Silk Kaftans and Blue Jeans
Our grandson was off from his base and for us it was a jubilation to embrace him after such a long time. On our last trip to Israel, they did not let him leave, as his position was not so easy to be replaced.
“We are coming to Raanana,” I wrote to Eli. “We’ll have dinner and then we will head back to Yerushalayim.”
We enjoyed the presence of our oldest grandchild with his carefully thought through anecdotes of the war, not revealing too much, but still I was so taken with the responsibility on the shoulders of this young man.
And then it was time to head back to our home.
We love taking the train in Israel. Time is not wasted once we take our seat. My husband Raphy learns his Daf and I say Tehilim and observe fellow Jews ascending and leaving the train. On our phone we read the news of the Chareidi community arranging a strike on the tracks of the light rail, blocking traffic in and out of the capital.
Oh oh. “Where am I going to daven Maariv?” Raphy asked me.
“We’ll have a lot of Chareidim on the tracks for a Minyan,” I joked, “if we make it to Yerushalayim. Or we can take a taxi to the Izkovics Shul in Bnei Beraq. They have Minyanim 24 hours around the clock.”
We ascended the escalator, passengers squeezing by us to reach the top faster, and that is when we saw dozens of people gazing at the digital board showing the departure times of the trains. But for Yerushalayim there were delays, and more delays. People looked up, hoping to receive some kind of solution to their problems.
While I am writing this I am contemplating Shira Smiles’s wise words from the Shiur I attended yesterday. We are all mourning the beautiful soldiers who are killed almost every day in the north by drones. Shira raised her head and asked about the Rachfan. “What is it called in English?” And we answered: Drones!
When we did not have anything to ward off the missiles, we invented the Iron Dome. Now we gaze at the heavens and plead with Hashem to send us a defense system against the drones.
I interrupted my writing and repeated Shira Smiles’s words to Raphy. My learned husband replied:
“It is like during Yetziat Mitzraim, when the Jewish people were struck with the gruesome plague. Moshe Rabenu told them: look up towards the snake, towards the heavens, and plead with Hashem to be healed.”
Raphy’s words stayed with me. I put down my phone, looked up, and that is when I saw them.
While everyone was running in all directions like lost sheep, I noticed a very elegantly dressed family leaning against a wall, simply waiting. None of them stared at their phones.
“There is your Minyan,” I told Raphy. “Ask them to add a few passengers and we won’t need to travel to Bnei Beraq.”
And that is what happened. Within two minutes, the silk kaftan clad Chareidim arranged twelve people, and Raphy in his jeans and polo shirt stood among them as the Vorbeter and recited Kaddish for his late friend Rabbi Burstein.
I do not wish to speak of politics, or of the strikes of the Chareidi community over army service. I wanted simply to share this: when a Jew needs another for the purpose of a ten person gathering, all stepped in to be there for each other.”
