Names

The portion of the Torah read in synagogues around the world this morning is “Shmot,” which means “Names.” The portion, which opens the book of Exodus, begins by naming Jacob and his eleven sons who went to Egypt to meet Joseph, who had already established himself there.

Fittingly, this was a weekend featuring many names: My son David and I were guests of Rabbi Aaron and Miiko Shaffier and their family in Tekoa for the Sabbath. Aaron is a Lubavitch-trained Chassidic rabbi who works as a scribe (hand writing religious texts) and has part of an Internet business selling Jewish religious items. A California native, Rabbi Shaeffer and his family emigrated to Israel approximately 18 months ago. Miiko was raised in Ottawa, Ontario and met Aaron through mutual friends in Toronto. The Shaffiers have five children: two girls, Menucha and Freyda, and three boys, Mendel, Dov Baer and Yisroel. (A sixth is on the way, and Miiko was very pleased that my suitcase included a substantial supply of Ibuprofen to help her through her pregnancy.) Each child is more engaging than the other, although the “baby,” Freyda, is clearly the star of the show and is adored by both her parents and siblings.

As you might imagine, the house is a busy place, particularly with two additional guests. Picture controlled chaos and constant activity, with a constant focus on love and learning what it means to live an observant Jewish life.

We went to one of several synagogues in the town for the services welcoming the Sabbath on Friday night, and then returned to the house for a multi-course (and delicious) dinner. Try as I might, I bailed out at about 8:00 p.m., suffering from a bit of jet lag.

But not before getting a clear picture of what motivates Rabbi Shaffier. Tekoa is located in a very busy neighborhood: the intersection of Geography, Politics, Religion and History. The area is part of the ancient land of Judea, after which the Jews are named. It is where the prophet Amos once lived. Most important, according to those who live there, it is part of the Jewish people’s patrimony. A town of approximately 2,000 people, it boasts an active community, a full array of schools … and a common commitment to the land.

For a number of reasons, I didn’t raise some of the misgivings I couldn’t help feeling. First and foremost, I was a guest. Second, unless and until I make the choice to live in Israel, I don’t feel I have the “right” to make a judgment. And third, even if I did live in Israel, I wouldn’t have the wisdom to know whether “settlements” like Tekoa will help or hurt the quest for peace.

This morning, we returned to the Synagogue and read about Jacob, Joseph, his brothers and the hero of the story: Moses. I was honored to be called to the Torah, and also said the traditional prayer for surviving a perilous journey. (I was too polite to ask whether one has to say the prayer after flying Delta or Continental, or whether it only applies to El Al.)

While my Hebrew leaves a lot to be desired, I am able to follow what goes on, and my ears perked up during the recitation of the usual blessings for the sick, for the State of Israel and for the Israel Defense Forces. These were followed by an additional blessing for the people in the south of Israel who remain under rocket attack, as well as a blessing for the “captives.” The two captives mentioned by name were Gilad Shalit, the young soldier kidnapped by Hamas 2-1/2 years ago from the area near the Gaza border … and Jonathan Pollard, the American jailed for violation of U.S. espionage laws.

The joinder of Shalit and Pollard was stunning to me, and taugt me much about the world view of those in attendance. I allowed that I needed some time to process the balance between the two figures, and was met with similar astonishment. In essence, the response was, “What’s the difference between the two?” (Memo to self: keep reiminding yourself you're a guest.)

Services were followed by snacks and lots to drink (mostly vodka) and discussion of the morning’s Torah reading. We then returned home for another meal, which convinced me that I miss my spinning classes more than ever.

After the obligatory afternoon nap, I packed my bag, said goodbye and thank you, and started the next leg of my journey. David and I rode by bus to the central bus station in Jerusalem. Once again, security intruded on what should be a “normal” experience, as everyone was screened before being allowed inside the station. We found my bus to Tel Aviv, and I took the last available seat in the front of the bus next to a soldier.

Ron is a 28-year old reservist who was raised on a kibbutz, now lives in Tel Aviv, and is completing his undergraduate degree in history and philosophy. We had a delightful conversation, and he thanked me for coming to Israel to volunteer. He also told me I was on the wrong bus: I wanted to go to the central bus station in Tel Aviv and, instead, had boarded a bus to the train station. But, after giving me instructions on how to reach my hotel, he told me that friends were picking him up and offered me a ride to the hotel. Amazing what that Army jacket can do for you!

Tomorrow morning, it’s off to Ben Gurion Airport again to learn of my assignment. I may – or may not – have free wi-fi when I get there. If so, there’ll be more to follow shortly. If not, I’ll keep writing and upload a batch when I return to “civilization” next week.

Isaac, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, Miiko, Menucha, Freyda, Mendel, Dov Baer, Yisroel, David and Ron. Quite a collection. And I haven’t been here for 36 hours yet.