Rabbi's Message

The El Al flight from Newark was exactly what I expected. The taxi to Tel Aviv was not. 

The system is new and simple. You go to a kiosk set up on GETT, the Israeli equivalent of Uber, and punch in a destination. A code comes up and is sent to your iPhone, and with that you enter a taxi and you are on your way.

The ride to Tel Aviv was exactly what I expected. The conversation with the driver was not. The trip to the hotel was the same old story—one big P’kak, the Hebrew term for traffic jam, which sounds even more expressive than the English. But the driver, Sami, had a different story to tell. He came to Israel from Turkey, five years ago, along with his mother and grandmother, and his wife. “Israel is hard,” he told me in Hebrew, “It is tough to make a living.” I asked why he came. He explained that in Istanbul, there is a lot of anti-Semitism, “and with my family name, Levi, everybody knows I am Jewish.” So, he made Aliyah to Israel with no profession, no Hebrew, and very limited resources. Indeed, it is tough to start life over in Israel. And then he said, “Aval kan zeh babyit—But here is home.” He has an apartment in a working-class area of greater Tel Aviv and he is supporting his whole family, which now includes two children. We arrived at the boutique hotel where I am staying, and I thanked him for the ride. I appreciated the story even more.

After check-in and a refreshing shower, I went to dinner with old friends, Raya and Amir. We met at Camp Ramah back in 1969. We sat, reminisced, and caught up on family. When I recalled my first trip to Israel in 1971, I was reminded of another set of friends from camp with whom I stayed for my first two weeks here—Shaul and Haya. I arrived, unannounced (my telegram had not reached them), on Erev Rosh Hashanah and called from Ben Gurion. They picked me up and made me comfortable in their small apartment in Tel Aviv. During the time with them, I met their daughters, Michal, who was already married, and Shlomit, who was single but living in her own place. Then my friends told me this story. Haya’s sister lived on Kibbutz B’eri, and when she and her husband died in a traffic accident, Haya and Shaul moved to the kibbutz to take care of their children. Michal also moved to B’eri with her children, and her daughter Raz married Orad Ben Ami. B’eri was one of the kibbutzim devastated by the attack on October 7th, and Raz and Orad were taken hostage. Raz was released after 55 days, but Orad spent 700 days in captivity before finally coming home. In Israel, and for Jews in general, you don’t have seven degrees of separation. Maybe three. And of course, as the sign in front of TBS says—Am Ehad V’lev Ehad —one people with one heart.

I came back to the Melody hotel, in Tel Aviv. It is a quiet little place, on HaYarkon Street, a bit north of the bigger hotels along the Tel Aviv beach, Plaza, Dan, Carlton, and Hilton. It seems to be a place used by mostly French speaking visitors. The lobby is also the breakfast area, and the breakfast was even better than expected. I always ask the name of waiters and waitresses. Rose’s English was perfect, so of course, I wanted to know where she learned to speak so fluently. She explained that she had attended an English speaking school in Jaffa. Born here, her parents are from Russia and Georgia (the country, not the state), so she grew up speaking Russian. Now is trilingual. “And now, what do you do besides working here,” I inquired. She is studying industrial engineering and business at a technical university in Holon, not far from Tel Aviv.

As I thought about these first-day stories, I remembered that this week we are reading Parashat Lekh Lekha, in which Abraham begins his journey from Haran to the land which God will show him. He doesn’t even know exactly where his journey will take him, but he and we learn that it is Canaan, the Promised Land, Israel. Ever since, the Jewish people have been on a journey—geographic, historic, and spiritual. And the people we meet along the way, they make the journey even more meaningful.

We are all part of each other’s stories. And this is just one day in the journey.