“I’d rather mop the floors at a hospital in Jerusalem than work at my comfortable desk job in midtown Manhattan”. The year was 1973, and my grandfather of blessed memory uttered these memorable words in a hospital ward in the midst of the Yom Kippur War.
My grandfather, a University of Pittsburg Ph.D. educated and highly respected mathematician, worked as a senior executive at IBM’s headquarters for many years. He had a successful career and comfortable lifestyle in New York City. However, something left him vastly unfulfilled.
See, my grandfather was a staunch Zionist with a lifelong dream of living in Jerusalem. In 1972, he formally requested a yearlong sabbatical to spend time in Israel. Shortly after his request was approved, he boarded a plan with my grandmother and their 6 children to begin a new chapter in their lives. Upon arriving in the country, they settled into a tiny apartment in the Sharrai Chessed neighborhood of Jerusalem. He made his living by working for the top-secret Israeli nuclear program and made daily trips to government headquarters. His specific duties at the nuclear program are still classified to this day.
Life was pleasant for our family until a fateful morning in 1973. During the high holy holiday of Yom Kippur, the State of Israel was viciously attacked by its unfriendly neighbors from the north and south. My grandfather was unable to travel to work due to its volatile security but sitting safe at home while his fellow Jewish brethren were on the front lines was not acceptable for him. He went down to the local army base to nobly offer his services on behalf of the war effort. This was a man who was proud Zionist and would do anything he could to fight for his country and protect its people.
Now, my grandfather was not stereotypical army material. He wasn’t some fresh-faced young man. Rather, he was a short-statured, frail older gentleman. While he may not have had large muscles, he had tremendous heart and what he lacked in physique he made up for in drive. Despite this, the young intake officer at the army base’s induction center took one look at my grandfather and nearly laughed in his face. To say he was unimpressed by the older man standing in front of him was an understatement. Furthermore, when my grandfather told the officer that he had a pregnant wife and 6 children waiting for him at home, the officer refused to even entertain his offer of assistance on the war front. In that officer’s mind my grandfather was just not army material they were looking for and attempted to send him away.
But my grandfather was a persistent individual and would not take no for an answer. After much prodding and pleading, the officer begrudgingly mumbled, “Go to the hospital. Maybe you can help them out there.” The hospital was not the battlefront, but it was something. Instead of being discouraged by the lack of interest on the officer’s part or the nature of the work, my grandfather happily picked himself up and walked to the opposite side of town to the famous Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital.
Due to the regular staff members being called to battle, there was a severe manpower shortage at the hospital. The facility was in disarray and when my grandfather arrived with no medical knowledge but a strong desire to help, they handed him a mop and told him to clean the floors.
In lieu of a firearm, an army tank or a weapon, he was given a mop.
But do you know what? My grandfather was so joyous that he could be of any assistance to the Jewish people. He put his skills to use, cleaning one room at a time and assisting in the cleaning of the hospital’s dirty floors. It was while mopping and singing aloud that he proudly proclaimed, “I’d rather mop the floors at a hospital in Jerusalem than work at my comfortable desk job in midtown Manhattan.” While those beautiful words were uttered 46 years ago, they still impact myself and my family today.
By the time my grandfather’s approved official sabbatical ended, the family was prepared to stay in Jerusalem. It was my grandmother’s poor health and her unborn child that ultimately moved them back to the United States. At that time, medicine was more primitive in Israel, making it dangerous for both my grandmother and the baby to remain there. In order to ensure their health, the entire family made the decision to move back to New York where my grandparents lived out the rest of their lives together. And though they have always longed to return to Israel, several of their children and grandchildren have since spent significant time there.
As I reflect on this story, I often find myself wondering, to be blunt, what my grandparents were thinking. From a rational standpoint it is difficult to make sense of the situation. Where did this passion for the State of Israel come from? Why would they trade their secure livelihood and lifestyle to live in a dangerous, underdeveloped country? Why would they take their family away from all that they knew and move across the world? This was a huge irrational risk on their part.
While I don’t have the answers to these questions, I certainly admire them for the choices they made and their faithfulness to their country and their family. My grandfather has instilled within us a deep Zionist sense to the Jewish State which exemplified itself in the Israeli events, holidays and visits to Israel that my family and I frequented. A homeland for the Jewish nation and optimism for its eternal future. Although my grandfather is no longer with us, I am sure that he is looking down from heaven with a big smile on his face as his decedents continue to seek out, explore, and discover this magnificent land and all it has to offer. A land rich in biblical history, positive attributes, worldly contributions, and notable Jewish values.
When his children would complain about the bad weather in Jerusalem, my grandfather would tell them that there was nothing “bad” happening in Israel. “Not ideal, maybe,” he would say, “but not bad.”
My grandfather was a man who imparted the valuable lesson of eternal Zionistic optimism in the face of all difficulty. 1973 was a challenging year for the State of Israel, yet all he saw was the positivity and blessings. He showed that determination, hard work and consistent optimism are the keys to success, and the importance of a deep love of heritage and family. Those around him were able to learn from and grow with him, not just during their time in Israel, but daily. My hope is that we can all take notice of what my grandfather and millions of Jews throughout the millennia saw about the internal beauty of the God given land of Israel.
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