Celebrating Sukkot in Tuscany

• Author: HADASSAH CHEN
• Published date: 07 October 2021
• Publication title: Jerusalem Post, The: Web Edition Articles (Israel)

It was right before Passover and I was told the only way for me to get to Italy was to leave my dear husband and children and to travel solo to my mum waiting for me in Milan, my birth town.

Of course I chose to stay put in Israel with my kiddies and husband and looked with tears in my eyes as they closed the gate in front of my nose.

cnxps.cmd.push(function () { cnxps({ playerId: '36af7c51-0caf-4741-9824-2c941fc6c17b' }).render('4c4d856e0e6f4e3d808bbc1715e132f6'); });

>

Arrivederci, signora.

Italy would have to wait until my whole family could travel with me, when the world would go back to normal I thought – free from corona, no masks and no anxiety for trying to get on a flight.

Two weeks ago I did it again.

A few months have gone by since my last attempt to travel as a family and the world has changed its rules a few times already.

A new reality. The rule now is that there are no rules, or maybe there are but no one seems to know exactly what they are. But as humans we figured out that life goes on and we need to move, to go back to traveling, to work, to have fun and to live.

So off we went. Italy is open to tourists and Israel is letting us out with no questions. The new reality of planet Earth: everywhere we go now we need permissions to get in and get out.

With lots of preparation and a few silent prayers we managed to check in without any major drama, as all the million papers we had to fill in, print, download, figure out, agree to and sign were done.

The moment we went through the long ramp at Ben-Gurion Airport and were finally free as birds ready to run into the duty-free area, we were almost crying from happiness.

After three long years we were finally going back all together to Italy to my family, as a family. I was going to my parents, my friends, my city, my stores, my Sunday markets, my little cafes, my shopping and my restaurants.

WE WERE also going to a Sukkot program in Tuscany, a five-star hotel turned kosher for the whole "chag" right in the most stylish and most gorgeous little town in the world where I spent all my childhood summers; Forte dei Marmi.

Write it down.

A driver came to pick us up at the Malpensa airport in Milan – an older man, sweet and gentle. He had prepared pillows for the kids to rest their heads for the three-hour drive from Lombardy where we landed to Tuscany where we were booked. He had fresh water bottles and kosher biscuits for all of us.

Just like drivers in Israel.

Not.

Just kidding. I love Israel and...