Fortunately for Neiman, a Minnesota native who now lives in Connecticut, he didn’t have to dig too deep into his memory for the details; he had to revisit the blog that he used as a trip journal.

“When I got on the trail, it was a daily journal,” Neiman said. “I wanted to share it with family who weren’t there with me, and I knew in the back of my mind that I was probably going to want to write a book about this experience. I’d read a bunch of other ones, and there’s no way I was going to remember it all.”

Neiman had been planning the hike since 2002, something he said he didn’t want to divulge when he spoke with TC Jewfolk before he started the hike. 

“I probably downplayed it in real time because that makes me sound like a crazy person,” he said. “And if, like, after a week, I decided I didn’t like it and came home with my tail tucked between my legs. I didn’t want to overplay it at first. But the reality is, I really have been spending most of my adult life around thinking, planning, and building towards it. It was almost like every year I thought I was going to do it, and then a reason came not to do it. And so it just built up until we got to that moment.”

For all of the years of planning that Neiman put into the trip, he learned quickly that nothing goes to plan.

“You’ll see I had built out whole daily agendas, like every place I was going to stop along the way,” he said. There were a few reasons for this, in no small part because he wanted to know everything he was going to do along the route. But also, there were family considerations: His father was joining him on a pre-determined place on the trail to hike a section, he had to meet his wife at a wedding, and he had to be back in Los Angeles because he and his wife were moving to the East Coast. 

“The very first day, it all got thrown out the window because I’m sitting at LAX airport, and I was supposed to have a flight early in the morning that would drop me out there early afternoon,” he said. “I’d be able to get to the trail. I’d be able to have dinner with people; all these things I had planned. And my flight was delayed eight hours.”

Neiman’s pacing on the trail also got quickly thrown off.

“One of the things I really wanted was this community of hikers that was going to become your trail family,” he said. “And so I met with this group right away, and we became a family. We were hiking week over week, like every day together, and it was awesome, but they had a slower plan than I did, and I kept on getting further and further behind what I thought I needed to do.”

He then realized that, about four days before he was meeting his father, he was 150 miles away.

“There’s no chance,” he said. 

Neiman’s book details the steps taken to meet his dad on the trail, when he flew home, and making up missing ground.

The book also strikes a middle ground between memoir and how-to guide.

“I tried to find a really cool balance,” he said. “I’ve read a lot of these books in the past, and they typically follow one of two paths: self-realization and personal emotional transformation, or the other ones are like Wild or A Walk in the Woods, which is just overly dramatic, all these horrible things that could happen.

“I did not have this, like, life-changing perspective or problems emotionally that I was working through. I just love hiking.”

Neiman hasn’t done a hike quite like the Appalachian Trail since having two young children makes it hard to take four or five months away from home. But yearly, two of his friends he grew up with in Minneapolis, Adam Rosen and Max Puchtel, do a one-week hike each summer to national parks like Yosemite, the Grand Tetons, or Denali.

“I think what I want people to know most of all is, if there’s something that you’ve always wanted to do, don’t wait for it to happen. Make it happen yourself,” he said. “I waited 15 years to do this, which is a long time. A lot could have happened in those 15 years. And I never want to regret that I didn’t get to do something I wanted because life got too much in the way. You have to make it happen.”

The post Minnesota Native Michael Neiman Details Appalachian Trail Journey in New Book appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

Mike Frisch breaks the stereotype.

A Twin Cities native and St. Louis Park resident, Frisch has been helping build and rehab houses with Habitat for Humanity for 17 years. For many of them, he’s been the coordinator – the leader of his crew – which is sponsored by the Jewish Community Relations Council of Minnesota and the Dakotas. Frisch didn’t organize the crew, which started in the mid-2000s with Stan Alexander from Bet Shalom took the lead. At one point, most of the crew was Jewish, but now there are only two Jewish regulars and one other who helps out whenever she’s available.

The JCRC Habitat crew puts in six or seven hours every Friday wherever they’re sent. Frisch got involved because he was looking for an active project in retirement and learned about Stan’s Habitat crew. He approached Stan and the rest is history.

“I always tried to recruit volunteers who showed up at sites for the first time to work with Habitat,” Frisch said of his time as coordinator. “I also tried to encourage others to join who I met elsewhere (synagogues, other Jewish places), particularly Jewish people. My standing joke to encourage them was to say if they knew which end of the hammer to pound with or which end of the paintbrush to paint with, they were eligible to work with Habitat. There, they would be taught what skills they needed to do the work by friendly site supervisors who are used to volunteers with all levels of skills from beginners to advanced people.”

Frisch said he was handy around the house before he started volunteering with Habitat, but he learned a lot about actual construction from his Habitat experience. But building a new house or rehabbing a dilapidated one is different from changing a washer on the kitchen faucet.

“One of the most difficult things to do in my Habitat work has been to put up drywall on a ceiling. You have to work overhead putting enough screws in to hold it up and then finish with the rest later. Luckily, almost all the time, we can use lifts, which positions the panels right up to where we have to start putting in screws. Occasionally, we have to work in a small space where a lift won’t fit, and then it’s harder because we have to manually hold the panels in place before starting the screws. The thing about Habitat is that you learn to do a LOT of things!”

Frisch’s favorite project – although he never worked on it himself – was one done by the “Brush with Kindness” unit of Habitat, which does small jobs for elderly or homebound people who just need a little help to meet the landlord or City’s standards. He recalled a 2012 call for help at a familiar address: 1634 Upton Ave. N. in Minneapolis.

“I was amazed because it was the house I grew up in for the first 24 years and hadn’t been there in 45 years,” Frisch said, but he wasn’t able to volunteer that days because he was out of town for a wedding. “I called [the homeowners] and arranged a tour sometime later. The one thing I most remembered about my visit was the upstairs flooring. It was still the vinyl tile that was there originally when my parents had two bedrooms and a half bath built to house.”

Before becoming involved with Habitat in retirement (he was a computer programmer at the U of M for years), he volunteered locally with Nechama: The Jewish Response to Disaster. He’s always been active in the Jewish community through his membership at Beth El synagogue, along with his wife Bernice. You often can run into them at a Lake Harriet concert or while walking at most of the local lakes. Their daughter, Flip, lives in Portland, Ore., with her daughter and is a cantorial assistant at the shul across the Columbia River in Vancouver, Wash. Frisch’s son Tom also lives in Portland, combining work in videography and building new homes – especially smaller ones.

Frisch says he believes in the Jewish concept of tikkun olam, repairing the world. Habitat for Humanity represents that concept by making housing available to working families at a reduced price by providing volunteer labor.

Mike’s put down the scepter of JCRC Crew Coordinator, but still is looking for other local MOTs who’d like to join the crew. Contact him at frisc007@alumni.umn.edu or call his cell at 612-805-0287, and he’ll put you in touch with the JCRC Habitat Crew who can get you on board.

The post Mike the Builder appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

“It has absolutely met our expectations,” Weisberg said of the first year of JMatchmaking. “We’ve learned a lot” from the experience.

JMatchmaking is a program open to singles 65 and over who would like to be fixed up. Freshly retired from careers in the business world and looking to give back to the community, Cohodes and Weisberg co-founded what started as Old School Jewish Matchmaking as a labor of – and for – love. 

“I feel like we’re successful with what we have,” Weisberg said. “I’m proud of ourselves for what we’re doing, given our database, given where we’re at thus far. I’m proud of how we’ve conducted it.”

Being both thoughtful and careful in their approach has been by design. 

“People come to us with so much positive anticipation, and we try to kind of coach them through this and say it’s a long-term game we’re playing here,” Weisberg said. “We’re new, even though now we’re one year old. But there’s more time ahead, and time is our friend in terms of getting the word out there and having more people know about us and join.”

Their roster is now open to Jewfolk of a certain age, as well as those they call “Jewish-adjacent,” people with ties to the community. Seniors looking for a match, or those helping an interested senior, should join our new Facebook Group, Old School Jewish Matchmaking, or email matchmaking@jewfolk.com. 

Cohodes and Weisberg view their efforts as part of their personal commitment to tikkun olam, repairing or improving the world. They observed an unmet need in the community, noting that often, seniors view dating websites and apps as unappealing or unsafe.

“We need time for some successes to reverberate,” Cohodes said, adding that having more men in their pool of potential matches would be helpful, although she’s hopeful that as people are back in Minnesota after being away in the winter, those successes will increase. 

“What’s stood out is the strong desire for companionship, having it in their back pocket that they know what they’re doing for dinner Saturday night,” Cohodes said. “I feel like that has been the prevailing message. And there’s certainly ones that are looking for a deeper and more romantic [relationship], and it probably everything in between. For me, the possibility they leave with after they’ve talked to us, that’s the real reward and what stands out when I think about meeting with people.”

The post Reflecting on 1 Year of JMatchmaking appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

Listen to “Leah Temkin” on Spreaker.

Please subscribe to the Podcast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and more, and don’t forget to rate and review. Check out the show page where you can catch up on previous episodes. And of course, if you have suggestions of others who would be great subjects, let us know!

The post Who The Folk?! Leah Temkin appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

Come by the Minnesota JCC – Capp Center St. Paul on Sunday, April 19, between 2-4 p.m. for a drop-in collage workshop and art materials swap. This hands-on meetup is free of charge and the third in a series sponsored by TC Jewfolk and the Jewish Arts Collective (JAC).

“The Art Materials Swap + Collage Workshop series is open to everyone!” said Robyn Awend, director of arts engagement at the Minnesota JCC. 

“We especially encourage artists, makers, and anyone with a creative spark — whether you’re a seasoned professional, a casual hobbyist, or someone simply curious to try something new,” Awend said. “It’s a space to share, exchange, and explore together. All are welcome and encouraged to join in.”

Jewish. Arts. Collective.

“JAC is a community of artists, where making, sharing, and reflecting are all grounded in Jewish wisdom and a feeling of collective identity,” said Awend. 

These are challenging times, making it critical for Jewish artists to have spaces to connect, support, and uplift each other. 

“At its heart, the Collective creates a sense of belonging, resilience, and hope, reminding us that art can be a powerful force for healing, processing and deep connection,” Awend said.

Lucy Marshall is the featured artist for the April meet-up.

“It is going to be such a sweet gathering!” Marshall said. “We will have loads of amazing art supplies for participants to bring home, and folks will have the opportunity to create collage art in our shared workshop space. I am so looking forward to what wisdom and beauty we’ll co-create together!”

Marshall has a meaningful theme planned.

“The event takes place during the Omer, a period of counting days between Pesach and Shavuot, marking the Israelites’ journey from Mitzrayim (Egypt/the narrow place) to revelation at Mount Sinai,” she explained. “In our collaborative collage project, participants will be invited to reflect on their own journeys, both personal and communal — Where have you been? Where are you going?” 

Based on her experience both in her personal life and as an educator, Marshall said: “I know people are most creative when they feel a sense of belonging. JAC has been a generative, meaningful space where everyone is both a teacher and a learner. I am in awe of the boundless creativity and wisdom within our local Jewish artist community.”

While each artist brings a unique perspective, the shared Jewish lens remains vital. 

“[It] cultivates my own feeling of belonging by providing a shared grounding of stories, values, and traditions with the other participants,” Marshall said. “It’s exciting to explore how Jewishness shapes our artistic works in such unique ways. I believe art is not passive; by co-creating in a decidedly Jewish space, our art actively shapes Judaism and our Jewish community. This mutuality really nourishes me.”

Vibrant Featured Artist

Just like spring, Marshall’s creative endeavors are varied and rich with the cycle of life.

“Mainly, I am a writer,” she said. “I love to write ritual, poetry, and personal narrative. I consider Jewish tradition to be my artistic ‘raw material’ that I am inheriting, responding to, reshaping, and offering as a contribution to new Jewish futures. I also play with other mediums like collage, songwriting, and, very recently, linocut.”

She’s currently creating new rituals for pregnancy, birth, and postpartum experiences.

“I am leading a project called ‘Seeking Shleimut: A Postpartum Deck of Jewish Wisdom,’ which will be a deck of 40 beautifully illustrated kavanah (intention) cards and an accompanying guidebook to support new parents on a spiritual journey towards hope and wholeness (shleimut).”

Nature and Judaism nourish Marshall’s creativity.

“I’m always inspired by working with the Seven Species, which feels really resonant with springtime,” she said. “Connecting with the earth’s cycles helps me find balance and meaning in my daily rhythms. The Jewish calendar is very important to me, and I orient around its four New Years, including Rosh Chodesh Nissan, the new moon of the current Hebrew month, which includes the Passover holiday. During Nissan, I consider which practices and patterns I am ready to let go of, and which ways of being might bring more openness and freedom into my life and the world around me.”

Marshall will encourage participants at the April meet-up to reflect and bring intentionality to the process.

“As adrienne maree brown writes, ‘What we pay attention to grows.’ During this springtime of renewal and growth, I’m planting new seeds of my attention to prioritize relationships, nurture my artistic self, and co-create spaces of Jewish belonging,” she said.

The event remains a “come as you are” and welcoming opportunity for all, and Marshall understands from personal experience the demands of daily living and the impact on one’s artistic expression.

“In this season of my life as a busy parent with young children, I will take any opportunity I get to be creative!” she said. “There is no wrong way to show up in this space.”

All materials will be provided, and participants can also bring and take gently used artistic supplies.

“Grab something new that catches your eye, swap with old supplies from home if you have them, and, if you’d like, cut, paste, and co-create with others in a shared collage,” Marshall said. “Art supplies can be an unexpectedly effective source of creative inspiration! Come join this warm, welcoming, and non-judgmental community just as you are.”

The post Spring Into Creativity with TC Jewfolk and the Jewish Arts Collective appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

My girls don’t get paid to make their beds. They don’t negotiate for money to clear their dishes after dinner. These are simply things they do because they live here, eat here, play here, and benefit from a functioning home.  Routines aren’t optional; they are the default. They’re just part of normal life.

The Morning Rule: Don’t Leave Your Room Until It’s Made

Most mornings, neither Charli nor Andi comes downstairs until their bed is made. Not perfectly, but blankets straightened, pillows in place, stuffed animals arranged the way they like. Sometimes one asks for help. Sometimes one offers to make the other’s bed. Both are fine. The goal isn’t perfection; it is ownership.

Starting the day by putting your space in order teaches structure and follow-through. It teaches that presentation matters, even when no one else sees it. This is how my mom raised me, and it’s what I’m passing on. Most importantly, it teaches that routine responsibilities don’t require applause, rewards, or incentives. They simply get done.

Take Your Plate to the Sink Is Courtesy, Not a Chore

In our house, plates go to the sink automatically after dinner. No reminders, no bargaining. Kids eat food prepared by someone else, sit at a table someone else cleaned, and use dishes someone else washed. Returning a plate isn’t labor, it’s respect. It communicates: I acknowledge what goes into making life run smoothly, and I won’t expect others to clean up after me. I am a contributor, not a consumer.

When payment is attached to actions like these, we unintentionally teach the opposite: I only help when compensated, or worse, it’s someone else’s job unless I’m earning from it.

The Playroom: Shared Space, Shared Accountability

The playroom is my sore spot. Once a week, it gets reset. Sometimes they divide the work. Sometimes one does more because the other helped the day before. Sometimes they argue or negotiate. There’s no payment, no stickers, no points, just responsibility. They made the mess, so they clean it up. This is the room you enjoy, so clean it up, or Barbies will be missing tomorrow when you want to play with them. Keeping it nice is part of enjoying it.

The Dog: Caring Without Reward

Charli feeds our dog regularly. She doesn’t treat it like a job or expect a bonus. She does it because the dog exists and needs care. She did this long before sleep-away camp introduced chore charts, but camp reinforced the lesson that living in a shared environment means participating in its upkeep. I know no counselor paid her for helping because helping is part of community.

Why I Don’t Pay for These Things

The message I want my children to internalize is simple: You help because you belong, not because you profit.

In adult life, very little works the way chore charts suggest. No one pays you to make your bed, put groceries away, or clear your plate at a friend’s house. Real life requires unmonitored contribution.

When chores become income-based, accountability shifts from self-respect, empathy, and shared responsibility to money. Helping shifts from instinctive to transactional. Parents become employers, children become employees, and the home becomes an economy, not a family.

What I Do Believe Kids Should Be Paid For

I don’t think compensation is wrong. I think categories matter. Paying for babysitting, mowing someone else’s lawn, or selling bracelets makes sense. Those are services beyond standard household responsibilities. They mirror real-world earnings. Maintaining the home you live in does not.

Teaching Internal Satisfaction

I want my kids to experience adult satisfaction, walking into a tidy room, resetting a chaotic space, and doing something because it should be done. No clapping, no payout, just competence.

One day, my kids will live with roommates or partners. or alone. and realize the tooth fairy doesn’t have a cousin named the laundry fairy. I want them to know how to function before that moment arrives.

Helping at home isn’t extra; it is called living. The goal isn’t to raise employees. It’s to raise responsible, aware, capable humans who can go out into the world. 

And sometimes the best way to teach that is simply to say: “You live here.” You help here. And that is enough.

The post Should Kids Be Paid to Do Chores? Why Helping Isn’t a Transaction appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

You’re working with a stripped-down Airbnb kitchen, improvising ingredients, googling “is this technically kosher for Passover?” while standing in a grocery aisle that definitely does not have a kosher section. You’re not doing it “right.” You know that.

And still – you do something.

Not everything. Not perfectly. But something.

Because Passover has never really been about perfection.

Passover is the story of leaving – not in ideal conditions, not with everything neatly packed, not with time to let the bread rise. It is the story of movement, of urgency, of doing what you can with what you have because the moment calls for it. In many ways, cobbling together a seder on vacation is more Pesach-like than the days or weeks of preparation that many do in their own homes today.

So I find myself making some effort, even here, even now.

And I think about the people who came before me.

The ones who kept Passover in places far less convenient than a vacation rental. The ones who carried memory across continents, who whispered the story when it wasn’t safe to say it out loud, who made matzah out of necessity and ritual out of whatever scraps they could gather. The ones who did it despite everything.

And I think, too, about those who couldn’t.

The ones who lost the ability, or the access, or the safety, or the knowledge to do it at all. The ones whose chains, literal or metaphorical, didn’t break in time. The ones whose stories didn’t get passed down neatly around a seder table.

Passover asks us to hold both.

To remember that we were slaves – and that we are free.

To honor the effort – and the absence.

Because the truth is, the freedom we celebrate isn’t just the leaving Egypt part.

It’s what comes after.

It’s the choosing.

Choosing to remember.

Choosing to show up, even imperfectly.

Choosing to tell the story again, even if the table looks different this year.

Choosing to carry something forward – not because we have to, but because we can.

That’s the part that feels especially real to me right now.

No one is making me do this. No one is checking if I did it correctly. There is no gold star for vacation Passover observance – and if you know me, you know I’m a first-born, type A, achiever who loves a gold star.

But there is something deeply grounding about opting in.

About saying: this matters to me. This story is still mine. These people – both the ones who made it through and the ones who didn’t – are still part of how I understand myself in the world.

Passover is often called zman cheiruteinu: the season of our freedom.

And I think, this year, I understand that a little differently.

Freedom isn’t just the absence of constraint.

It’s the presence of choice.

And sometimes, it looks like a makeshift seder plate, a not-quite-right meal, and a quiet, stubborn decision to keep going anyway. It looks like running to the shelter with every red alert but still efforting a complete seder. It looks like the resilience we are seeing in Israelis and in Jews around the world who are still choosing to observe and to gather and to find joy no matter the challenges in front of us.

For them.

For those who did.

For those who couldn’t.

And for the version of us who gets to choose.

The post The Story We Still Choose appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

Today, we’re thrilled to share that our third annual storytelling show will once again be emceed by the incredible Jordana Green, co-host of The Adam & Jordana Show on WCCO Radio. This stunning night of stories – and storytelling – is what brings Jordana back each year.

“The way they make you laugh, the way they make you think, the way people are vulnerable, and oftentimes you’re nodding along like that,” Jordana said. “You can relate. When someone tells a story, you say, ‘Me too.’ It’s so unifying that so many other people are having similar experiences.”

Jordana called the event a “unifying experience.”

“It just makes you feel good,” she said. “There are so few things in this world, without feeling like you’re under attack as humans and as Jews, yeah. And this is such a positive event that is like sharing stories. [Storytelling] is as old as time, and it’s great that we get to do this in this modern age.”

“I get a lot of pleasure and joy out of being involved in this. And while I might not be telling my own story, just any kind of peripheral connection that I can have, I’m grateful.”

Like all of the audience, Jordana hears the stories for the first time during the show, the surprise she often shows coming back to introduce the next storyteller is genuine. 

“Being surprised, being delighted, is the most human reaction you can have,” she said. “And Stories from the Tribe gives us that.”

Jordana Green introduces Debbie Spencer at the 2025 Stories from the Tribe show. (Sydnee Bickett Photography)

About Jordana

Jordana Green is an award-winning journalist, speaker, cancer survivor, and mom. 

Jordana started her career as a beat news reporter, then medical reporter, and over a couple of decades and many markets worked to become an Emmy award winning television news anchor. 

In 2012 she joined WCCO radio and is the co-host of the Adam and Jordana Show. You can hear her Monday-Friday from 9 a.m.-noon. 

Learn more about Jordana at jordanagreen.com.

Get your tickets today

Tickets are available right now! Get your tickets today by clicking right here.

About the show

An event by TC Jewfolk produced by Galit Breen, the original Minnesota Mammaleh and co-producer of Listen to Your Mother Twin Cities for the last decade+.

For one unforgettable evening, 12 community members take the bima to share their true Jewish stories – about family, the generations that shape us, and the complicated, hilarious, sacred, and sometimes messy experience of being Jewish today.

Some stories will make you laugh and some might make you cry. But all of them will remind you that the threads connecting us as Jews – across generations, identities, and experiences – are stronger than we sometimes realize.

In this moment, when the world feels heavy, gathering together in the Jewish community matters more than ever. Stories from the Tribe is a chance to pause, breathe, laugh, and remember that our stories are what keep Jewish life vibrant.

This show will be at Beth El Synagogue in St. Louis Park, and it is on Monday, June 22, at 7 p.m. Seating is General Admission, and the doors will open at 6 p.m.

The post Introducing the Emcee of TC Jewfolk’s 2026 Stories from the Tribe Show! appeared first on TC Jewfolk.

If you’re curious about the inspiration behind ADAM, this article shares how the story came to be and why I’m telling it one chapter at a time. Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey — it means the world to me.

I’d love to know what you think so far. If you have thoughts, questions, or favorite moments, drop a comment below — I welcome the conversation and am so glad to have you with me.

Chapter List

Prologue

Chapter One: The Maharal’s Daughter

Chapter Two: The Witch of Döbling

Chapter Three: The ADAM Project

Chapter Four: The Sacred Shidduch

Chapter Five: The Fifth Aliyah

Chapter Six: Interface

Chapter Seven: The Golem of Prague

Chapter Eight: Under the Olive Tree

Chapter Nine: A History Lesson

Chapter Ten: Under Cover of Night

Chapter Eleven: Revolt

Chapter Eleven: Revolt     

British Mandate Palestine, 1936  

Ducking into her uncle’s office, Avital lowered her dripping umbrella and hung it on the hook by the door. It wasn’t until she looked up from shaking the rain from her handbag that she realized she wasn’t alone. A group of young men were gathered around her uncle’s desk, and her Uncle Ezra stood in their center, his hands gripping the back of his chair. “Oh,” Avital paused, noticing their solemn expressions. She had the distinct impression she had walked in on some private conversation or secret meeting. Glancing around, she recognized some of the men from her uncle’s lectures, yet others were unfamiliar to her. Then she saw Benjamin standing slightly off to the side, twisting his hat in his hands, a worried look on his face. When their eyes met, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, taking a step back toward the hall from which she’d come. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I can go if you’d prefer.” Her uncle, however, smiled and came around the desk. “Nonsense!” he said in an overly-bright tone. “We were just finishing up. Weren’t we, gentlemen?” The men gazed at each other then nodded slowly. “In fact,” her uncle continued, taking her hand and leading her into the room, “my afternoon classes are canceled. Why don’t you all go along now? We can continue our conversation at another time.”

As Avital sat at the small table beside her uncle’s desk, she watched him usher the group to the door. Most of them filed out with polite nods and parting words of “shalom or lehitraot,” but a few of them hung back, heads bent as they whispered to her uncle. Try as she might, Avital couldn’t make out their words. With a few more nods, they finally dispersed, and Avital caught a last glimpse of Benjamin lurking in the hall before her uncle closed his office door. 

“Did you have anything for me today?” She asked as she pulled her stationary and a few pens out of her bag and spread them on the table before her. As if he hadn’t heard, her uncle drifted to the window that overlooked the hillside and the city of Jerusalem beyond, staring out for a few long moments, his hand absently toying with the chain of the roller shade. The rain had stopped and rays of sunlight beamed through the parting storm clouds. Avital shifted in her seat, wondering again what she had interrupted. A sense of discomfort settled over her, tightening into a knot in her stomach. She had never seen her uncle so distracted. His face was drawn and his lips twitched slightly, and she was suddenly reminded of her father, whose mannerisms had been identical whenever he sat at his desk listening to the news out of Germany. Avital leaned forward and cleared her throat, hoping to break the silence.

“Uncle Ezra?”

Turning with a start, her uncle seemed to notice her for the first time. “I’m sorry, Avital,” he apologized as he shook his head. “I can’t seem to gather my thoughts today.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he muttered, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just a few administrative issues I need to take care of.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” She asked, but he shook his head again and sighed. “Not today, my dear. Why don’t you take advantage of the break in the rain to head home. I’ll be along shortly. Tell Aunt Judith I’ll be home early for supper.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. He nodded and, without another word, turned to face the window once more, deep in whatever thoughts were occupying his mind, his back to her. Frowning, she slowly gathered her belongings and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. Before she could wonder further at her uncle’s strange behavior, she saw Benjamin standing just inside the doorway of a darkened classroom across the hall, waving to her. She hurried to his side, eagerly taking the hands he held out to her, welcoming the warmth of his arms as they encircled her.

“What’s happened, Benjamin?” She asked, her head against his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek, and he swallowed as he hesitated. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing,” she warned. “I can tell I walked in on something, and my uncle is trying to pretend everything is okay.” She pulled back and looked up at him expectantly, staring into his chocolate-colored eyes.

“Not here,” he said softly, glancing around the deserted classroom, adding to her confusion. “Let me walk you home and I’ll explain.”

He took her hand and pulled her out of the classroom to the door that led outside. Stepping into the late afternoon, Avital instantly felt the breath of warm air on her face and neck. The puddles of rain had all but evaporated in the spring heat and the sky overhead was now almost completely blue. Benjamin continued to lead her through the campus and onto the road that led toward her neighborhood on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Frustrated by his continued silence, she tugged on his hand. “Tell me,” she urged, and he slowed his pace.

“Alright,” Benjamin sighed. Inhaling deeply, he said, “There was an incident last night. We found out about it this morning.”

“What kind of incident?”

The road that stretched before them was empty, but he spoke so softly she had to lean in closer to hear his words. “A group of armed Arabs stopped vehicles on the road between Anabta and Tulkar. They demanded weapons and money from the drivers.”

“Why?” Avital pressed.

“They oppose Jews in Palestine,” Benjamin continued in a hushed voice. “They are supporters of a Muslim preacher, Izzadin al-Qassam, who was killed last year and who believed the Jews have no right to the land. Before he died, al-Qassam organized militant groups to strike against the British rule of Palestine and what he perceived as a growing Zionist threat. They were jihad fighters that came to be known as the Black Hand. Under al-Qassam’s rule, they instigated countless acts of violence toward Jewish settlers and the British.” 

“How did he die?” 

“The British police led a manhunt for him last year that ended when he and his men were surrounded in a cave near Ya’bad. Knowing they were surrounded, they opened fire but were killed by the police. He became a martyr. These men who stopped the convoy last night are his followers.”

Avital’s thoughts raced as she took in all this information. She had never heard the name Izzadin al-Qassam, the term Black Hand, or of the city Ya’bad. Benjamin’s words were foreign to her ears. Frowning, she asked, “What do they want with the weapons?” Benjamin met her gaze without answering. He didn’t have to. “Were they successful?” Avital whispered. “Did they get the weapons?”

With a low sigh, Benjamin glanced over her head before answering, “It didn’t end there. We heard that two of the drivers and one passenger, all Jewish, were pulled from the vehicles and shot.”

“Shot?” The word came out in a gasp.

“Yes,” he nodded. “One of the drivers was 70 and died instantly. Word is, he had just arrived here from Greece. The other two are alive, though the other driver is in critical condition. He was taking a truckload of chickens to Tel Aviv. No weapons.”

“Unbelievable,” Avital breathed, shaking her head.   

“There are rumors another driver was allowed to pass when he declared he was a Christian German and was told to live ‘for Hilter’s sake.’”

Goosebumps broke out on Avital’s arms. She thought back to her final days in Vienna, to the horrible accounts coming out of Germany, to her parents’ desperation to keep them safe. They had put Avital and her sister on a boat to Palestine to protect them. Had they known about all the unrest she was just learning about now?  

“News is spreading throughout campus,” Benjamin continued. “We heard about all this just this morning.” 

“Who is ‘we,’ Benjamin?” Avital asked desperately. “Why were you in my uncle’s office? What does he have to do with all of this? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

When Benjamin didn’t answer, she stopped walking in the middle of the road, forcing him to face her. The knot in her stomach had grown exponentially, and she shivered despite the heat. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” He tried to assure her, but she didn’t budge. He stared down at her for a long moment, as if judging what to say next. When he finally spoke, his words came out in a rush. “Fine. Many of the students want to fight back. There are talks of retaliation, of a strike that is to take place tonight.”

“Tonight?” 

“Yes,” he nodded slowly.

“And my uncle?”

Benjamin hesitated before admitting, “Your uncle is a proud Zionist. He believes in a homeland for the Jewish people. We are all concerned about what is happening in Europe and the need for a place that is our own. Our history, our roots, the birth of our people began in this land. Your uncle has led discussions about this subject, and many of the students look up to him and turn to him for guidance. Yesterday’s murder isn’t an isolated incident. There’s been a history of unrest, Avital. And many want to fight to protect our stake here in Palestine.”

“And you, Benjamin?” She asked, her voice shaking. “Do you want to fight back?” She studied him as he continued to stare over her head, at his soft features, his kind eyes. His gentle nature seemed to go against any act of violence. But when he spoke, he said, “I want to defend my people.”

He took her hand in his once more and said, “Let’s get you home.” She didn’t resist. Her head was spinning. They continued their walk in silence until she was at the front gate of her aunt and uncle’s home. The windows were open, the white curtains of the upstairs bedrooms billowing out over the front garden, and she heard her aunt humming from the kitchen. 

“Go on in,” Benjamin said softly, his head bent so his forehead touched her own. “And stay in tonight.”

“When will I see you again?” She whispered shakily.

“I’ll call on you again tomorrow, I promise.” He said.

“Be safe,” she begged. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Benjamin lowered his face so their lips touched for the briefest moment, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him closer and not let go. She didn’t care if anyone saw. She didn’t care if the world fell apart around them. All she knew was, she wanted him, and she would do anything to keep him safe. But she felt him pull away too soon, and his hand slipped from hers. In silence, she watched him walk down the path, his steps unhurried but resolute. He turned once to wave goodbye, and then she was alone on the doorstep, and he was gone.

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