Rabbi Breit's Blog

El Al’s motto is “hachi babayt b’olam”, “most ‘at home’ in the world”. And while I spend most of my time fruitlessly trying to accrue Delta points, it felt deeply true as I nestled into my flight to Tel Aviv last Sunday. I am at home in the world. And in Israel I feel most at home.

I’d started chatting with the folks next to me in the security line as if we’d been friends for years. Where I sat, the flight attendant was busy scolding a passenger for not letting her know she had a nut allergy — “it could be dangerous for you!”, she waved her hands in exasperation like a tired mother and went off to make an announcement to tell passengers not to eat nuts. The security lady’s eyes twinkled at me as she said, “Oh, another Rabbi just passed through my line!” At Arrivals a group of girls in full body panda costumes were whirling in circles singing Hava Nagila to welcome a loved on home. My taxi driver tried to set me up with his son.

Our hotel intensified the feeling that, in Israel, home spills into the public spaces. Displaced residents from the North have been living in hotel rooms across the country, and the Dan Jerusalem had families, seemingly placed at random, throughout the hotel. When I arrived to my room two little pups came sprinting across the internal courtyard to greet me in exuberance. Clothing drying racks were lashed to balcony railings. Several balconies had kids’ toys and one had a mini trampoline. On the way to breakfast I walked past doors with the recognizable colorful Israeli signs, “Mishpachat Goldberg”, Goldberg Family, that usually adorn Tel Aviv apartment doors.

People sticker public spaces with quotes, with mementos, with portraits. The faces of smiling young people are plastered to nearly every wall and window. They are bumper sticker sized and there’s no public space without them. These are the faces of those killed on October 7th or in battle. Being in Israel already charges me with a feeling of quick and powerful connection to the people around me. And I worry I might know someone on one of the stickers. I pause anxiously each time I see them to read a quote or two written by loved ones, “Everything is dear in its time”, “You can be busy with yourself… or do something better!” It’s a surreal activity at a grocery store.

But no feeling really hit me until I stopped at a gas station on a drive up Highway 6. There, in an array of these stickers, was a space. A woman paused, pulled a sticker of a beautiful young woman out of her bag, and delicately stuck it to the window. It said “prettiest girl in the kindergarten”. And the girl in the photo beamed with joy. The woman who’d placed the sticker touched it for a moment, gave it a kiss, and slipped away into the gas station.

Each sticker cries out. Our brother is captive. Our sister has been killed. Each house has lost someone and the walls of the house are very thin. They open up onto the street. The families of those killed in battle sit in tents next to the main road. The entire country is one home in mourning and in wait.

In this week’s parsha we read of the capturing and presumed death of Joseph. He is held in captivity in Egypt as his father descends into wretched sadness. The children of Israel try to comfort their father, but they themselves don’t seem too sad. But in Israel today, there is no way to harm one member of the family without hurting everyone. The entire house is in mourning; sharing a home means everyone feels it together.

Shabbat shalom

(If you’d like to see some of these stickers for yourself, come with me to Israel in June. Or visit http://www.stickersofmeaning.com/, where many have been gathered digitally.)