By Eli Yissar, #MyJewishIdentity Contest Entry
The sun burned down on Abram’s black hat as he walked home from morning prayers. The morning breeze brushed up his beard and payot, making them swish back and forth at the same beat to Abram’s steps crunching on the sidewalk. The walk home wasn’t too far, but already, the tight hold he had on his Tfillin bag was making his palm sweat and fingers cramp. He passed the bag to his left hand and used his right to press his hat forward on his head in an attempt to shield his eyes from the shining sun. Abram knew he didn’t have a far way to go since he was used to making the walk from his synagogue to his house three times a day. Even so, the sun’s determination to stream down his long, black suit made it all the more difficult to remember that he would soon be home in his air-conditioned apartment. When the heat felt like too much for Abram, he focused on the road surrounding him filled with vehicles hasty to reach their destination. The consistent honking of the cars and persistent shouting of the drivers never troubled Abram as the mornings were his favourite time of day. After all, this was his sign that the day in Israel had begun.
Ayala used the back of her left hand to wipe away the streak of sweat dripping down her forehead, leaving a brown smear of dirt in that same area. The visible sweat stain on the back of her baggy shirt clung to Ayala’s body as she kneeled down on the grass to pat the soil around the olive tree she was almost ready to position into the field. There had been a light drizzle the night before which had left the grass damp and perfect for planting. However, the wet earth was not the ideal place for sitting, which could easily be proven from Ayala’s muck covered shorts. She had been working with four other volunteers since sunrise to revive a small field on the outskirts of the Kibbutz which would, with lots of hard work, become an area for the young children to play in after school. After double-checking the size of the pit she had just dug, Ayala was ready to plant her sixth olive tree of that day. The small, green leaves of the tree tickled her index finger, leaving an approving smile on her sun-burned face. After shutting her eyes for a few relaxing seconds, Ayala removed the blue sunhat from her head and rested it on her bare thighs. She inhaled one deep breath and opened her eyes to look out into the clear, blue sky and silently thanked Israel’s early settlers for their diligent work in making these fields the most beautiful ones she had ever seen.
It was nearing evening and Daniel knew that he only had a couple of hours left to enjoy the water before he had to get to his parents’ house for dinner. He had just parked his car and was running barefoot across the parking lot with his surfboard in his hands and the scorching pavement burning his feet. When he finally reached the beach, his feet could relax in the grainy sand, but he never stopped running, uninterested in wasting even one second without the refreshing water surrounding him. As he got to the shore, Daniel rapidly pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the wet sand, taking no notice of the group of young children building a sand castle barely a metre away from his now discarded shirt. Daniel looked out into the endless ocean, the blue waves rising and then crashing down the wall of rocks in the distance. Grinning at the body of water, Daniel unzipped the pocket of his swim trunks, grabbed the gray Kipah from his head and shoved it inside the empty pocket. He kneeled down with his teal surfboard and clasped the leg rope on before running forward into the refreshing water. The ocean’s cold temperature invigorated him, and the rise of the waves thrilled him as he jumped onto his board and enjoyed the ride.
Mrs. Cohen bustled around the dining room, setting the table for herself, her husband, and her three children as a knock on the door startled Mr. Cohen awake from the brown loveseat in the living room. Mrs. Cohen’s heart fluttered as her husband rose from the couch to open the door. The Cohen’s hadn’t had a family dinner since before the COVID- 19 Pandemic hit, and now, they could finally sit together and catch up with one another. Mrs. Cohen heard the squeak of the door as it opened and the voice of her eldest son greeting her husband. Quickly, she wiped her hand on her jeans and rushed to the door. Abram’s smile was wide as his mother brought him into a tight hug and his payot brushed the side of Mrs. Cohen’s cheek as he returned the embrace. When Mrs. Cohen finally let her son go, she looked him up and down to make sure that all his body parts were still in the right place since the last time they saw each other. His black hat and coat were still as essential to his wardrobe as they were the last time she saw him, but Mrs. Cohen was far more interested in his weight loss. She held on to both sides of Abram’s face and scolded him for not eating enough, then, she told him to go wash his hands.
A few moments later another knock sounded at the door and since Mr. Cohen had gone into the kitchen to prepare a garden salad, Mrs. Cohen was the one to open it. She turned the black knob and was surprised to see that on the other side of the door stood both her middle daughter and youngest son. Ayala, who was familiar with her mother’s talent at jumping to conclusions, explained that the two of them had come separately and met just a couple of minutes ago in the building’s parking lot. Mrs. Cohen waved her right hand back and forth disregarding the ridiculous notion that she cared whether the two of them had come together or separately and instructed them to come inside. She took Daniel into a hug first, feeling his damp hair on her bare shoulder. She gave his lean back a pat and felt her son’s Kipah fall to the floor. Daniel let go of his mother and reached down to place his Kipah back on his head. When he finally rose Mrs. Cohen couldn’t help noticing that he seemed taller and more tanned than the last time they had seen each other. She told her son to go help his father in the kitchen since it was taking him too long back there. Daniel smiled down at his mother and sauntered off.
Then, Mrs. Cohen settled her gaze on her only daughter, she smiled at the bouquet of lilies in Ayala’s hands and suddenly realized that the two of them were wearing matching pink tank tops. Ayala moved forward to give her mother a kiss on the cheek. Out of Mrs. Cohen’s three children, Ayala was the only one who didn’t need to bend down in order to reach her mother’s face which was much more comfortable for the two of them. Ayala gave her mother a tight squeeze and walked into the kitchen after her younger brother. Mrs. Cohen closed the door and followed.
Mr. Cohen was listening to Daniel rave about one of his university classes as he cut the lettuce for the salad. Abram and Ayala were discussing the construction in Tel-Aviv as Ayala poured water into a vase for the flowers she had brought. Mrs. Cohen watched the four of them from the corner of the room with a smirk on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. Her three children were vastly different from one another, her eldest was Chassidic, her middle child was an atheist, and her youngest was somewhere in the middle. In another world they may have hated each other simply for those reasons, but in this household, they were all the same and her mother loved each one for their own, unique personalities. Each child is a small piece that makes up her heart, if one was missing, her most important organ would be incomplete.
Epilogue
In a world where it is achingly easy to be divided based on different religious or political views, the Jewish people must continue to be a light to the nations and stay united with one another. Regardless of the clothes they wear, the food they eat, or the activities they decide to carry out on Shabbat, the Jewish people are brothers and sisters and have to love and respect each other no matter what. Just like Mrs. Cohen is the safe haven for her three children, Israel is the safe haven for all the Jewish people. This is the reason that Israel is a fundamental part of my Jewish identity.
The End.
Disclaimer: I recognize that there are many more kinds of Jews and Israelis living in Israel and that the examples I brought into my short story only scratch the surface of Israel’s incredible diversity. My goal in using the cases that I did was to bring the types of Jewish Israelis that were most heard about and to show that if they can get along, so can the rest of us.
