Mohammed Picked Me Up at Chabad

Mohammed Picked Me Up at Chabad

By Alona Lisa

A Revelation From My Uber Driver On Yom Kippur

Around 6:54 p.m., I ordered my Uber from Chabad in Rockville. I had attended Neilah alone while my family was at my cousin's, already breaking the fast with laughter and stories.

The screen flickered to life with the familiar animation—“Finding Your Driver…” Then came the moment of connection. The map shifted, the dot suddenly stopped, and a name appeared: “Mohammed is on his way in 12 minutes!”

Yom Kippur is my father’s holiday. For years, he wore the same shirt his father donned on this solemn day, a garment that eventually grew flimsy with age, much like my relationship with him—fragile, yet cherished.

I like to think of myself as spiritual, someone who doesn’t need a designated day to repent. But this year felt different. I found myself grappling with the nature of my relationship with the Supreme Architect. Do I even believe in one? There must be something bigger than us; it can't all just be gases and atoms colliding in the void, can it?

In my quest for essence over the past year, I traveled back through the corridors of my heart and soul, recalling my arrival in New York, brimming with blind ambition. Was God there with me? Who was I talking to in all my sketchbooks and diaries? I’ve thought about God for the past 20 years, but now I’m pondering it in a new light—one that feels both illuminating and disorienting.

We need a partner in this life—a human life partner, yes, but also a supreme partner. You can’t idolize your spouse, children, parents, life coach, therapist, or even your work. Yet, deep down, it’s in our nature to answer to someone. That someone should be a figure who loves us and desires only the best for us.

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is such a god, or so we’re told. Even if God is merely a construct of our imagination, the idea of a spirit, a guiding presence, is undeniably comforting—a soft whisper in the cacophony of existence.

This Yom Kippur, I decided I would talk to Him. Yom Kippur is about Teshuvah (repentance), Tefillah (prayer), and Tzedakah (charity).

The Teshuvah and Tefillah parts require us to have our lips moving. We must say out loud what we’re sorry for, articulate our hopes and dreams, and share with God what we want in our lives. With the ark open and the gates wide, millions of Jews around the world are engaged in prayer. This is an opportunity to connect with God, and I wanted to nourish that connection if there was one.

I can only describe the experience as putting together IKEA furniture for the first time—confusing, frustrating, and oddly illuminating. The Rabbi at Chabad encouraged us to connect with our Yehidah, our essence, and to listen to it. Armed with an Allen wrench of introspection, I was trying to unlock my heart, to be as vulnerable and real as I could. I cried a lot. A lot.

Words and phrases flowed through me like a river: Fear No Evil. Do Not Hide. Speak Your Truth. Any thoughts that do not bring you joy are trespassers in your mind. Guard your joy with your life, like you wouldn’t let a thief come into your home and steal your valuables. Same principle.

When I went outside to meet Mohammed, the night was thick and still. A flashing police car stood sentinel outside Chabad’s gate, another across the street.

“Mohammed is arriving now.” The irony struck me. I would let Mohammed know that I would be in front of the police car on the opposite side of the street.

I got into the car and greeted Mohammed. He asked me where I was headed, and I told him about Yom Kippur. I couldn’t see him that well, but he wore a blue baseball cap and told me he spoke six languages, including Farsi, Urdu, and Pashto. He was probably from Pakistan or India.

We talked about Yom Kippur, and he shared how in Islam they study Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He explained that Muslims believe in all the Judeo-Christian prophets, including Jesus. “If you are Muslim and you kill even one person,” he said, “you kill humanity. That is what the Quran teaches. And Jews are the custodians of the Old Testament.”

He asked me about the history of Yom Kippur. With grace, he already knew but wanted to honor me with the telling. I didn’t know, so in his polite way, he explained that Yom Kippur began after Moses brought down the tablets for the second time. The first set was broken, and when Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the second set, that is when the significance of Yom Kippur began.

Mohammed knew more than I did about Yom Kippur.

I had seen many Jewish Instagrammers telling off their haters right on Erev Yom Kippur, and it was so cringe. It’s not Jewish to feel that hate. We are about life and love. Never hate.

Moses got a second chance. The Jewish people got a second chance. Each of us has a second chance every year to be better. Peace has a second chance. We all share that Heart of David—imperfect, yet filled with the courage to seek redemption.

Wishing you a victorious year filled with peace and love in your hearts. Call it to you every morning.