Aliyah and the lawn sale
A chapter from the book,
"Leaving Home , Going Home , Returning Home :
A Hebrew American's Sojourn in the Land of Israel".
Since I always considered living in Israel a viable option, I never
really purchased long-term furniture and appliances. Still, being 28
at the time of departure, I had accumulated a large collection of
things that needed new owners. I put ads in the newspaper and held
a lawn sale. I managed to sell off almost everything I owned. There
was my bike, chairs, books, and Viking broadsword that I bought
in a Renaissance fair. The things that sold the best were the kitchen
utensils, oddly enough. I could never buy someone’s used kitchen
utensils, yet apparently moms liked buying them for their away-
from-home college kids. My vinyl record albums sold well too. One
of those was a Beatles 1964 original album. I sold it as a used item
for fifty cents, which I now realize was a huge mistake. I can imagine
the smiles on the faces of people who bought the record. They went
right to it, as if they discovered an old coin in their grandpa’s attic.
We’ve all heard the story of the person who found a hidden treasure
at the lawn sale. Well, that was my lawn sale. I kept a photo of the
lawn sale and showed it to friends – it was sort of like an exhibit on
“see the sacrifices we make when moving.”
( book trailer video has picture of lawn sale)
The hardest thing for me to part with was my regal cat, Blackie.
I had to give her to the next door neighbor. Blackie was one of the
most aristocratic cats you could have ever met. I received her from
one of my housemates, a medical student, who purchased her from
an animal shelter. I wondered why anyone would purchase a cat from
an animal shelter. It turned out that the shelter had put her photo
Leaving Home, Going Home, Returning Home
in the newspaper with a cute cat’s smile and red ribbon around her
head. She was a shining example of the lovely animals you can find
at that shelter seeking a new home. I was proud to be Blackie’s owner
and wanted another good home for her.
Last to go was my car – an amazing car at that, a classic. It was a
green 1975 Volvo with leather seats and a tape deck. Even this came
with a story. A big and burley guy from Newark came to my home
to buy the car. Naturally, he asked me why I was selling it, and I told
him truthfully about my plans to make aliyah.
With a smirk, he said “yeah, sure, I bet there is something wrong
with the car.” Then with a threatening voice, and in my own home,
he said, “If I find anything wrong with the car, you are “dead meat.”
I will throw a bomb through the window of this house if you lied to
me.”Taken aback, I wondered if he was suspicious of being cheated
because of Jewish stereotypes or if that was his way of trying to
lower the price.
Aviad, a close Israeli friend originally from Jerusalem, immediately
came forward to back me up when hearing this. Aviad was a
strikingly handsome James Bond type of guy whose parents immigrated
to Israel from Turkey. Jerusalem, at that time, was a common
target for terrorism attacks. Aviad was taller than I was, but still
shorter than the buyer was. With his Israeli accent, he said, “Chey
you, don’t talk to us about bombs. I am from Jerusalem and I know
about bombs, you trow a bomb chere and I vill trow it wright back at
you.”
I was flabbergasted as much as I was proud that my friend stood
up for me like that. This Israeli guy had experienced real-life danger
by living in a war zone and knew that talk was cheap. To me, he exemplified
a brave Israeli.
The buyer backed down and said, “OK man, OK, I believe you,
I’ll buy the car. If you really do get to Israel, send me a letter from
there so I know you’re not telling me a story.” So I did. It was the first
letter I sent back to the USA. I sent him a postcard of sunny Israel
Aliyah and the lawn sale
with a stamp of a Kfir (lion cub) Israeli jet fighter. The Kfir was an
Israeli-made spread wing fighter plane that was designed something
like a French Mirage. The Kfir stamp had a large blue Star of David
on the wings. It was my way of saying to his face “don’t mess with
the Jews,”- from miles away, all the while wishing him well in his new
car that I really did enjoy.
