Hard to Believe in Coincidences
Ryan Malashock, a member of Harry Kay Leadership Institute’s Cohort 11, reflects on his experience in Israel.
TEL AVIV AND JERUSALEM – This epic HKLI journey through Poland and Israel has been full of what some people may view as many coincidences, but what I will call many instances of bashert-ness.
Seriously, the universe has aligned in such a bonkers manner on our trip that divine influence seems to me the most likely explanation.
Even before arriving in Israel, we saw this repeatedly in Poland – most notably for me when we stumbled upon released Gaza hostage Agam Berger deep down in the depths of an Auschwitz gas chamber and joined her group there in singing Hatikvah.
This only continued during our magical Friday and Saturday in Israel. In fact, the bashert-ness commenced before most people even woke up Friday morning. When our esteemed HKLI director, Lauren Kaplan, informed me and my HKLI brothers Daniel Chiat, Dan Stein and Ben Zack that we got selected to take a midnight flight to Tel Aviv, I initially sighed – deeply.
However, I will be forever grateful for sitting on that flight with a 4:40 a.m. arrival time. I’m also thankful for the two teenage girls who saved me from my middle seat and offered me a window seat so they could sit together. Coincidence? Oh, I think not.
As our plane glided on descent through the darkness of the Mediterranean Sea, the lights of Tel Aviv began to emerge. As we got closer and closer and closer, the goose bumps on my skin popped stronger and stronger and stronger. By the time we hovered over the mainland of Israel, the glimmering lights shining vividly bright, I felt such a deep gratitude and such a closeness to G-d in that moment.
I have taken a night flight into Las Vegas and marveled at the light of the strip, however, that was nothing like the flood of emotions I felt Friday morning as we slammed onto the ground and most passengers yelped and entered into a frenzy of applause. I will always remember that approach and landing. Dayenu. But no, there would be so much more.
A few examples before I further describe what stuck out most to me:
• For the second time in as many trips to Israel, I found myself accidentally walking down Ester Ha’Malka Street in Jerusalem – a street name that bears the name of my precious, Grammy.
• Our time in Jerusalem just happened to coincide with the first few weeks of Colin and Wendy Smith’s time in their finally finished apartment in Jerusalem. The Smiths, pillars within our Minneapolis Jewish community, welcomed us in for drinks, snacks, tips on leadership and a moving balcony Havdalah.
• As our group joyfully strolled down Ben Yehuda Street on Saturday night, my smile couldn’t have gotten bigger as we walked past Chili Pizza, the tiny joint my wife, Michelle, and I ate at 12 years prior.
• Just minutes later, our group stopped in at an absolutely beautiful store full of Judaica called Gabrieli, and as several HKLI’ers emerged with their exquisite tallisim, they relayed the news that the store owner is a third-general tallismaker from Rehovot, our Federation’s sister city in Israel.
OK, again, dayenu. But wait, there’s more. Admittedly, this last piece of bashert-ness is quite self-centered, but it captivated me in such an unexpected way.
Our group was so fortunate to attend Shabbat services Friday night at Kehilat Tzion in the German Colony and Saturday morning at Kakhel in the Baka neighborhood.
While these two congregations differed in many ways, one presence was the same within each setting: Basketball hoops. Both congregations meet in community center gyms, making the most of their situations while providing warm, loving spaces for their congregants and visitors.
Basketball has been at the center of most of my life. I played throughout my childhood at the Jewish Community Center in Omaha and for several years in high school. I reported on high school and college basketball while at the University of Kansas and for four years professionally in Missouri and Arkansas. I coached 10 seasons of middle and high school basketball in Arkansas. I’ve also got to be the Minnesota Timberwolves’ biggest transplant fan.
So, as I heard melodies of prayers both familiar and unfamiliar during these services, I couldn’t help staring at the basketball hoops and feeling like G-d put me in these settings for a reason.
Finally, dayenu. Yet I still have five days left in Israel with some of my favorite people in the world, and I can’t wait for the next bashert-ness.