Life in Italy includes periodic strikes, usually of a few hours duration only and always announced in advance. We had planned to take the Vaporetto, the “water bus” which serves as the backbone of the city’s public transportation, to travel to the Ghetto in time for Shabbat services. Alas, the transit workers were on strike for the day.
I read with interest the long list of complaints against the government, which the union is required to publish before striking. Most of them had to do with wages and benefits, but among them was this gem: “Against Italy’s growing involvement in supporting the genocidal Israeli government” italics and emphasis added).
Setting aside the improbable linkage between the economic affairs of Italy’s transit workers and the Middle East, why do the bus drivers, train conductors and Vaporetto captains excoriate Israel alone? The only thing more remarkable than the one-sidedness of the declaration was its complete silence regarding the many other troubled spots around the world where there is horrible suffering. The self-righteous posturing of Western Europe’s unions is maddening, but hardly surprising. This Zionist was only too happy to take a private water taxi instead . . .
Susan and I attended services at the Levantine synagogue, where the ritual follows the Sephardic nusah. The shul was sparsely attended – no more than 25 worshippers. Security was tight and required us to submit our passport photos in advance. The rabbi and the regulars weren’t particularly friendly, but I came to pray, not shmooze. Still, it would have been nice to have received more than one curt “Shabbat Shalom” (not from the rabbi). After services I would have stayed for the weekly Torah study session, until I realized it was in Italian, not Hebrew. To tell the truth, the interesting atmosphere of the sanctuary aside, I much prefer our own warmer shul, where the clergy are so much friendlier!
We had prepaid Shabbat meals at BaGhetto, the kosher restaurant at which we had our cooking lesson earlier in the week. After dinner we enjoyed a leisurely walk back to our hotel. The rest of Shabbat was quiet and lovely.
This morning I woke up at 0-dark o’clock to make a dawn flight to Warsaw, where I am now. It was difficult to find a direct flight to Israel. El Al has one daily flight from Venice, but it was booked solid for the week. Plan B was to fly LOT, the Polish Airline, and change planes in Warsaw, but the Tel Aviv leg was canceled. Tomorrow I will board El Al’s morning flight to Ben Gurion Airport. In the meantime, I’ve been wandering Warsaw’s streets, discovering how unaccustomed I’ve become to winter’s cold since moving to Jacksonville. In just a bit I will go to dinner at Bakef, a kosher restaurant in Muranow, near where the ghetto of the Nazi era once stood.
My schedule in Israel is slowly taking shape. On Tuesday I will travel to Neve Hanna, the children’s home in Kiryat Gat with which I’ve had a relationship for many years. On Wednesday morning, I’ve signed up to tie tzitzit on IDF combat approved garments and then will visit the Gevurah tent near Cinema City in Jerusalem to show solidarity with bereaved families whose children have died in combat in the North and Gaza. On Thursday I will travel with a survivor of the Nova festival to bear witness to the brutality of October 7th. My next post, God willing, will be from Israel.
Życzę dobrej nocy z Warszawy (“Wishing you a good night from Warsaw” – so says Google Translate!)
Jonathan Lubliner
Jack F. Shorstein Senior Rabbi
Rabbi Jonathan Lubliner 