Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

My Parents' Visit

While there are many difficulties in making Aliyah, I do not think any is more difficult than leaving family behind. Especially for parents who are not dati to begin with, the concept of a child leaving the country of his birth behind to come to Israel is hard to digest. It becomes especially difficult when there are grandchildren involved, as was the case with us.

The morning of our Aliyah, my father sat me down and told me that if I got on the airplane, he would never see me again. He said he could not understand our decision to leave. In his mind, we were "running away" from America. That was a very painful day for me, made worse by the fact that he did not understand how painful it was for me.

Yet just five short months later, my parents came for their first visit to Israel. I was quite anxious before hand, since philosophically they are fairly close to Satmar, just not as religious. My father told me time and time again that Israel means nothing to him, that Jerusalem and the Kotel are not especially significant. He was coming only to see the grandchildren.

Ten years ago, my father was recovering from a very serious aneurism. There was no certainty whether he would live or how much of his mental and physical facility he would regain. His condition was constantly on my mind. Around this time, I visited Israel for the first time.

I was curious to visit the Kotel, but not in a religious sort of way. I was not at the time dati, and I was a bit apprehensive as I stood before the Wall wearing my free cardboard kippa. A gang of Chabadniks begged me to wrap leather straps around my arm, while another gang just begged. Surrounded by such an entourage I was a bit uncomfortable, but I felt that I needed to do something. A friend suggested that I write a "petek" and put it into the wall.

At first I was unsure what to write. I assumed that a lot of people had already asked G-D for peace and to feed the world's children and stuff like that, so I could be more personal without feeling guilty. I just jotted the thing I desperately wanted – for my father to live to see me as a father.

This week, I stood by the Kotel again, this time my son was on one side and my father in his wheelchair on the other. I realized that my prayer had been answered and said a quiet "thank you." My stomach was churning as I wondered if the Wall would have any effect on my father. He leaned forward and put out his hand and touched the stones. Then I heard him say, "Jordan, I'm starting to cry… Why am I crying?… Why am I crying?"

My parents did not leave Israel as Zionists. AIPAC should save the stamp on their solicitation letter. My father even told me in the airport that he still didn't understand our decision at all, that there was nothing particularly special about Israel. But I had seen the tears with my own eyes and know that deep down, a spark exists and he had made his own connection to our holy land.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2005, 2006 Yarden Frankl