And then I remembered the driver—but I also remembered our deal

As told to C.S.Teitelbaum by Chaim Somner

In the early 90s, at the height of the First Intifada, East Jerusalem was a dangerous area. This was especially true on Fridays, when young extremists on their way to the mosque would unleash violence on any Israelis they encountered.

That year, my mother’s yahrzeit fell on a Friday. Visiting her kever on Har Hazeisim would be risky and dangerous, but I am an only child, and I was determined to go. I flagged down a taxi in Tel Aviv, where I lived, and directed him to Jerusalem. As we got closer, he asked me for the exact address.

“Har Hazeisim, the cemetery,” I told him.

The bare-headed driver paled. “The beit hakvarot in East Jerusalem?” he asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. His face registered shock.

“I cannot go there. This is a brand-new Mercedes—it’s worth 200,000 shekel. And forget about the car, I’m scared for my own safety!”

It was a reasonable fear. The Arabs were throwing stones and Molotovs like candy.

“I am an only child,” I explained. “My father is no longer alive, so I’m the only one who will be visiting my mother’s grave today. I’m sure she will be a melitz yosher for us and we’ll be okay.”