Like a Mother’s Love

Anyone who has ridden in an Israeli taxi can safely assume two things. One, the driver will take you where he feels you need to go (“What do you mean you’re not going to the Zvehiller Rebbe’s kever ? I’ll take you there right now.”) Second, he moonlights as an agent for the Immigration and Absorption Ministry. Whatever your driver’s religious commitment, once your chutznik accent gives you away, you will not be able to avoid the question of when are you making aliyah. If you dare respond that you have no such plans, you had better be prepared for the sales pitch that is sure to follow.

I recall one such conversation the last time I was privileged to visit Eretz Yisrael, a year and a half ago. My driver, a very sincere and sweet man, was interrogating me about why I insist on living in chutz l’Aretz. I told him we were toying with the idea of making the move one day but were not quite ready yet. My wife, I explained, was especially excited about the prospect of someday living in Eretz Yisrael because, as I put it, she is a “fervent Tzioni.”

This comment thoroughly bewildered the driver. He did a double-take at my rabbinical attire to make sure he heard me right. “Adoni! Ishtecha Tzionit?”

I quickly put him at ease and told him that my wife fervently prays every day, “V’sechezenah eineinu b’shuvcha l’Tzion b’rachamim.” That is the Tzion of her dreams, and in fact the focus of everybody’s tefillos. For once, I got the best of a taxi driver.