I had a bad case
of cabin fever, especially after not being able – or willing – to leave Israel,
where I live, on account of Covid. The last time I was in Switzerland was in
2019, which seemed like eons ago. I love Israel, and take whatever
opportunities I can to enjoy its beautiful parks. But, like many Israelis, I
needed to “break out.”
I got a call from
Tourplus, a travel company that specializes in kosher tours for Orthodox Jews.
They were offering a trip to Andorra – a little country somewhere in the
Pyrenees Mountains. “What about Switzerland?” I asked.
“We haven’t
organized anything for Switzerland this year. Granted, the Pyrenees are no
match for the Swiss Alps, but it is beautiful and a lot cheaper.”
Reluctantly, I signed
up. Although I could have made my own arrangements and gone to Switzerland, I
am not one of those people who likes to rent an apartment, have frozen meat
shipped over, and spend my time cooking. No siree. I want to enjoy myself. I
want to hike and bike and come back to a dinner that is waiting for me to
devour.
On the Shabbos
following the offer to Andorra, I sat at the dining room table in my apartment
to eat seudah shlishis. Staring at
the empty chairs, I felt a deep sadness overwhelm me. Alone. No wife, no kids,
no grandchildren. Alone. I remember the last time I went on a Tourplus
excursion. The hotel dining room was packed with families. No, I was not going
to be the only person sitting alone at a table.
After Shabbos, I
called a young man whom I had taken to Switzerland three years before. He was
more than happy to come again (with me picking up the tab). In 2019, when
Pinchos was 17, I needed a special letter from his parents to show at the
airport check-in that he had permission to go with me. This time, his parents
didn’t even decide, although they were happy with his decision. The young man,
from a poor chareidi family in
Jerusalem, didn’t need much persuasion.
A week later,
Tourplus called me. The Andorra trip was canceled; they were going to
Switzerland instead. Would I be interested? You bet!
* * *
On Wednesday,
August 15, we arrived at Zurich airport at about 7:30 p.m. after a five-hour
flight. It took the longest time to find a store that sold SIM cards for my
smartphone. We got to the rental car, and I couldn’t figure out how to adjust
the seat in the fancy-shmancy car (I got a free upgrade). I couldn’t figure out
how to adjust the side mirrors and other things. Pinchas, who had never driven
a car, figured everything out in no time. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t
have been able to leave the airport!
The drive to
Pontresina, a sleepy village in eastern Switzerland, took about three hours. I
could barely keep my eyes open. It was pitch dark, so we couldn’t see the
mountains we were passing. We arrived at the Schloss Hotel at about 1 a.m.
When we woke up
the next morning, the darkness gave way to a stunning mountain scene: massive
walls of granite pointing to the sky, thrusting above the tree line. For that
alone, it was worth the trip. Behind the hotel flowed a roaring river, its
whitish waters flowing from faraway melting glaciers. The humming river
provided a sort of natural “white sound” that was like a lullaby at bedtime.
That day would be
the first of many when we ended up in Fahndrich Bicycle Shop, where we rented
e-bikes. The technology has so vastly improved that the bikes – more versatile
than ever – can take you up steep hills and very long distances. It’s like
riding in a third of the gravity. I used to hike a lot, but a plantar tear in
my left foot made long walks impossible. The joy of being back in the alpine
forests was indescribable. The fresh alpine air, the well marked trails, the
narrow wooden bridges over streams and rivers, the mountain views… what can I
say?
Our first bike
excursion was to Val Roseg, only 10 minutes from the bike rental shop. We rode
our e-bikes down the hill towards the train station. Just to the left of the
station was the road that led to the entrance of this amazing park. Horses and
carriages by the entrance waited to take tourists for a leisurely ride through
the valley. The main road, shared by hikers, carriages, and bikers, was
parallel to a river. There were many families with little children. After 40
minutes of biking, the path ended with a panoramic vista of the highest
mountains in the area (called Engadin), all snow and ice and covered with
glaciers.
* * *
Switzerland is a
paradise for bad photographers, because unless you are a 100-percent nerd, it’s
impossible to take a bad picture. Everywhere you turn, all 360 degrees, you
have stunning scenery. Because I am getting older, my tendency to rush so as
not to miss out on anything has diminished, and I am able, more and more, to
just stand still and take it all in.
By Friday, I was
feeling unusually tired and had an earache. It got worse on Shabbos. (By the
way, the hotel was hosting the world renowned Cantor Yitzchok Meir Helfgot, a
Gerrer chasid. In January 2007, he
sang in Madison Square Garden to an audience of 30,000 at the Siyum HaShas.) He
“performed” Friday night with Kabbalas
Shabbos – along with a choir. Pinchas went and enjoyed it. I like chazanus – as long as I am not davening
with them. In the meantime, my condition was worsening.
That Saturday
night, I approached the hotel receptionist and asked about seeing a doctor. She
told me that the local doctor – whose office was less than 100 feet away from
the hotel – had had a bad experience with someone in the hotel and therefore
refused to see anyone from the hotel.
He even refused to see a nine-year-old girl who was suffering from severe
stomach pain.
Welcome to
Switzerland – beautiful nature and some very obnoxious people! I don’t even
think that the doctor was an antisemite; he was just plain mean. You would
never hear of such a thing in the U.S. The receptionist argued with the doctor
asking him how he could excuse himself of his medical responsibilities – to no
avail. So she had no other advice but to suggest that I go to the village
Samedan – about 30 minutes away by bike – to the emergency room in the
hospital.
Although suffering
from fatigue, I managed to bike with Pinchos to Samedan the next day. As usual,
the countryside was beautiful. We passed by a river and a gorgeous pond. We
finally arrived at the beautiful, ultra-modern hospital in Samedan. I went to
the reception desk to register and pay. What was interesting was that I didn’t
see a single visitor or patient in this mid-sized complex. A young woman intern
came to see me. She checked my ear and saw nothing unusual. Then another female
doctor arrived. She said she saw some water in the middle ear canal, but the
issue was nothing to write home about. As a matter of procedure, they
administered a test for Covid, even though they thought it was highly unlikely
that I had it. The whole thing cost me $500. I am still waiting to be
reimbursed through my travel insurance.
Two hours later, I
received a text message from the hospital. I tested positive for Covid. In all
the years I was in Israel, I never once contracted the disease. Now I got it
for the first time, either on the plane or from someone in the hotel who was
nice enough to pass it on to me. I called the hospital. The doctor told me that
in Switzerland there was no need to quarantine. The only requirement was to
wear a mask in public.
My next question
was whether I was morally or halachically required to inform the Tourplus
management – especially before entering the dining room and taking my mask off.
The world-renown posek, Rav Asher Weiss,
who was staying in the hotel, had gone back to Israel for Shabbos. So I called
a rav I knew from my neighborhood, who told me that as long as I took proper
precautions – such as wearing a mask while waiting in the buffet line or in the
lobby – there was no need to tell.
* * *
I “took advantage”
of my fatigue to drive Pinchas to Italy, about 90 minutes away. Now he could
tell his friends that he was in Italy. The drive was boring and uneventful,
even from the vantage point of observing nature. On the way, we stopped in
Saint Moritz, a very ritzy (pardon the pun) town with upscale stores for all
kinds of items, in order to purchase a car magnet for the smartphone. We used a
public restroom that was impeccably Swiss – that is, squeaky clean and
ultra-modern. After 45 minutes, we arrived at a small Italian border town. We
turned to head back, stopping for a few minutes to see an Italian waterfall
before we crossed the border back into Switzerland.
We took some other
great bike rides: One was to the Morteratsch Glacier. The furthest point by
bike takes you to a place that makes you feel as if you are in the far north.
White waters from the melting glaciers and falling rocks thundered all around
us. The other lovely bike ride was a 13-kilometer trek from Pontresina to the
village of Silvaplana. We took well-marked trails that wound through forests,
passed by small lakes, traversed the outskirts of Saint Moritz, and ended in
Silvaplana, which featured a beautiful lake filled with windsurfers. The lake
was covered with colorful sails.
Another bike ride
took us from Pontresina to the train station of La Punt Chamues, which was also
about 13 kilometers away. There, we waited for a special bus that requires
reservations. (Getting the phone number of that bus line was a real challenge
for the lady in the Swiss travel information office in Pontresina.) The bus
took us and our e-bikes up a winding road through forests – then above the tree
line to bare landscapes of jagged peaks – to the highest point of the Albula
pass (7,595 feet). At the top, there was a restaurant and a lot of motorcycles.
Just below the restaurant, a trail was marked with a big overhead sign that
read “Albula Pass Trail.” While the trail is touted for biking as well as
hiking, it is so narrow and deep in certain places – with sharp rocks jutting
up in the middle so that there was little wiggle room to steer the bike – that
it became a harrowing experience for me. I fell off my bike twice. Thank God I
didn’t get hurt. But Pinchas had to lift me up. I couldn’t wait for the ordeal
to be over. As for Pinchas – he was having the time of his life, skillfully
navigating the sharp turns, the streams crossing the trail, and the sharp
rocks. He loved every minute, while I was muttering the vidui under my breath. For those of us who are not daredevil types,
I would highly recommend hiking
the Albula Pass trail.
* * *
I had an
interesting experience in the dining room that taught me something about human
relations. A few days after we arrived at the hotel, there was a new batch of
tourists who had just arrived. Among them was an Israeli couple in their
sixties, who were given a table by the window of the dining room, with a
breathtaking view of the mountains. They had a look in their eyes that
projected suspicion and distrust. They called the manager of the dining room to
their table and let her have it for giving them such an “awful” table. The
manager was a young Israeli woman in her late twenties. They heaped verbal
abuse on her, mercilessly pelting her with complaints about how rotten Tourplus
was for even thinking of placing them in this “dreadful” location. The young
lady, unflustered, listened sympathetically as they continued to harangue her.
She did not get defensive. The next thing I knew, only two days later, the
manager and the couple became good friends! The couple seemed to genuinely love
her. And guess what? They never changed their table!
I can’t understand
such people! What is the matter with them? Always looking to find fault. Always
feeling aggrieved by some imaginary wrong. And what an amazing manager, never
letting their complaints get under her skin or taking their abuse personally.
There were two
dining rooms. At one point, they held almost 1,000 guests. Except for two
tables (mine included), all the tables were full of families. It hit me really
hard in the beginning. I felt like a bald man who, upon entering a room, saw
nothing but heads full of hair. That’s the feeling I had. No wife, no children.
I felt so out of place and different. Everyone assumed that the young man sitting
across from me was my grandson. That was the one thing that made me sad on this
Swiss excursion. I felt like an alien.
The food was
arranged buffet style. There were plenty of salads and side dishes to choose
from. I didn’t think that the main courses were something to write home about,
but the food was definitely fine. Pinchas, being the age that he was, would go
to the dessert table first and stock up on different pastries and other final
course foods. Then he would come back with the chicken, beef, and other side
dishes. One pleasant surprise was that I noticed that the milk tasted normal,
not like that reconstituted milk with that awful aftertaste that doesn’t
require refrigeration. For someone who needs milk in their early morning
coffee, it was a real joy.
* * *
Our last touring
day in Switzerland was spent driving through the Albula Pass. As the road wound
its way down to the valley, we stopped by one of the most beautiful lakes I
have ever seen. The waters were crystal clear, placid, and serene. Behind them
rose the mountains of the Albula Pass. We just sat on a bench under the trees
and breathed in the tranquility. We continued our drive down the road and came
across a park with a gushing river and a high stone bridge with giant arches.
On top of the bridge, a train would pass every 20 minutes. We had lunch in this
picture postcard setting.
The next day, we
drove from Pontresina to the airport outside Zurich – about a
three-and-a-half-hour drive. On the way, we stopped off in Zurich and parked outside
the Jewish community center, where a van was selling kosher meat sandwiches.
It’s called The Grill Cave. Because they didn’t open until 7 p.m., we looked
for a minyan for Mincha. Suddenly, I bumped into a young man I recognized from
home in Shaarei Chesed. He was celebrating his engagement that night to a local
Swiss girl! What a small world! He told us to walk 20 minutes to Agudas Achim
on Erikastrasse 8. As we got closer to the shul, we were amazed at the number
of religious Jews we encountered. There were lots of boys with yarmulkas on
bicycles riding around. The shul gave me the feeling of being in the old
Shearith Israel (Glen Avenue) shul in Baltimore. While there were a few
chasidic-looking types, there were many more German types with their European
caps. It was Yom Kipper Katan (the day before Rosh Chodesh Tishrei), and the
main sanctuary of the shul – to my surprise – was packed.
By the time we got
back to the Grill Cave, the eatery had opened. We ordered roast beef
sandwiches. I asked where we could wash for bread, and they told us that no one
washes because the “bread” was just mezonos
buns. I smiled. I was just learning the laws of pas haba bekisnin. (Mezonos
rolls are generally kneaded with fruit juice and water. Typically, they taste
almost exactly like regular rolls. Rav Belsky and Rav Schachter both held that
they are without question hamotzi
(considered bread) for Ashkenazim. (See https://outorah.org/p/46453.) I found some frum people leaving a nearby apartment
who graciously allowed me to use their sink for netilas yadayim.
* * *
Now we were off to
the airport! I got lost, as I always do, trying to follow the GPS through the
maze of streets, lights, and tram rails through the busy city to the highway
that takes you to the airport. But we finally made it to the airport. We
arrived at Ben Gurion airport at 4:30 a.m. By the time I got home, it was 5:30
a.m. As I got out of the taxi, I wondered whether I should try to stay awake
until the first minyan. I knew that if I went to sleep, I would probably get up
quite late. On the other hand, if I waited, I would be exhausted and half
asleep while davening.
Suddenly, in the
dead of night, I heard a steady rhythmic tapping sound from down the block. It
was Yaakov, a ger tzedek (convert to
Judaism) from Russia, going to the Netz minyan, which coincides with sunrise.
Everyday, twice a day, this blind man with a scraggly beard and ski cap, which
makes him look like a sort of mountain man, uses his tapping stick to cross
Ramban Street. It is a heavy-traffic road, and he is at the mercy of the
drivers he can only hear but cannot see. He has no family, except for a few
cats that gather in his apartment building’s courtyard to be fed by him.
What would a trip
to Switzerland do for a man who couldn’t see the majestic mountains, the white
rivers, the Alpine flowers, and green meadows? But his lack of sight does not
keep him from going to shul every day or from finishing a few tractates of
Talmud, which he learned from the Braille Jewish Library in Bnei Brak. It is
all about perspective. I had felt a bit sorry for myself in Switzerland, and
here I see a man who is so grateful to have become a Jew and serve G-d as best
he can. And while the neighborhood slept, he was tapping his way to shul.
I took my luggage
into the building and shlepped up three flights of stairs to my apartment.
“Thank You, G-d, for getting me back here safely. Thank You for my vision, the
sights I saw, the places I rode.”
And then I took
the easy route and went straight to bed.
