doing so let’s ‘them’ in – and it lets ‘them’ win.  I will look for every opportunity to be happy instead of focusing on the black cloud overhead.   I will avoid petty arguments over hashtags, humanitarianism and private healthcare in Israel, disputes that divide our nation at the very time we should be entirely united.  And when doing these things, I will continue to think of “our boys”, and to remind myself that celebrating life isn’t an act of callousness, but an act of bravery in the face of adversity.

Finally, I will continue to believe in peace, not because I’m naïve, but because I’m human.  And because without hope, we truly have nothing.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

347 Days

Dear Poppy,

There’s so much I want to tell you about – things that have happened in the last 347 days since you’ve been gone, and things that I’m planning for the next 347 days, that I’d love to hear your thoughts about. Mundane things, like how I made a new recipe I thought you’d like. How Itiel learned to walk, speak, and most recently, to sing. How I continue to navigate the Israeli healthcare system, despite dozens of setbacks, to ensure that the kids get everything they need. I know you’d be proud, since you did the same. I want to share with you the kids’ great report cards, and to celebrate their accomplishments over drippy Israeli ice cream, just the way we’ve done for the past five years. I wish you could revel in Hollie’s recent hair donation, and to crack your jokes about how you could have really used that hair. I want to tell you about the restaurant where we celebrated our recent anniversary, a celebration we’ve done together for the past decade, since your birthday was the day before. (They served some great veal, and I know you would have loved it.)

This would have looked so great on you!

It’s funny, but sometimes I even yearn to sit by your hospital bed and to have your undivided attention and complete candor. Those weren’t fun days, but they were certainly branded with their own sort of specialness. Of course, I also miss the days when we lived 50 yards away from each other, and I could come over at any time of day or night to drop off something that I’d just baked, or to share some of your expensive orange juice (or wine!). Most often though, I long for the days where you didn’t have time for a visit because you were too busy changing the world of Torah learning. Even then, when you were so busy working tirelessly through your retirement years, you always had time for a call, even about matters that weren’t all that important.

I’d give anything to make you a peanut butter and cheese sandwich, or, even better, something gooey and chocolaty that wouldn’t be good for you but would surely taste amazing. And mostly, I’d love to have just one more “Poppy talk.” I’d ask you to help me understand the cycle of grief and loss, and how to deal with such immense emptiness. I suspect you’d tell me how you didn’t merit to know your grandparents like I knew you, but that you’ve counseled hundreds of people going through it, and how you don’t know how, but somehow, at some time, it gets easier. To be honest, I thought it would be easier by now. But here I am, 347 days later, crying onto my keyboard.

In just a few days we’ll mark the end of the Jewish year of mourning. But despite this ritual milestone, I’m not quite there yet. Part of me really wants to be, but the other part of me isn’t quite ready to let go. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. But since I don’t really have a choice, I guess I’ll keep trying, and hoping that in 347 days from now, things will be easier – not just for me, but for the many people in our family who continue to love and miss you. I know that’s what you’d want…and you know that I aim to please. May your memory be blessed.

Your last family simcha - It's just not the same without you

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

Seeing the World

Last week I had the supreme privilege of traveling to the Far East for business. I made the trip last year as well, (which I wrote about here), but this year was different because I had a better idea of what to expect…sort of. I didn’t get lost at all in the mammoth hotel. I was able to find my own way from Hong Kong to Macau without even batting an eyelash, and I felt much more comfortable and confident when speaking to the other participants than I did last year. In fact, some participants even remembered me from last year, which was simultaneously exciting and just a wee bit awkward, since history has proven that I tend to be rather forgettable.

This year, instead of flying direct to Bangkok and then to Macau’s tiny airport, I was ‘drafted’ into taking the ‘scenic route’, flying from Tel Aviv to Kiev to Bangkok to Hong Kong, where I boarded an hour-long ferry to Macau. In fairness, I’ve always dreamed of traveling the world – I’m just not sure that this is exactly what I had in mind! But maybe I should have been more specific in the formulation of these dreams…

This begs the question - which hand do they mean? Right or left? @Bangkok Airport

I’ll spare you the details about the work stuff, and about the 50 hours of travel time. OK, one quick story: on the flight from Kiev to Bangkok, someone lit a cigarette in the bathroom (aka, the lavatory). SERIOUSLY. I was actually sleeping when I heard the fire alarm go off, and it’s a darn good thing that I was, or I’d probably have freaked out a bit more from the sudden, incessant wailing. I was almost relieved when I smelled the cigarette fumes, because I became instantly alert and realized that the plane wasn’t going down or anything – it just had a really, really stupid person aboard. But as long as it wasn’t the pilot, I felt comfortably trying to go back to sleep.

Beautiful Strangers

The most interesting part of the trip was the few hours that I took to visit Hong Kong city before heading to Hong Kong airport. I researched a bit and found out that the “Ladies Market” would be an interesting place to go in the short time that I had. Needless to say, I was nervous about finding my way there, which required a ferry and two subways. The ferry was no problem. But I hadn’t received great subway directions from the concierge (who’d never even heard of the Ladies Market). Luckily, when we arrived at the ferry terminal in Hong Kong, there was a lovely couple who I heard speaking English, and I decided to ask if they happened to know the way. As if the stars were fully aligned, they were heading in my direction, and offered to show me to the Mong Kok station where the market was, and to teach me about changing trains. They even explained to me how to get to the airport from the market, and listened to my idle chatter as I shared my excitement about this new experience. I only had an hour or so there, but I was able to get a feel for Hong Kong (the city looks pretty similar to New York – I even found a 7-eleven where I got some Haagen Dasz), and to explore the market, where you can get almost anything from authentic Asian slippers and Chinese robes to knockoff designer handbags (again, quite like New York City, but in much larger volume).

Another perk of meeting people? You don't only have to take selfies! Hong Kong Good Luck Tree

Funny that in a region where people tend to be on the short side, the booths are SO high (@ Hong Kong Ladies Market)

And then, the unthinkable happened. Left alone to navigate my way back to the airport via subway and train, I braced myself for the adventure ahead. I managed to purchase the train ticket and fought the rush hour crowds into the depths of the Mong Kok subway station (which once again reminded me of New York, except so much cleaner). And there, standing on the subway platform, was the kind stranger who had shown me the way only a short time ago, heading back towards Macau on the very same subway line! I wrote last year that traveling alone isn’t so much fun, because you don’t have anyone to share weird observations with, but in those moments, I was able to share my reflections with this lovely Hungarian stranger (who just so happened to move to Macau, learn his way around Hong Kong, and be nice enough to share his knowledge with a total stranger). And so, Lori and Rebecca, if you’re reading this blog (which I hope you are), just wanted to let you know how much your kindness and spontaneous friendship improved my trip – thank you!

I made several purchases over the course of my trip, souvenirs for the family I left behind. But this time I didn’t buy anything for myself (unless you count an overpriced bag of potato chips or an ice cream bar?). I didn’t need to. Because I came home with wonderful memories, one more reminder about the fantastic people in this world and a greater confidence in my ability to talk to new people and to navigate unfamiliar territories. Lastly, I came home with 500+ unanswered emails (which almost a week later I’m still going through)? And when you have all those things, who needs (or has time for) physical stuff?

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

10 Years Later…

Today marks 10 years since we moved to Israel. I was wondering how and when I’d find time to record some of the lessons that I’ve learned in the past 10 years, but as is typically the case in this holy country, it was as if G-d just reached down and answered my question, by ‘helping’ me to miss two trains yesterday, and giving me lots of downtime to sit at the train station where I could organize my thoughts. If you haven’t considered Aliyah before, maybe this can inspire you…and just know that now you officially have some ‘vatikim’ (old and experienced people) to help you through the process personally!

1- Sure, it’s painful that most purchases in Israel cost at least double (if not more) what they’d cost abroad…but tuition costs about 2000% less. And though it’s excruciating to spend close to $100 on baby shoes, at least I know that one day he’ll be wearing them to walk into his entirely free pre-school, so I’ve actually saved about $12,000 on these shoes.

2- Living in Israel means the door is always open. You may think that it’s a burden on us when you ask to crash at our place. But honestly speaking, you’re doing me a favor. You’re making me keep the house a bit neater and the kids a bit quieter in the morning. When you join us for dinner, you’re encouraging me to make a real meal, rather than serving the frozen chicken nuggets the kids are accustomed to. In short, you’re making me a better mother. So please, don’t be afraid to drop by, and even to stay a while.

I promise the house won't look like this if you come

 

Mom visited for 6 weeks last year...and you can see how happy I was!

3- Rain can be a miracle, not a curse. The Jewish people pray for two critical things three times daily, 365 days a year: peace and rain. Though we haven’t yet seen the peace that we plead for, there are times when we see the rain…and we can recognize it as a blessing, rather than as a plague. While I used to grumble at the frizz caused by a few drops, today I accept each one as a gift and as a valuable reminder that prayers are often answered.

I love the rain, but maybe not THIS much...

4- Socialized medicine has its drawbacks, but it can also be incredibly wonderful. The hospitals here may be a bit more rundown and the service may be a bit slow, but when it really counts, there are many quality healthcare professionals here, both of the homegrown and imported varieties. You just have to know where to look.

5- We may have chosen to live amongst our own people, but that doesn’t mean that our lives lack diversity. We have the privilege to teach our children about religious acceptance and tolerance of others in their own surroundings, not in the theoretical way that we learned about it when we were growing up. We have the opportunity to slowly break down the prejudices that are so common today, even if we’re only doing it 5 impressionable people at a time.

6- Thanksgiving is highly overrated. I won’t deny that I miss the family gatherings, the turkey and the pecan pie, and that I really miss the idea of having a random paid day off. But actually, we have many ‘random’ paid days off, such as Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur and Pesach, most of which have plenty of eating as well. And it’s pretty terrific not to have to use vacation days for these holidays.

7- Speaking of “holidays”, I really love the no-frills vacations that are the norm around here. This isn’t to say that I’m not envious of my sister’s upcoming trip to Hawaii. I AM (more than I wish I was). But I love knowing that our winter vacation this year included one day of harvesting food for Israel’s poor, one day of baking cakes for the soldiers protecting our area, and one night in a cabin with bunk beds, hideous linens and free sufganiyot from the local Chabad shlichim. I enjoy knowing that these vacation days were full of meaning and togetherness, even though they weren’t filled with exotic beaches, exciting ski trips or Chuck E. Cheese…and I smile knowing that our kids are content with this ‘simpler life’.

Harvesting food for Israel's poor - it's an annual vacation activity for us

8- I love living in Israel because I know that there’s always a way home. In this society, hitchhiking is the norm, rather than the exception. At the end of a long day, I love knowing that at some point, some kind stranger will invite me into his or her warm car, and help me find my way home. It may take a while, but I have faith that it will work out…and so far, it always has.

9- I find it fascinating to live in a place that can dispatch teams to deal with suspicious packages without warning, but one in which elected officials have little or no concept of how to deal with snow, despite having days or weeks to prepare.

Enjoying the snow

10- Finally, even after 10 years, I still love the feeling of camaraderie that there is between olim, both those who have chosen to come and those who have come out of necessity. It takes a certain type of crazy to leave your family, your language and your comfort zone to move across the world and start new in a country filled with bureaucracy, messy politics and high taxes. And yet, I’m proud to be surviving the turmoil, and to be sharing this experience with thousands of others. And I can’t wait to see what wonderful things the next 10 years have in store.

Some of our favorite olim - Take note...you're never too old to make the move!

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

Ode to a Blizzard

In a quaint little town

On top of a hill,

The residents planned

For winter’s deep chill.

They relished the thought

Of a cozy ‘snow day’,

A respite from work,

A chance just to play.

It seemed so ideal,

So calm and serene –

Who knew that the storm,

Would turn terribly mean?

3 days without power,

6 days without school,

And suddenly nature

Seems horribly cruel.

Businesses halted,

The laundry in piles,

Thousands are stranded,

For miles and miles.

Our ‘startup nation’,

So thoughtful and so bold,

Has been brought to its knees,

By the snow and the cold.

Roads remain closed

During morning rush hours,

For some- no hot water,

For critical showers.

Kids are in heaven,

But parents are not,

We’re somehow ungrateful

For what we just got.

The people of Israel,

Praying daily for rain,

Are now nearly flooded,

And going insane.

It’s time for some snow plows,

And more 4 wheel drive,

So that when the snow hits,

We can still thrive.

It won’t be as fun,

Nor nearly as ‘cool’,

We won’t have a snow week-

But at least we’ll have school.

Snow in Israel

It started off beautifully!

Day 6, school buses got stuck in the snow and ice. Kids were all sent back home.

Sunset over Snow
Day 6, night – so calm, you can almost forget the hectic day

photo credits: Mordecai Holtz

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

Me, Myself and My Nose

It's not THAT obvious, but it's there...

When I was about 15, my grandfather offered to pay for my nose job. I was simultaneously impressed by his generosity and taken aback by the insinuation that my nose was just that horrible. He didn’t want my bumpy nose to hold me back from finding the right spouse or feeling great about myself, he said…something my insecure adolescent brain had thought infinite times before (but never managed to tell him – yet somehow, he knew). At the time, I was too scared of the procedure to take him up on the offer, and I vowed that if I wasn’t married by a certain (undefined) point, I may want to reconsider, if the offer was still on the table.

Four years later, I met Mordecai. And as we were moving towards a serious relationship, I casually mentioned Poppy’s offer, and said that if he wanted me to change it up a bit, he should speak now: the offer was sure to be rescinded the minute an engagement took place. He laughed and said that he didn’t even notice it, and that it clearly was not a breaking point for our relationship. And so, my dream of having the perfect nose vanished, while my vanity and insecurities remained. I saw the bump every time I looked in the mirror, glaring at me like a blemish that would never go away.

That is, until I stopped looking in the mirror. It’s funny how motherhood does that to you. At first, it’s a baby’s cry that rouses you out of bed so abruptly that you barely have time to brush your teeth before starting the day. Later, it’s the need for breakfast, the packing of schoolbags and the tying of shoes that must be done first thing, lest your child miss the bus. And because you still need to get to work on time, there’s little time for personal maintenance – unless, of course, you want to wake up before the kids do to start on yourself. But who on earth wants to do that?!

In my high school and college days, I spent many, many spare moments analyzing (and crying over) my physical flaws, having my eyebrows waxed to perfection, and even getting an occasional manicure. Now, I’m lucky if I leave the house with matching socks. And I’m ok with that. It wasn’t finding someone to love me despite my big nose that vanquished my insecurities. It was finding more important things to fill my time with. I wish I’d ‘gotten it’ earlier, but I guess some lessons are just learned through time and life experience.

I recently got my nose pierced, something I’ve wanted to do for at least a decade, but never had the guts to do previously. It wasn’t a statement of rebellion. It was an embrace of my imperfections. My own form of nose job, if you will. One can argue that getting a nose ring certainly draws attention to the one part of myself I spent years trying to deny. And that would most definitely be correct. But I’m past that now. For me, having a nose ring is a reminder for myself and my kids that it’s ok to embrace your flaws and to be comfortable with yourself. And this is a lesson that I hope they internalize way before I did.

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS
 

The Kindness of Strangers

I’ve been a bit frustrated lately by the poor customer service I’ve been experiencing lately, starting with an inability to get an appointment for Azi’s surgery for 6 weeks, to the oven repair company that first kept pushing off my appointment, and then declined to service my oven altogether, even before they saw it. But yesterday I experienced two remarkable acts of human decency, or, more accurately, I was blessed to meet two strangers who restored my faith not only in mankind, but specifically in Israeli mankind.

As you may know if you’ve been reading my blog, I have a rather long commute to work (fortunately, it’s only one day a week). After a long day at the office and a long commute round trip, there is nothing I want more than to get home from the train station as quickly as possible – something which isn’t always possible when you have to tremp (hitchhike) home.

Yesterday I was lucky enough to spot someone I recognized peripherally from my neighborhood, who agreed to give me a lift home. I was so relieved! As we walked to his car, he decided to call his wife, who surprised him with the news that she had gone to visit relatives near the train station. And so, at the last minute, she asked him to join her there, rather than going home. Needless to say, I was devastated (but of course, I told him I’d be fine and I figured I’d make it home some way or other!). Since I’d already walked in the opposite direction of the trempiada (hitchhiking station), I asked him to drop me off at a corner where I’ve sometimes seen people trying to hitch a ride. It was dark, and the ‘corner’ was actually a traffic circle where Israeli drivers prefer to speed through, rather than slowing down. My ‘neighbor’ offered to stay with me until I got a ride, an offer which I naturally declined. I turned my back to the car and held out my pathetic sign which advertised where I was trying to go, figuring that he’d driven away, as eager to see his own kids as I was to see mine. Let’s just say…he didn’t. He stayed with me until I got a ride, just so I wouldn’t be alone in the dark at night. I was so impressed (and also grateful)!

Three people stopped for me within the first 5 minutes, but the first two were only going halfway home, and I was afraid to go to a place I didn’t know. Still, I was impressed by their offers to help. The third driver wasn’t totally sure where he was going, but said it was to one of my neighboring communities, so I got in. Needless to say, the mere fact that anyone stops to pick up a stranger on the side of the road is truly admirable. But this driver was especially wonderful. We chatted the whole way home, and I told him about my long journey, and my daughter’s birthday, and a whole range of other things. When we arrived in the area, I told him to pull over so I could hop out near the next trempiada. He surprised me by offering to take me all the way home, even though it was out of his way, and it was late, well past dinner time, and his wife was wondering where he was. I tried to decline, but of course, he convinced me in a gentle, chivalrous way, by saying that if his car is kind enough to drive without giving him trouble, he should be kind enough to use it for good deeds.

I can only say that these two men, one of whom whose name I still don’t know, reminded me why I moved here. Because in Israel, strangers aren’t actually strange. In fact, in these parts, helping strangers is the norm – not the exception. Standing on the corner on a cold, dark night may be unpleasant, but at least it’s not scary – and for the most part, neither is getting into a car filled with strangers. I can’t say that I know anyone who has attempted the same feat on a New York street corner.

As a short PS, I’d like to say that last week a friend of mine picked me up from the train – it was also out of his way, and he waited around for 20 minutes while the train was unexpectedly delayed. I was also moved by this gesture, but I remember thinking that in the same situation, I’d also try to show kindness to a friend (then again, this may be easier said than done). Yesterday I was reminded that it’s not enough to only help our friends – by going out of our way for strangers we’re not only helping others, but hopefully inspiring others to become better people. I certainly hope that given the chance I’ll be able to show how I’ve become better due to the kindness of strangers.

 

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS