Aliyah and life moves on…
The silver Challah tray, framed against a backdrop of black velvet and mounted on the wall above the washing station, was what made me realize that our friends had moved their possessions to Israel to finally feel at home.
Even the dining room chairs and table, and the black Chinese ebony credenza, had found their perfect place in a niche. The cream-colored sofas in the living room, where I sat during the Sheva Brachot we were invited to, looked familiar.
“Harry,” I asked our host, “this sofa reminds me of your house in LA.”
“Everything we shipped from there,” was his answer.
The fascinating part was that each piece had found its correct space, even though the two homes were thousands of miles apart.
But this property, although furnished with the same décor, radiated a different kind of holiness.
Here, in the land of wonders, a home takes on a shine that all the riches in the world cannot purchase.
This family did not need to explain their feelings about their move. It was obvious.
This impression stayed with me, and only a few days later I witnessed another example of the same happiness that comes when people decide to turn a dream into reality.
Another family, dear friends of ours for many decades in Los Angeles, had also made Aliyah around the time of COVID. They packed their possessions, arranged a beautiful residence in Yerushalayim, and planted new roots in the land of Israel.
And now we were privileged to celebrate the next chapter with them.
A wedding.
The person who had the idea of reinventing weddings in Israel and choosing a kibbutz, a forest, or a field in the middle of Eretz Yisrael was a genius.
Last Sunday we attended their daughter’s wedding at Kibbutz Nachshonim, about a half-hour drive from Tel Aviv.
The invitation asked women to wear flats, which makes total sense when celebrating outdoors on grass, sand, or stones. Even when transformed into a beautiful venue with waterways, fountains, and elegant spaces, a kibbutz is still a kibbutz.
We drove through the gate, parked the car, and with a warm shawl draped over my arm and my husband at my side, I was ready to embrace the Simcha.
At the edge of a huge grass area, a white upholstered bench served as a throne for the bride.
She wore a white silk duchesse draped gown with tiny sleeves covering her shoulders.
I congratulated the family and met dozens of familiar faces, mostly people from Los Angeles who had made aliyah either years ago or recently.
There was a euphoric atmosphere radiating from everyone I encountered. The happiness was contagious.
Maybe it was the venue itself that added to the magic: a kibbutz in the open air, surrounded by field flowers that seemed freshly picked from the land around us.
The shade of green in the grass seemed greener than green, and the entire landscape appeared to call out to me:
“Welcome, welcome.”
The band, dressed casually in jeans, hats, and sandals, created the perfect sound, a mixture of the ’60s and modern Jewish melodies.
At the Chupah, I surrendered to the romance and allowed myself to be swept into the moment of love between two people beginning their future together.
The Chupah was a family heirloom, carrying memories of generations before, now standing proudly under the sky of Eretz Yisrael.
And suddenly it all connected.
The silver Challah tray hanging in a home in Yerushalayim and the Chupah standing beneath the Israeli sky told me the same story.
They did not leave their past behind; they carried it with them.
Their memories, their traditions, their friendships, and the lives they had built crossed oceans and found a new home.
But here, in Eretz Yisrael, everything received an added layer of meaning.
Because Aliyah does not close a chapter.
It turns the page.
And life moves on…
