Stephen Shooster
carved design. I met my cousin. He held some kind of secret position with the Israelis. We shared a few stories and told me to go to the El Al counter. They were expecting me and gave me a ticket with the destination of Lod, Israel. The ticket had the logo of El Al. Speechless, I shivered as I touched it. Gleefully, I boarded the plane to Israel. The atmosphere was completely different than my flight to Zurich. I had not seen Orthodox Jews since I was a child, and here, this flight was full of them. I arrived at Lod airport, Israel, in the evening. I will never forget hearing the Hatikva, the Jewish national anthem. It was new to me, but its emotions are ancient. I left the terminal and hopped into a taxi with a bounce in my step. When I got inside the taxi, I gave him the address and asked him to take me to my cousin’s home. The driver was Polish, so it was easy to converse. He took me to the address I had, but he could not find the house; it was a poor neighborhood in the Cholon district of Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv was still very much a desert when I arrived. Dismayed, but not discouraged, the driver took me for a little tour to the nearby Arab City of Jaffa. There I saw Arabs sitting on the road, for the first time, cooking shish-kebobs to sell to motorists. We pulled over, and they smelled fantastic. The taxi driver spoke with the Arabs, but I could understand nothing. Then he turned to me and said, “I told them I have a new guest to our country and he would like that you make him a kabob.” He followed by asking for money. I only had $10 and was con- cerned that I could not pay for the food and the car ride. The driver took the whole $10. We both ate kabobs, smacking our lips with each joyful bite. After we ate, he drove near a kiosk selling ice cream in Tel Aviv, and then he pointed to a house in a very poor neighborhood and said, “That must be the address.” I got out of the car, and the driver sped away. He was right, and I met my cousin there. I embraced him, one of the few family members I had left in the world, and told him what had happened with the driver. He said, “It should have cost $2 tops.” But, it was too late to do anything about it. I was tired and disoriented and in no position to chase after a taxi. My cousin took me to his apartment. It was very small, and he shared it with his wife, Pola, and their son, Joshua. After introductions, he said, “It is not much, but you will live here with us for now until you find your own way.” I was happy to be with my family. I took my shoes off and relaxed. I was in a whole new world, but I was not alone. The neighborhood was full of newcomers from different countries, many with stories like mine. Among the many, I remember meeting Jews from as far away as Morocco, to the West, and Bulgaria, to
248
Made with FlippingBook Digital Proposal Creator