BONUS ELUL · SEPTEMBER 10, 2026
Our trip to Vietnam was a long-planned family vacation, but after October 7th, and my father’s death weeks before, my will to adventure halfway around the world had dissolved. I ached for community, especially since our destinations were so remote I knew we’d never find a daily minyan, leaving me unable to say the Mourner’s Kaddish.
But that’s not all. One night, after being taunted by hostile tourists, we instructed the kids: hats over kippot, Magen David necklaces tucked beneath their shirts. I didn’t want to cede public space to antisemites but didn’t want our Jewish pride to land us in the hospital.
The next day, we set out on a boat through the emerald waters of Ha Long Bay. Five tourists spotted us and, not-at-all-subtly, pointed to my kid’s necklace, only partly obscured by her shirt. They started to whisper: “Jews! Jews! Jews!” My heart pounded. Later, one approached me. “Hey,” she said. “Are you Jews?”
“Yes, we are Jews.”
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “We’re Jews too! We were so excited to see your daughter’s Magen David… we literally started to cheer: ‘Jews! Jews! Jews!’”
“You’re five Jews?!” I asked. “I’m saying Kaddish for my father. Any chance you’ll join us for a minyan?”
“We’re saying Kaddish too!” she exclaimed. “For our father!” Now we were both crying. And that is how, in the midst of a world on fire, ten Jews made a Kaddish minyan on a boat in Vietnam.
I’m so glad my kid didn’t take off her necklace. It allowed me to rediscover the invisible threads that connect me to my father, and to our people, too.
