Waiting for my traveling companion just outside Passport Control at Ben Gurion airport seemed to take forever. What’s with him?
I was feeling guilty about leaving Israel, but the unprecedented heat wave and claustrophobia were taking their toll on my health. I needed to get out of the pressure cooker for a while and decided to escape to the verdant coolness of Switzerland.
By the time my friend exited with his problematic American passport, we had only minutes to reach the boarding gate. In due haste, we arrived, only to see people boarding a Turkish Airlines jet to Istanbul. I wouldn’t go to Turkey if you paid me. “Didn’t you hear?” said the lady at the counter. “It was announced several times that the El Al flight to Geneva was moved to the gate on the floor below us.”
I hoped that the sweating and grunting and near miss were not a harbinger of things to come.
* * *
We arrived at Geneva airport. My friend, who hasn’t traveled much except for the Great Lakes and the Rockies, was marveling at the mountains and greenery even before we touched down. Our first order of business was to make sure our luggage was picked up by the airport authorities and loaded onto the Swiss train that would take them to the mountain village of Saas Fee, about three hours away. To my consternation, I saw my bag making its rounds on the carousel. It had a special, large yellow label attached to it, meaning that it was supposed to go to the railroad, not the carousel. It took a while to find an airport person to make sure that that piece of luggage would not be going around and around in perpetuity.
That settled, we turned to the matter of our overnight stay in Geneva. The travel agent had promised me that the hotel was just 20 minutes walking distance from the airport, but the lady at the airport info desk had this puzzled look on her face and said that it would take 20 minutes by bus to get even near the hotel. (I am frustrated. Seems that every step forward is like climbing a mountain.) After asking a few people, we finally got to the right bus stop, and eventually made our way to the three-star hotel not far from the Chabad synagogue, where we planned to daven the next morning.
Getting to the Chabad minyan, like everything else so far, couldn’t be taken for granted. A high wall and surveillance camera kept us out of the building until we figured out how to use the intercom and convinced them that we were Jewish without having to speak French. We entered the shul at 7:50, just as the seven o’clock minyan was finishing. There was no eight o’clock minyan – only during the school calendar year, we were informed. My travel agent was wrong again! We had to wait for the nine o’clock. We just barely made a minyan.
The three-hour train ride and bus transfer to Saas Fee was uneventful – until we got to the bus/postal station. Our luggage, which was supposed to be shipped directly to our destination, had not arrived. The postal clerk (who handles post, bus and train schedules, luggage deliveries, and sells SIM cards) told me that it might arrive at 6 or 8 p.m. I figured I would purchase a SIM card to make local calls more cheaply.
A taxi of sorts – that is, an open wagon connected to a semi-closed wagon for passengers, pulled by a little one-passenger motorized vehicle – was waiting for us, courtesy of the hotel. It was a waste, because we had no luggage to lug around. But we hopped in and observed as the taxi snaked through the winding streets of the village. It was chilly, damp, and drizzling – just the kind of weather you don’t want on vacation – especially if your warmer clothing is somewhere on the mountainside between Geneva and this tiny village.
* * *
This was a chasidic-owned hotel. We were greeted by a sweet young lady in her late teens whose mother tongue was Yiddish but who was raised in London and spoke a very good English. She gave us our keys, and we took our carry-ons and my laptop to our small room. It was there when I realized something else was missing: my passport! I was getting antsy about this trip.
I rushed down and told the receptionist. Next to her was a chasidic man in his late 20s, listening to my tale of woe. He suggested that I might have left it in the post office where I bought the SIM card. It was a few minutes to five o’clock, and no one knew what time the post office closed. “I’ll walk you there,” he offered.
“But we better leave now,” I pleaded.
He was in no rush. With not a scintilla of tension or concern in his body language, he said to me, “You have nothing to fear. Just repeat after me: “Amar Rabi Binyamin, hakol bechezkat sumin ad sheHakadosh Baruch Hu me’ir es eineihem. – Rabbi Binyamin said, everyone is considered blind until G-d opens their eyes....” (Breishis Rabba) Then he added,“Elaka d’Rabi Meir, aneini! – G-d of Rabbi Meir, answer me!” (Chida, Birkei Yosef)
“Let’s go!” I begged him.
“Don’t worry, just repeat after me….”
I wanted to say something else, but held myself back and figured it was better to cooperate. Finally, he started to meander with me to the post office.
Thank G-d it was still open. I waited my turn and finally asked the woman who sold me the SIM if she had my passport. She replied that no one left a passport there. I thought my heart was going to drop.
The chasid looked at me and said, “Don’t worry. Just repeat after me....” Then he approached the same lady and asked her the same question – this time in German. (Now, I remember that this woman spoke to me in decent English when she sold me the SIM card.)
She then said (in German), “Yes, someone left here a passport.” The chasid pointed at me and asked her if I could approach her. She then gave me the passport. Try to figure that one out.
I thought about that phrase – everyone is blind until G-d opens their eyes. One night, after I had returned to Israel, I was contemplating an incident in which someone had hurt my feelings. I felt quite sure that my resentment was totally justified. But the anger inside me was poison, so I tried to see it from another perspective. Then I remembered the phrase, and said to myself, “Amar Rabbi Binyamin, hakol....” And a few minutes later, I was able to see where I was wrong in that incident! My ego had made me “blind” to the truth.
* * *
Baruch Hashem, the luggage finally arrived, the weather improved, and so did our spirits. The next day was typical Alpine hiking – trails through pine tree forests that led to a meadow and a tumbling river of whitish water that was the result of the glaciers in the mountains melting. Speaking of glaciers – they make summer skiing possible. We saw people with skis getting into the lifts that would whisk them to the mountaintops. Skiing was allowed only until noon every day.
I look about me and am dwarfed on all sides by these high ice-covered mountains. Their sheer size makes one feel the greatness of their Creator. If a mountain is a symbol for life’s goals, one senses that great heights are possible but very difficult to attain. Yet they are constantly staring one in the face. The whiteness, so pure and clean, reminds me of the verse in Tehilim we say every Sunday morning: “Who will ascend the mountain of G-d, and who will stand in His holy abode? One with clean hands and a pure heart….”
In fact, I find the whole adventure of hiking in nature one big exercise in spirituality. As the days went on, the lessons became deeper. Nature speaks, but you can only hear its words in your mind and heart.
Take the trails, called “wanderweg.” The name is very apt, because you are wandering (if you’ve never been there before). On the other hand, it is a “way” (weg), a derech. You know where you’re going; you’re just not sure what the journey will look like. And there are plenty of surprises! Sometimes, you are trudging along and it never seems to end, and then, suddenly, you hear the roar of a river or are startled by a waterfall, a lake, or a sudden turn that yields a spectacular view.
The trails are well marked, but there are sub-trails that aren’t – which made them all the more intriguing. Our time in Switzerland was limited. I could either be humble, acknowledging my limited experience, and follow the “guideposts,” or I could be a maverick and end up getting lost after expending a lot of time and energy, and then having to retrace my steps and return from where we deviated.
Sounds like something I learned in yeshiva in reference to much larger dilemmas.…
* * *
Meanwhile, my problems weren’t over. As Shabbos approached, I searched through the luggage and realized that I forgot to bring a white shirt – any solid colored shirt, for that matter. I stood out enough in this chasidishe place. Where was I going to get a shirt for Shabbos?
After returning from a hike on Thursday, my friend and I started canvassing the apparel stores. Everything was sporty – tennis outfits and the like. One more store, I told myself. From the looks of it, it didn’t look any more promising. Thinking that opening my mouth would be a bracha levatala, I asked the saleslady if they had any simple white shirts – not polo shirts – dress shirts. First, she said no. But then she changed her mind and went scavenging towards the rear of the store. A smile lit up on her face. There, in a neat pile, were five folded white shirts – in total contrast to the merchandise in the rest of the store. And they were on sale – 50 percent off from their regular price of 80 Swiss francs (about $ 80 U.S. dollars!) For me, it was almost as big a miracle as getting my passport back. Chasdei Hashem!
* * *
After five days in Saas Fee, we drove northwest to Davos, and another kosher hotel. The hotel is not owned by chasidim, but their presence was very strong. Just about everyone spoke Yiddish, whether they were chasidic or not. The young woman at reception, a resident of Antwerp, Belgium, told me that, in Belgium, even the non-Orthodox speak Yiddish.
While in Davos, one hike stood out, even though, as hikes go, the views were not nearly as spectacular as what we had experienced earlier. You see, Davos is situated in a valley between two mountain ranges. All along the thin stretch of the town, there are cable cars that transport people up the mountains. One day we took the Schatzapl cable car up to a small stretch of Alpine forest. We planned to hike through and then make our way down to Davos.
It was disappointing – too short. We soon got to a fork in the trail. One sign pointed to Davos, the other to Hohenweg. The way to Davos was down, and the way to Hohenweg was up. What should we do? The way down was easier – much easier – but it was boring. Just a few trees and then you’re back in town. But the way up meant a lot more forest and looked much more interesting. Up meant exertion and uncertainty. What should we do?
* * *
If I hadn’t “gotten it” by this point in our trip, this fork in the road was driving home the notion that what was happening to me was all a mashal (parable) for life.
There is always that juncture where one goes up – against gravity and comfort – or goes down – towards ease and dissolution. I remember once hearing from Rabbi Nisson Alpert that, when one is in doubt, it is usually (though not always) the more difficult thing that Hashem wants from us. We noticed that people on the trial were coming down. Only a very few were going up. “Ra’isi bnai aliya vehan mu’atin - I have seen those who go up – but they are very few…” (Sukkah 45:B)
The path was very twisted, and the view was deceptive. It looked like the ascent was very small, followed by a leveling off. But each time we got to the end of a segment, it suddenly turned and went up again: back and forth, back and forth. So what was the big deal in taking just one more little stretch? I reasoned. But after some huffing and puffing, we exited the forest and saw the endgame of this wanderweg. It led all the way to the top of the mountain. The cable car only brought us half way!
Although we were tired, we decided that, since we had already come so far, it would be a shame to quit now. We soon discovered another deception: Even though we saw that the path still had many bends and turns, the mountain top seemed misleadingly close. It was just staring us in the face, saying, “Look at what you can accomplish! Imagine the pride and satisfaction!”
Doesn’t life often deceive us? I’ve gotten involved in at least one project that, had I known it would take as long as it did, I would have never contemplated taking on.
After resting a bit, we trudged on. The strain made us more determined. There was no going back. And after a few more turns on the path, some stunning views of the valley, with Davos and the mountains parallel to our range, suddenly came into view – and I understood.
The perspective of those who are “up there” is quite different from those “down below.” More than that: How do my companion and I differ from those who took the train all the way to the top? That is, they started at the end! Who, in real life, starts at the end? Who, in real life, knows exactly where he or she is going, sees clearly the path ahead? There may be a few people like that. But what they see at the top is not the same as what those of us see who have labored mightily to get there.
Oh no, I’m getting too philosophical again – this trip was supposed to relax and simplify my life – but I can’t help it…
The many bends in the road, whether on a wanderweg, or in our lives, is probably G-d’s way of allowing us to take bite-sized experiences in life of growth in such a way that we can handle them. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one step at a time.
As we got closer to the summit, the paths got more difficult to navigate. At one point, they were intersected by streams of water, making them muddy and slippery. It was all part of the experience, just another minor obstacle. We finally made it to the top, and looked down. It was hard to believe how many zigzags in the road we had navigated.
I imagined myself at the summit of my years, looking back on my life and suddenly seeing, suddenly comprehending.
That night I slept well, my sweet dreams emerging straight from a sense of accomplishment. May we all merit to look back on our lives with that satisfaction of accomplishment..
Sam Finkel is the author of Rebels in the Holy Land – Mazkeret Batya, a Battleground for the Soul of Israel. An expanded, second edition will be coming out this winter, distributed by Feldheim Publishers.
