The Eliyahu HaNavi Potato Kugel

It is 12:30 on a Chanukah Friday afternoon in Jerusalem. Sunset is at 4:43 and my wife observes the prevalent Jerusalem custom to start Shabbat forty minutes before sunset.

I have one mission: get us potato kugel from Nechama Bakery in Geula. On a typical Erev Shabbat, I would have left earlier and taken the 20-minute walk to the bakery on Malchei Yisrael St. But this week left me exhausted after several doctor visits, and I was instructed to avoid walking as much as possible.

Both of these predicaments left me stranded at the Ma’alei HaShalom/Mt Zion bus station outside of the Zion Gate of the Old City of Jerusalem. The line 1 bus wasn’t coming for another 20 minutes and the closest Gett taxi was 7 minutes away (meaning really at least another 10 minutes).

Every minute of Erev Shabbat is like five minutes in middle of the week and my wife needed me to return quickly to help at home. Time was too precious; I couldn’t afford any pre-Shabbat delays.

I’m sure many of my readers aren’t big fans of hitchhiking, or taking a tremp, as we say here in Israel. But for many Israelis it is a standard mode of travel just like taking a bus or a train.

So, don’t tell my mother, but I stuck out my index finger and waited to see who would stop. 

A few minutes passed, and I kept holding out my finger. Many cars, a motorcycle, a van. I would have been happy for anyone to stop for me. 

In truth, tremping within east Jerusalem isn’t the greatest plan. I’m not talking about the fact that most cars that pass me are non-Jewish drivers. The real issue is that it’s just unlikely that anyone will stop for you. Tremping is much more a culturally Yehuda/Shomron [West Bank] thing, where travelers can wait for hours until their bus arrives and therefore have no choice but to tremp if they don’t want to be tied to the bus schedule. Still, I thought, G-d can make a Jerusalem miracle… 

After a short time, a blue car, I think a Toyota, stopped next to me. The driver, Dovid A., who looked to be about 30 years old, rolled down the passenger-side window.

“Where do you need?” He asked.

Rule: Always ask the driver where he’s going before saying your desired destination. Otherwise, if the driver has evil intents, he can simply say, “Wow! I was planning on going there too,” as a ploy to get you into his car. So, if you ever take a tremp, remember – safety first.

“Where are you going?” I replied.

“Har HaMenuchot.”

I’m not the best with Jerusalem geography, but I know enough to say that the Har HaMenuchot cemetery, which is near the entrance to Jerusalem via Highway 1, is nowhere close to Geula.

And yet, it’s Erev Shabbos and I don’t have time to wait for a bus or a cab. 

“How close can you get me to Nechama Bakery?” I asked as I climbed over typical Israeli-car-passenger-side clutter.

He handed me Waze and I zoomed out to see the route. The best he could do is stop on Chaim Bar-Lev Road by the entrance to Mea Sherim. After that I would have a 15-minute walk to the Bakery, which goes against doctor’s order to avoid walking. 

“Where do you need again?” He asked.

“Nechama Bakery. Geula.”

Dovid, who seemed to know Jerusalem quite well despite living in a moshav next to Latrun, asked why I did not just walk to Geula. So, I told him I’m meant to avoid walking if possible.

Now, for all my non-Israeli readers, there’s something you must understand.

In Israel, having a car is more of a luxury than a standard. And, it seems that one who has that luxury, wants to share it with others. I remember experiencing this phenomenon when I met a stranger named Shlomo nearby the Osher Ad in the Hadar Mall. I asked Shlomo if he could give me a two-minute ride to the nearest bus stop. Instead, Shlomo who was on his way back to his home in Har Homa, took me all the way back to the Old City in the complete opposite direction.

So, while I wasn’t expecting it, and certainly not requesting it of Dovid, I was not caught off-guard when Dovid said he was taking me straight to Nechama Bakery. But Dovid insisted that instead of going to the Nechama in Geula, we would go to the one in Beit Yisrael. And off we were…

———————

I’ve never seen a car zip down the narrow alleyways of Beit Yisrael. On a typical day, the streets would be filled with students from the 8000-student-strong Mir Yeshiva. Today, the streets were still crowded, but with local families filling their last-minute Shabbos orders. 

A few more twists and turns and we arrived to Nechama on the corner of Rav Zonnenfeld St.

I jumped out of the car, while Dovid parked basically in middle of the street and waited for me. On the way there, he insisted that he will also take me home despite: 1) it being 1 PM on a Chanukah Friday afternoon, about three and half hours until sunset, 2) he still planned to stop at Har HaMenuchot, and 3) the fact that he lives about 30 minutes outside of Jerusalem. It’s hard to understand him, but mi k’amcha Yisrael – that’s the Jewish people and that’s Israel.

Now, I can’t imagine what it’s like to be short and inside a crowded store. It must feel like suffocating. You can’t see anything and you just bounce off the bodies of everyone else in the store. Thankfully, I’m pretty tall (6’2.5; don’t forget the half), but I still don’t like those crowded stores.

Before long, I managed to speak to one of the workers behind the counter.

“Is there still kugel?” I ask. (Please. Just say yes. Then I can go home and Dovid can move on with his impossibly long pre-Shabbos list).

“Yes! Over there!” the worker yelled over the noisy crowd as he pointed across the narrow street to another food station about 10 feet behind me.

But the worker at that other station yelled back, “There’s no kugel left!”

Now I’m stuck in the middle of two Israelis arguing with no time for delays on a Friday afternoon.

“You just told me that you’re filled with kugels!”

“We were! But Baruch Hashem they’ve all been taken!”

“Ha!” the worker closer to me turned back to me and exclaimed, “Come back next week and even by 8 AM there won’t be any kugel left!”

I went back to Dovid’s car, disappointed. I told him that there is no kugel left and that I can walk to the other Nechama myself.

Of course, Dovid wouldn’t listen to me.

“I’m taking you to the Nechama in Geula. Get in.”

Seven minutes later we arrived at Kikar HaShabbat. I couldn’t believe how full of people it was at 1:15 PM. When will all these families have time to take showers, set up their Chanukiyot and tidy up the house before Shabbos?

But my main worry was about how Dovid would make it back home in time. Dovid told me that he already washed the floors the day before, but that doesn’t explain how he can be so calm when he still plans on visiting the cemetery and making it back to his home outside of Jerusalem.

This time Dovid told me to hurry. Again, I tried to relieve him of being my personal driver.

“I’m very thankful for you bringing me here. I really can take a cab back.”

“A cab? You’re going to pay an Arab to drive you back?”

Dovid wasn’t going to have it. How could I pay a member of another nation rather than give him the merit of helping me a fellow Jew?

He quickly gave me his number and told me to call him when I finished. He would tell me where he was parked and then we would drive back to the Old City.

I was as quick as I could be in the Bakery. Thank G-d, they had kugel.

I left the store and called Dovid’s number three times. Each time I was sent straight to voicemail. His phone was off. But it couldn’t be, he was just using it and he told me to call him, and he must have had a car charger.

It was already after 1:30 PM when I realized that I had saved the wrong number. The streets were still packed as if it were 2:30 PM on a bein hazmanim afternoon. I briefly searched for Dovid’s car but to no avail. 

Dovid, the man who appeared when I needed that tremp, who insisted on bringing me to two Nechama bakeries, and who wished to bring me back as well, had just disappeared. I told this story over to a friend on Friday night, and he said, “Eliyahu HaNavi.”

Was it? Probably not. But it makes a good story and a better title.

I took a taxi back to the Old City and the traffic was horrendous. It took at least 30 minutes to get back using the special taxi lane. If Dovid would have drove, maybe he would have had to sleep by me for Shabbos. 

Did Dovid/Eliyahu HaNavi make it to Har HaMenuchot and back to his moshav next to Latrun?

I can’t say for sure, but knowing him it could very well be that he is still parked in Geula waiting to bring me home.