Two
colleagues and I arrived in Israel last Thursday morning for a week with the Hartman
Institute. We were headed to Jerusalem to meet the rest of our colleagues. There was a line of
cabs waiting at the airport. My
colleague headed toward a particular cab. As he was starting to put his
suitcases in the trunk (and on the roof of the cab), I noticed what was inside the cab. Piles of books, plates, the remains of
a few peppers. I’m not a neat
freak, but the pepper rinds on the passenger seat up front were a bit much for
me. I motioned to my friend, maybe
we want to take another cab.
Meanwhile, his stuff was already in the trunk and the driver, a woman named Rachel, was saying, rega,
rega – wait a minute, as she picked the pepper carcasses off the passenger
seat. And we got in and away we
went.
My colleagues and I (back right) at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem
Along the way, she’s asking us questions, where are we from, what are we doing in Israel, she’s schmoozing and schmoozing. About her family, about her trip to New York, how she hopes to get to the pool by 10 o’clock – she doesn’t swim for pleasure but for therapeutic reasons, she’s facing some economic challenges, etc.
By
the time we were on the main highway to Jerusalem I knew a whole lot about her.
The
endless conversation, the sharing of good and bad, the few remaining pepper
seeds that I discovered underneath me, her pointing out of the shkeydiya – you
see, she said, the almond tree blossoms really do bloom on Tu Bishvat - reinforced one thing for me. That
I was with family.
The
week I spent in Israel with over 20 rabbis at the Hartman institute was devoted
to Jewish identity in Israel and in the US. We discussed lots of challenges that face both communities
which are in many ways very different from each other; Israeli Judaism by and
large is becoming more nationalistic, more tribal, less open; American Judaism
is becoming more assimilated, more universal, more open.
But
one theme which emerged for me in Israel, which has repercussions in the US, is
family.
What
does it mean to be with mishpacha?
The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly – what does it mean?