I just returned from more than a week in Jerusalem, a meaningful and intense family trip.
The journey was not an easy one for me to take. We bought the tickets back in September, but I prayed hard before deciding to go as planned. It has been stressful to have my son studying in Israel during such frightening times, and I knew some people in my life might be surprised that I would bring the rest of my family there to see him.
I was nervous enough to avoid directly telling some of my colleagues I’d be going. I put on an extra cheery face about it for certain family members. We stayed in Jerusalem to try to make it a meaningful and safe experience for the younger child traveling with us.
Thank G-d, we did not experience sirens or violence near us while there. But a constant fear nagged in the back of my mind. I woke up every morning with a prayer for peace and a quiet day. I put the siren alert app on my phone, but only set it for the places we would be. I avoided the news when I could, unable to bear the kind of information that I need at home but might increase my own anxiety while in county. When that younger child asked “what if something happens while we’re sleeping?” or “what if there’s a siren while we’re praying at the Kotel?” I did my best to be reassuring, though to be honest, I really didn’t know the answer.
What must it be like for Israelis living under this constant stress every day?
Pictures of the hostages were on bus stops, along city walls, in the airport — everywhere I looked. It was clear that these innocent people — children, young adults, elderly — were each beloved by someone who must have provided that picture, who must lay awake each night hoping they are alive.
We heard from shop-keepers that business has been terrible — the usual tourists have not come this holiday season.
I heard from an Israeli friend who had devoted decades of her life to conflict resolution, that she felt her life’s efforts had been a failure.
The prominent signs directing people to bomb shelters were both terrifying and reassuring.
While I came to this trip with “being a mother” as my main intention, I swept between a wide range of goals: keeping my family safe and connected, praying for the safety of Israel, learning Torah and praying with intention, seeing loved ones, and meeting with friends and colleagues to explore broader perspectives for global change. There was also the matter of taking care of my own health, not easy for me when traveling.
Struggling to find the balance, I remembered Rav Kook’s Fourfold Song, which I first heard on my second trip to Israel as part of a Lights in Action experience in 1996.
Rav Kook writes (excerpt follows, see link above for full text):
There is the one who sings the song of their own life, and in themselves they find everything, their full spiritual satisfaction.
There is the one who sings the song of their own nation, attaching themselves with a gentle love to the whole community of Israel…
There is the one who reaches toward more distant realms, going beyond the boundary of Israel to sing the song of humankind.
Then there is the one who rises towards wider horizons, linking themselves with all existence, with all God’s creatures, with all the worlds, and singing their song with all of them.
And then there is the one who rises with all these songs in one ensemble, all joining their voices. Together they sing their songs with beauty, each one lending vitality and life to the other… (Notebook 7:112)
Reflecting on this teaching, I have often thought of myself as one who sings the fourth song: of all G-d’s creatures. But today, I am focusing on the fifth song. Rav Kook calls to the person who can unite all of the songs — who can care for oneself and loved ones, the Jewish people, all humanity and all creation, all at once.
Can I take care of myself, be a mom, stand for Jewish wisdom and tradition, and be committed to healing the world… all at the same time? It’s certainly not easy. But Rav Kook certainly seems to have thought it was a worthy endeavor, and that gives me courage to try.
During this trip I mostly kept my roles separate. But after morning services on the last Shabbat of our trip, several of my wisdom teachers, my husband, and my children were all unexpectedly in the same room at the same time. It was like Hashem was whispering “yes.”
In a time of disintegration and heartache, this kind of harmony is more needed and worthy than ever. So as we move into 2024, that is what I am praying for — for myself, the Jewish people, for all humanity, and for all the world. And for you.
May you and your loved ones be safe, may your worldly and spiritual endeavors be meaningful and productive, and may we see lasting peace soon in our days.
Evonne
P.S. I’m scheduling programs for 2024 and would love to come speak to your community, school, book club, writers’ group, women’s gathering or Bat Mitzvah program. Many types of activities are available! Please be in touch if you’d like to discuss possibilities.
P.P.S. Cyberspace being what it is, this email may have been flagged as spam in your inbox. I promise, it's really me, a little dizzy from jet lag and procrastinating on finishing up my annual charity donations. (No bot would know that but you do, right?) If you want to see more messages from me, please let your email service know I'm real and writing to you from my author account, evonnewrites@gmail.com.
So meaningful. Thank you for sharing!