It has been over a year since I returned home from Israel, yet the day I am finally sitting down to write about has been replaying in my head nearly every Sabbath. Hopefully, I can remember the experience correctly, because it was the most transformative day of my journey. I have hesitated to put my thoughts on paper, because it seems to do so will minimize the profound experience.
It started out as many Sabbaths have, for me. I slept in and ate a cold breakfast in a quiet house. I really wanted to experience a Jewish Shabbat. I had been too lazy to go to "Shul" the first Sabbath, so I really wanted to go this time, even if it was for a few minutes. Aunt Sheryl had told me where to go, and the door that would lead to the women's section, and where she would be. I wandered out into the crisp, February sunlight and took the sidewalk down to a building. I worried I was in the wrong spot for a second because there weren't any cars parked next to the building. In America, we drive long distances nearly every day. Large parking lots filled with cars is the norm. If I am going to a meeting, or a party, and am not sure exactly where it is, sometimes I will scan the area for where the most cars are parked. But it was different here. The custom is to honor the Shabbat by not driving, unless it's an emergency. It seemed the whole neighborhood paused on this day.
I opened the side door and walked up the steps. I was welcomed warmly and guided to a seat next to my aunt. How was it that easy? How could I, a gentile, be allowed to just walk in here like this? Someone handed me a book with English on one side and Hebrew on the other. As Aunt Sheryl pointed the verses out to me, I read the English translation of what I was hearing in Hebrew. It was some of the most powerful scriptures and some of my favorites. They read passages from several parts of the Bible. ...encounters on the mountain, a train filling the temple... I'm sure you know them and love them too! What was so profound at this reading was I was hearing the story read, in Hebrew, by descendants of the very people who stood by that mountain and heard and felt and said what was being heard by my ears that day. I felt so humbled to be allowed to listen in.
"Go up to the edge of the balcony!" my aunt urged. I saw another woman there, so I shyly stepped forward and looked down. The men are all from different groups. You can tell how observant they are by the size of their kippa and the length of their pe'ot hair curled, or not. Some men wore a kippa the size of a silver dollar, and sat next to each other in one section. Other men, and boys, wore kippas that nearly covered their whole head. But, on this special day, they all come together and read the torah and pray. "This is how it should be." I thought, as I pictured the towns in my country with a different church on each corner.
There was a box like structure in the center of the room where a few men stood and read from large scrolls. My cousin was there. He stood tall and quiet. Was this the same little boy who ran through the woods reenacting the Civil War with us so very long ago? "He wrote the Torah used in this Shul." I heard my aunt say. It took him years to write it, by hand, with a special pen. Carefully copying each jot and tittle exactly... precisely. The responsibility of preserving The Word is taken very seriously. I wondered about all of the people throughout time who had been scribes- like my cousin. carefully, painstakingly, with two witnesses looking over their shoulder making sure it was perfect! They wrote through times of war, captivity, peace and prosperity. If even one generation had decided not to continue, what might have happened? What would the world be like without ....
My thoughts were interrupted by a ruckus. My aunt told me they do this often. They were debating something. They spoke in a language I could not understand, but I heard something ancient. Brothers debating the word. I could name some of them from thousands of years ago. We can still read some of the arguments they had. Here were their descendants- iron sharpening iron. My cousin stroked his beard. "He doesn't like it when they argue." my aunt explained. I smiled. My peace-loving cousins. Ah, but there is nothing wrong with a hearty debate. Soon they would all embrace and break bread together at one very long table.
I looked at the rows of men and boys, all from different sects, yet all together. I saw an empty row and pictured others there so very long ago. "Why did they leave?" I knew why. "What would have happened if they had stayed?" I wondered, but I know it wasn't meant to be. What about me? Should I be here? Why did they let me come in? Don't they know that I am a Christian? I heard they would spit on us and kick us out. But they didn't, they fed me.
"Keep watching." my aunt encouraged. "They are descendants of Aaron!" I looked down - in the front of the building- where the stage would have been if it was a church- a young father and his son stood. I presume the boy was 13, thought he looked younger. "They are putting the scrolls away into the ark." She explained. I had no idea they still had an ark that they kept the scrolls in! And to think, these men had been told by their ancestors, generation by generation who they were. They taught their sons the prayers and rituals during many years of wandering, exile, foreign lands. At least, I presume they did, but I don't really know. Perhaps these two descended from some of the few who stayed and held onto the traditions all of these years until now, when this shul was full of people returning from many lands.
I looked at the faces of these precious people- direct descendants of those I had read about my whole life. Everyone says the Bible really comes alive when you visit the Holy Land. There they were: Moses, Aaron and little Ithamar... and then Miriam smiled at me. "I loved watching you." she said. "I wondered what it would be like to experience this for the first time." she explained that it's easy (as it is for all of us- in our own routines) to go through the habits and forget the wonder of what we are experiencing. She wasn't really Miriam, I don't think, but she was a mother in Israel just the same. Her ancestors had danced and sang behind Miriam after the parting of the Red Sea! And here she was in the promised land that Miriam never saw with her own eyes.
It was a deeply poignant experience. I suddenly felt disconnected from my own roots. What an honor to observe such a rich cultural experience. What have we lost here in this wonderfully diverse melting pot we call America? I don't know what songs my ancient ancestors sang, or the prayers they prayed. I pretended some of them were in that mixed multitude that left Egypt with the Hebrews and witnessed the power and awesome miracles right alongside them. But I don't really know. One thing I do know is, that hundreds, or maybe even thousands of years ago, a Jew, from Israel, shared the Holy Scriptures with someone who eventually told my ancestors. If it wasn't for them preserving the knowledge of God for so many generations, where would I be? What would life be like for me and my family? I felt indebted to these people who have endured so much and given their lives to preserve the knowledge of God for their posterity and the world.
I had gotten to the shul late, so it was soon time to go. We had four homes to choose from for lunch. These were the "boys". The cousins close to my age. They lived near the Kinneret. The body of water I knew as the Sea of Galilee. This was on my list of an area I wanted to visit. I was so happy to learn that so many of my cousins lived here! What a beautiful area. I can't put my finger on it, but it kind of reminded me of Yakima valley, Walla Walla and the Dalles -oh, and California too. A fruitful, sunny place.
We had wonderful times of fellowship with all of the relatives. The children sang joyfully around the table and reminded me of so many Sabbath afternoons as a child singing songs together. The homes were brimming with happy children, good food and warmth. Everyone seems so happy there. I wonder if the independence and isolation we are accustomed to here in our society is maybe not so good for us. They seem so happy living in such close proximity. Out here we don't want to see our neighbor's house, or we are too close!
Near the end of the Sabbath, we went to my cousin's house who is the scribe. His wife reminded me so much of my friends here. Homeschooling Mama asking the same questions we ask here about so many things happening in our world today. "I feel the same way..." "I've wondered about that too..." Then, I did something I have been wondering how to tell you about all these months. Here I thought I had done my research. I thought I knew a little bit- enough that I could be respectful of the culture I was a guest in. Yet, I made a fool of myself.
I presume everyone reading this knows me, but in case you don't know, I live in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. I love foraging for wild plants. So, I was particularly interested to see what plants grew wild in the Israeli countryside and if I could identify any of them. So, at one point I said I was going to walk around and look at the plants. I think someone said something like, "Just look, don't pick!" I presumed they were teasing because that's exactly the kind of thing we say around here. If someone says they are going swimming, we might say, "Okay, but don't get wet!" So, I wandered out to the side area where there was quite a variety of dock and other common weeds growing. I tore a leaf off of a plant and the children giggled and nudged each other nervously. I was confused. "Feel this one, it's smooth, and this leaf is fuzzy." I suggested, but they shook their heads, "No." I took the leaves back and asked the parents about them, but they said they didn't know and didn't seem to be interested in identifying weeds. My cousin held his hands behind his back and finally said, calmly and gently, "I don't touch things that have been harvested on Shabbat." Little children hung from the trees listening and watching. Suddenly, I understood. My heart sank. "Harvesting- on Shabbat!" It hadn't occurred to me that plucking a leaf off of a weed would be classified as "harvesting". Several conflicting emotions ran through my head, and then a passage from an old prophecy- something about the land not getting to rest, and the people wouldn't be allowed to return until it had enjoyed its Sabbaths. That prophecy seems to have been fulfilled long ago, and now people have returned and are filling the land once again. But here I was, a foreigner, barging in and doing whatever pops into my head without thinking. The Orthodox Jews are being so careful to follow God's ways. They meditate on His word day and night. Zealous for God. And yet, here I came and violated the Shalom that could be felt here in this place. I should have known! Wasn't there an entire story about this in the Bible I had at home, that I had read so many times? "You're going to visit the Pharisees." my aunt had prepared me, yet somehow, I was still so ignorant. What should I do now? What would the proper procedure be to rectify this wrong? I thought about taking the leaves back to the plant and apologizing, but that seemed silly. Little eyes were watching me, but I didn't know what to do. I don't remember what I said, but I think they could see my remorse.
Later, at the table, my cousin said something about how they believe women should be honored because we are spiritually minded, or something like that. I wish I could remember exactly what he said. It was so different from what I have ever heard before.
As night fell, we went back to the house we were staying at. I thought back on the events of the day. My first week in Israel I noticed many things that are similar to life in the USA, but the second week I became increasingly aware of how naive and ignorant I was of life in Israel- anywhere outside of the good ole USA for that matter! "I don't think I could live here." I thought as I blushed. I would never be able to remember all these rules! Everyone was so kind and patient with me, but I was a typical American- thinking I knew stuff that I really was clueless about. I kinda wanted to go back to my little woods and hide again. But I still had a lot to explore, and I wanted to stay much more than I wanted to leave. It's strange that conflicting emotions and feelings can occur at the same time.
