Last December, I went to Israel to visit my daughter and find a painting for my living room.
The moment I stepped into that tightly packed Jerusalem art gallery, I saw it. The walls were covered edge to edge with paintings and stacks of canvases leaned several feet deep.
But there, hanging in the far-right corner, was something that stopped me cold.
The painting captured an electric scene showing crowds of people filling the streets, eagerly dancing a new Torah toward their synagogue. The building, with its arched windows, instantly reminded me of my childhood synagogue, uniquely located right on the Venice Beach boardwalk in California.
The whole scene felt alive. Different. It caught my eye the second I walked in.
“How much?” I asked.
“$5,000,” the owner said.
It was double what I planned to spend. I turned away, forcing myself to browse the “smarter” options. I chose two smaller paintings. Beautiful. Safe. $3,600 total.
No receipt- just a scribbled note on the back of a business card. The gallery said they’d ship the artwork to America within a month or two.
Where else (but Israel!) do you hand over thousands to strangers, walk out empty handed, and not even worry about it?
With gallery owner, Rebbetzin Henya Zvibel, whose heartfelt mission to support Israeli artists turned a simple art purchase into a meaningful connection and story I’ll always treasure.
After a 12-hour flight home, I unlocked my front door, stepping inside. Suitcases in hand, shoes still on my feet- a sharp realization hit me. Hard. I made a mistake.
That first painting was the one.
I called the gallery. Time zones and Shabbat made it hard to get through. When I finally did, they weren’t budging. The artist had passed away. Her work had gone up in value. Still, I negotiated. Pushed. Eventually, we struck a deal: I’d send $800 more.
🇮🇱
Two weeks later, the gallery called me back. The owner sounded hesitant: “While reviewing paperwork from the artist, we realized we over-quoted you.”
We had already negotiated and agreed on a higher price- $800 more. And yet, the Jerusalem gallery said: “You don’t need to send us any more money.”
After months of waiting, my painting finally made it home- just in time.
Today, as missiles fall and our people come under fire, I think about that tiny gallery in Jerusalem- where honesty lives, even when no one’s watching.
The Jewish people are under attack- but our foundation is unshakable.
This is who we are. In business. In life. In everything.
