This past Shabbos we hosted my wife’s cousin and his girlfriend.  They came to us from Jerusalem.  Since I am such a mentsch, I offered to drive them back to Jerusalem after Shabbos (about an hour’s drive from where I live).  I must admit, I was white knuckle driving for most of the ride.  Having been born in Boston, MA and then spending nearly a decade in South Florida, I have had my fair share of white knuckle driving.  Snow storms, torrential downpours, hurricanes and Massholes, I have seen it all.  I even managed to remain safe through the altakaka (old person) death trap, more commonly known as Atlantic Ave and Military Trail in Delray Beach, FL.

After seeing all of the carnage and mayhem in the news,  I was a bit anxious as to what I would find upon entering the eternal capital of the Jewish people.  However, it would take me a bit longer than usual to get to the Capital City.  There were two roadside accidents along the narrow, two lane road that leads to the city.  Highway 1 (Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem Highway) is also in the midst of a vast expansion project. Roadside reflectors and lane closures, twists and turns, I was holding tight with both hands, one at ten, the other at two.  My wife’s cousin also told me to gaze over to the right, where I would find that ambitious little Israel was also constructing an express train route alongside the highway that would bring travelers from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem in under thirty minutes once completed.  This really is proving to be the land of miracles.

My handy Waze application told me that if I veered off to the right and cut through a (an Arab) village, it would take me around the accidents and bring me to Jerusalem a few minutes faster.  Sadly, I opted not to take the shorter route.  We all felt it to be too dangerous given the current security situation.  No one in my car was carrying a gun.  A month ago, when all was calm here, I wouldn’t have thought twice.  I would have taken the short cut.

After a rather lengthy delay, we finally approached the entrance to the city.  I immediately felt a sense of calm come over me and loosened my grip on the steering wheel.  Lining the streets, bus stops and intersections were soldiers, police officers and security personnel.  Israelis.  They were there for me.  They were there for my family.  They were there for all of Am Yisroel saying, “come….we are here to protect you…we are here for your security in this great land of ours.”

After dropping off my guests, I started driving home with a greater sense of security and a greater sense of pride, but most of all, with a greater sense of what it means to be Israeli.