Stumbling Into The Promised Land

“What is your reason for going to Israel?”

“Tourism? We also have friends we want to see.”

“Besides that, do you have any connection to this place?”

“We’re Jewish and we want to see Israel….”

“Ah, you’re Jewish! Do you know any Hebrew?”

“I(Emily) went to a Jewish school for ten years and he went to Hebrew School for many.”

“Please, say something in Hebrew.”

“Shalom?” (Emily)

“Perhaps you know something more?”

“What is it I say when I ask for Ziv on the phone? Ziv Nimtzah?” (Eric)

The man smiles.

“Aifo!”(Emily)

“Tapooach means apple.” (Eric)

“Ma Shlomcha means how are you!” Emily said like she deserved a cookie for that one.

“Okay, besides these names,” he said pointing to our passports, “Do you have any other names?”

“Uh, no, just the ones on the passport.”

He stared and then said, “No Jewish name?”

“You mean like Hebrew names?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Yitzchak Ben Tzvi Ha Cohen.”

“Elka Devorah”

“We just got married last month at Valley Beth Shalom.” (Eric)

The El Al security man interviewing us at the Athens Airport laughed and said we could go check in but that we would need to be at the gate early so they could bring us our checked luggage that was transferred from Our flight from Crete. We would need to look through it and verify its contents. “It’s been with the Greeks too long and we can’t trust it.”

As two people whose parents had paid good money for us to have good Jewish educations, we were mortified at our performance. But somehow when were just asked to “say something” we both froze and turned into blubbering idiots. A minute after we were in line to check in for our flight, words and phrases came flooding into our minds and the “I should have said…” conversation began. Heck, if nothing else, I know tons of prayers, I could have just davened at him and we would have looked smarter.

We both decided that it would have really helped if he gave us a prompt like, “What are some common greetings?” or “how do you say goodbye to someone?” or even “How do you tell someone to shut up?” We could have handled all of those. That’s our rationalization helping us to move on with some dignity.

We also got up at 4:40 in the morning and had only slept about three hours before that. That has to count for something, right?

Flying out of Crete went smoothly and Athens after the horrible questioning incident was fine. We did have to inspect our bags at the gate as an attendant watched and told us to check each of the five or six backpack pockets looking for “something maybe the size of a cell phone that someone could have slipped in your bag easily.” We found nothing, but did feel like people were staring and wondering why the Americans kept getting I’m trouble.

We also chatted with the happiest Argentinian Jew in all the world in line and again in the waiting area. We learned that he loves Israel, steak (“I need one now! I need one in my blood!” he said practically salivating), the beach at Mar Del Plata, the United States, Argentina, Hebrew, English, and pretty much anything else he talked about with anyone he saw. He was probably early 20’s and loving life. On the plane he was beaming at people as they walked down the aisle when boarding.

The flight was great, but then came the arrival. We walked up to the Passport Control – which I knew would be full of questions. And while this time we were prepared with our best Hebrew, it wasn’t requested. Instead the office spent a lot of time on who we knew and where we were staying and when we had been before. Because we said we’d be staying with my friend, Ziv – it triggered extra questions about how I knew him and how we had stayed connected over the past eight years.

The officer finally stamped our passports with a sneer – in part because I sassed her a little when she asked a question two different ways because she was distracted during the discussion.

As we got our luggage, we found out that Ziv wouldn’t be available until after he finished work – which was fine. We had a little time to kill and could stand to get some work done. So, we took the train into Tel Aviv – big backpacks and all – and went to a mall Ziv recommended near his work which would have the WiFi and air-conditioning we needed.

We stumbled around the very crowded mall – be with a 40 pound backpack on my back and another in front of me. The Israelis only gawked a little. Emily asked around and discovered our best hope for wireless and a power outlet was a Brazilian restaurant in the mall.

We stumbled in, backpacks everywhere, to this very nice restaurant and were told we’d need to sit at the bar if Emily wanted to use a power outlet. Yadda yadda yadda – they kindly hid our bags in a back room, set us up with power after we embarrassingly took up residence in their bar and treated us with more kindness that we probably deserved. We were “those Americans” to our great shame. We repented with a large tip – it was our only way to redeem ourselves.

Eventually, Ziv was done with work, picked us up and took us to his apartment in Ramat Gan, a Tel Aviv suburb where he and his girlfriend, Hila had a guest room waiting for us. Their awesome and sweet dog Luka was also glad to see us and has sort of captured our hearts.

Things immediately got easier. We all talked, some of us met one another, others caught up and we enjoyed a most amazing dinner that Hila made. We were made to feel at home.

From the Greek islands to a city that in many ways resembles Los Angeles, or at least Santa Monica has been a surprise. We’re back to city noises, city buses, and people fighting over parking spaces.

It’s also like dying and going to Valley Beth Shalom. Everywhere I look, everyone’s Jewish. Darker, lighter, black hair, red heads – I think I’ve seen all of these people somewhere on Ventura Boulevard. This city has not an ounce of pretension and it all feels very comfortable and familiar. People have been helpful and kind – and so far, they have all spoken English pretty well if not perfectly. In the meantime, I read signs and labels and try to pick up a little more Hebrew vocabulary.

And who is this Ziv? We met eight years ago on my Birthright Israel trip and instantly clicked. He visited me in Taiwan the next year after he got out of the navy – spending days with my friends and me on a fantastic motorcycle camping adventure. And we have been close this whole time – emailing and calling frequently. He’s the closest friend I never see. As far as I go, the Birthright Israel people achieved their goals of linking American Jews to Israel.

And in this land of immigrants much like the United States, Ziv and Hila exemplify the amazing diversity of Israeli Jews. Ziv’s mother is of Romanian descent, his father Moroccan. Hila’s father is Moroccan as well, while her mother’s side is split between a Polish Holocaust survivor grandfather and a family that is seventh generation Israeli – not knowing where they came from before that.

This week, our weekend will shift and we will take Friday and Saturday off to sync up with this country where Shabbat is observed universally. How amazing.

Sent from my iPad