That's Life — Oct. 31, 2008

Posted

Issue of Oct. 31, 2008 / 2 Cheshvan 5769

Dear That’s Life,

Jerusalem — Arriving in Israel after the long trip it takes to get there is not nearly as difficult as packing up and having to make the return trip back to New York. It’s not the flight itself that is so daunting; it’s having to say goodbye.

I have been long interested in collecting ceramic pomegranates and displaying them in my home. I’ve brought some back from Israel on previous trips, but it was on this trip that I decided to really buy many more than before. From a number of different stores in varying areas, I collected my wares and asked that they be well wrapped in bubble so they would survive their journey back to my house.

On our last erev Shabbat before we left, I went to the Cardo. I walked into a store which primarily sold silver and noticed among the Kiddush cups a beautiful, hand blown, glass rimon — the color somewhat more pink than red, but with faint shades of blue and purple. With permission, I opened the display and held it in my hand to examine it.

Even though it was not ceramic, I wanted to buy it and add it to the collection, but knew the glass would never survive the flight. I turned to the shop keeper and had the following conversation with him in Hebrew.

“I would love to buy it and take it home with me, but I’m afraid it would break on the plane,” I said.

With a twinkle in his eye and without missing a beat he replied, “It’s easier if you just stay — then you won’t have to worry about it breaking on the flight.”

My heart sank as I smiled. “If it was up to me,” I said, “we would be.” Knowingly, as if he had heard that before or as if he really knew me, he continued.

“If you lived here, you wouldn’t have to buy rimonim and take them home — this is the land of milk and honey and it is filled with the shiv’a minim. We all already have them in our homes.”

What a beautiful sentiment, I thought. This was the second conversation on this trip I had with an Israeli who seemed to still love living here as much as he did on the first day he arrived. “I don’t know how to say this in Hebrew,” I replied to his poetic responses, “but from your mouth to G-d’s ears.”

He must have realized he had successfully pulled at every one of my heart strings because he finally let me off the hook. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “it’ll happen – everything in its time, but it will happen for you.”

I thanked him and paid him for the kippah I had picked out for my son. “Shabbat Shalom,” he replied, and then added “and have a safe flight.”

Hope to see you soon, I thought.

MLW