I’m back!

The Kallah conference was just as magical as I had hoped it would be for me.

I don’t know if I told you how stressed out I was during the weeks prior.

In fact, I was terrified.

It felt really big to be going to this conference as a newly ordained rabbi.

I would be leading services as a colleague to the other clergy.

Was I worthy?

Would they come?

I barely slept the first two nights.

The schedule was insane.

I was anxious despite being totally prepared.

Anxious about getting up early.

Anxious about getting enough sleep.

Anxious to do my morning routine of self-care.

The davvenen, or prayer services, started at 7am.

There was competition;

Several services were happening at the same time.

Other leaders were well-known.

Did anyone even know me besides my former classmates?

There was even competition with breakfast because of the schedule.

And with late-night evening events.

You had to make choices; morning or evening, but not both.

But they came. And it was wonderful.

People went deep into prayer, and quickly.

They were grateful.

I felt worthy.

What a magical feeling.

And as if that wasn’t magical enough, my classes were perfectly juxtaposed:

“Life” in the morning; how to live with love at the center through Hebrew chant practices.

“Death” in the afternoon: Jewish views of the afterlife.

I had come with a question.

By day two, a voice whispered in my ear:

“This is the course you will be designing as a future offering: a mixture of these two classes.” (More on that to come!)

And I knew it was time to begin writing my book.

Another little voice whispered, “and this is the title:”

Love and Fury in the Time of Covid; From Communist to Rabbi.

All so magical.

Like little miracles.

This week’s Parsha, as we come to the end of the Book of Numbers, lists all the place-names the Israelites stopped along the way on their journey through the desert to the Promised Land.

It’s a very dry list, but there’s a Midrash, a rabbinic story, that imagines God telling Moses, “Write down all the places through which Israel journeyed, that they might recall the miracles I wrought for them,” guiding them safely through human and natural dangers.

The people are to remember the places where they complained:

Of lack of water.

And water poured from a rock.

Of lack of food.

And manna fell from the sky.

Of boring food, and quail fell from the sky.

The Midrash goes on:

It is like a king who takes his sick son to a specialist, and on the return journey, now better, reminds him along the way; this is where you had a headache; here is where we stopped to rest.

Each place was an oasis, providing what was needed in the end.

Here is the journey of last week’s conference:

Along the way, we complained about the schedule.

Along the way, we complained about the food.

Along the way, we complained about the beds, and how tired we were.

Along the way, we complained about our room keys not working.

About the heat and humidity.

About flight delays due to torrential rains and lightning.

We complained about people not wearing masks when they had cold symptoms.

We complained of getting Covid, or being exposed.

But along the way, we had air conditioning.

And along the way, we had friendly staff who worked so hard to accommodate us.

And along the way, we made new friendships, and deepened old ones.

Along the way, we talked for hours.

Along the way, we walked barefoot in the grass.

Along the way, rain poured from the sky, providing much needed water.

Along the way, we laughed and cried.

We anointed or were anointed with oil as Shabbat descended upon us.

We chanted and sang at the tops of our lungs.

Along the way, we felt our prayers go up to heaven.

We have a long way to go before we get to the Promised Land.

But along the way, we must keep noticing the miracles and magic.

I end with a prayer by Joel Kushner:

Blessed are you, Source of Direction who offers to whisper in our ears and hearts, guidance for our way. Allow us to quiet ourselves to hear and receive you fully, and enable us to be like a watered garden even in the parched places of our lives.

Good Shabbos, and say Amen.