I write here at my desk, as in the past, but this time I have
all the distractions of settling into a new home. Critical
projects call to me from every room, from every corner. Yet,
I can't help but feel an amazing sense of gratitude. After
years of wandering in the wilderness of the Santa Cruz housing
market, I am finally in a place I hope to call home for awhile.
But what does that mean to call a place "home"?
I am reminded of phrases from songs, such as "Home is
where the heart is" and "Home to me is anywhere
you are." And how is it that after almost 22 years of
living in California, I still say I am going "home"
to visit my parents?! Sometimes home is more than the house
in which we are currently living.
For
the Jewish people, "home" has nuances beyond our
current living situations, beyond the nostalgia for childhood
seders or summer barbecues. Home has often been tenuous. Our
grandparents migrated across hemispheres en masse; our people
have been uprooted so often from so many places, how could
this not have made its way into our collective, and even individual,
consciousness? Much of what is beautiful, along with much
of what is painful, in our tradition is based on this sense
of uprootedness. It is not only we who are in "galut",
exile and diaspora. Along with us is the Shechina, G*d's presence
in our world. She, too, longs to be at home, both in this
world and with the Holy One. She, too, longs for us to find
our place both in this world and with the Holy One; longs
that the wo4ld should be a place where the Holy One can be
found.
It
has always struck me in a strange way that Tisha B'Av, the
day we commemorate the Destruction of the Temple and subsequent
exile of the Jewish people, comes in the middle of summer
vacation. It has always seemed that that's the last thing
I"d want to focus on in the middle of summer fun. And
yet, there it is...with its reminder that we are not quite
at home. Do I ignore it and its seeming irrelevance to my
easy life? Should I push myself to be sad, just as I might
push myself to be happy on Purim? Or is the sadness infact
right at the edge of my psyche already, with my beloved Israel
entangled in what appears to be a no-win situation, and with
American soldiers torturing Iraqi prisoners with German Sheperds?
And yet, do I not owe it to myself, as well as to my family
and others around me, to just enjoy life? Can't I allow myself
simply to have a fun and happy summer, hitting the road for
vacation, oblivious to any awareness that I am part and parcel
of the same craving for oil that underlies the travesty in
Iraq?
If
you find yourself with travel plans this summer, "gay
gezinterhayt" (go in good health)...and consider obtaining
a copy of the traditional "Tefilat HaDerech" (Prayer
of the Road, or as it is more commonly known, the Traveller's
Prayer) and reciting it when you set out.
"May
it be Your will, Yah our G*d and G*d of our ancestors, that
You lead us toward peace, incline our footsteps toward peace,
guide us toward peace, and cause us to reach our desired destination
for life, for joy, and for peace..."
As
the Talmud teaches, this prayer is in the plural. For whenever
we unite ourselves with the needs of others we increase the
chance that our prayers will be heard. May it be G*d's will,
that as we go about enjoying our lives this summer, we keep
peace in our hearts and our prayers. And may this bring us
one step closer to peace, one step closer to home.
--Reb Eli
Cohen
