PASSOVER EDITION 5785 SECTION C PAGE 23
Recently, I experienced a moment that expressed the words in the Haggadah that are sourced in the 16th chapter of the Prophet Ezekiel. At the seder we say: “Be-damayich chayee, through your blood, you shall live.”
This has been the spirit of Israel this past year-and-a-half.
• • •
The day to day intensity of living in Israel at this time — the emotional roller coaster of protracted war and of ecstatic joy of returned hostages — takes its toll even on regular civilians, like me.
After a burst of rainy days that was sure to bring some horticultural growth and floral blooming, I decided to go see the flowering of the “rakefet,” the cyclamen flower, that was having its moment in areas not far from Jerusalem. Overnight it seemed like they appeared out of nowhere. It felt like a good outing: a brief pause, grounded in nature’s healing sanctuary.
We decided on the Ben Shemen Forest. It did not disappoint. The walk through the forest, with beams of sunshine filling the air, was a delight. It felt like a walk through a forest fairy tale, as we enjoyed spotting the beautiful cyclamens hiding near the rocks. A cluster here, a cluster there, of delicate little pink flowers with their marbled heart-shape leaves, peeking out from under or near the rocks.
Cyclamens can tolerate the shade and thrive in indirect light, hence the forest was filled with them.
As we continued our jaunt through the forest, the lush beauty of cyclamens kept increasing, appearing in swaths of pink hues in every shade. From hot pink to pale pink, the landscape at our feet was a carpet of the delicate beauty.
The way their more narrow raindrop-like shaped petals stand at attention, pointy at the top, remind me of vertical ears, perked to listen, as though these delicate feminine-like cyclamens are paying attention, listening, and taking something in.
Transported by the site of the exquisite cyclamens, I sense an Israeli childhood song about cyclamens coming back to me, and I began singing it. “Mitachat la’sela . . . underneath the rock.” The song is about the modest, shy and humble nature of the cyclamen that hides behind a rock. There is a reference to a Batsheva in the song, and when the song was released many Batsheva’s took credit for inspiring the song. The words were penned by Israeli poet and author Levin Kipnis. The melody was borrowed from an old Yiddish song, “Maragaritkelech.”
It was a wonderful afternoon. As we were making our way back to the car and were about to leave, we noticed a falafel cart just outside the Ben Shemen Forest, apparently a permanent stand. As we approached it, there was a curious sign attached. In large, bold, black letters, in a poetic format, it read:
“Gazezeni v’egarshech / V’ha’adifeini be-milayich.”
Intrigued, I asked the falafel guy about the message. It was a quote from the famous national poet of Israel, Bialik. Apparently, it’s a famous Israeli quote, which I, however, knew nothing about.
It’s a play on words and I’m not sure exactly how to translate it, but the gist is this. It harkens back to the early Tel Aviv café culture in the early 1900s (Tel Aviv was founded in 1907.) The words are a witty reply from Bialik upon being handed his tab. It has to do with receiving small change. Even Bialik’s small talk dialogue was suffused with poetry and witticisms.
What a juicy little tidbit to learn at a little falafel stand; a special Israeli moment. Just when you think you are merely getting a delicious falafel, the next thing you know it becomes a literary experience.
We were talking among ourselves, deciding between ordering a lafa or a pita, a half-size pita or a deconstructed plattered falafel.
I like to think my Israeli accent is flawless, but apparently not, as often people think I am French. This friendly falafel guy (I wish I remembered his name!) caught on that I was American, and asked where I was from. We got into a friendly conversation about Colorado. I noticed his English was good, and he said it’s from Swampscott. Swampscott? The sounded like a playful made-up fun kind of word, but it is actually a town in Massachusetts. He was a Chabad emissary there at one point. Indeed, there was a little business-card size picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe and a picture of a young guy near him.
We continued shmoozing — and I tried to get that Swampscott word in as much as I could, as I enjoyed verbalizing the lilt in this new place I had just learned of (try saying Swampscott 50 times in a row).
Did you know the public schools in Swampscott are closed on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, he asked us. So many of the teachers were Jewish, so they closed the schools.
An interesting piece of trivia. Not a tidbit I would have expected as I was leaving the Ben Shemen forest in Israel. But it was all part of the friendly atmosphere and organic chatter as we were deciding on what to order.
The next customer wandered up. She walked up to the little picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Who is this? She asked as she pointed to the young guy near the rebbe.
“That’s my nephew,” came the falafel guy’s fast reply. “He fell in the war three months ago.”
Stunned silence reigned before we returned to our senses and expressed our profound sorrow at his beloved nephew’s loss, and heroism.
“Thank you,” the falafel guy said. “We do our best and try and go on.
“So, will you be going with the pita or the lafa?”
The mood shifted as we sat down at one of the little round cafe tables outside the falafel truck.
That’s when those two words came into my head: “B’damayich chayee, through your blood, you shall live.”
© IJN 2025
