As Jews, we know that structure can be a good friend. So can spontaneity. Ideally these elements combine to make our services engaging and our rituals and celebrations as resonant as they can be. With Passover on the horizon, a holiday that rests on structure and specificity even as it encourages new questions each year, this intertwining is something to be especially conscious of and grateful for.
Spring Break in Cheshire last week was another example of structure at its best. In order to keep a semblance of routine in our son’s life, we took advantage of the opportunity for one family adventure each day. We have now explored the Danbury Railway Museum, the Connecticut Air and Space Center and Battleship Cove (in Fall River, MA). And then there was the afternoon the adventure came to us…
Like many of you, we found our spot for to watch the eclipse on April 8, donned our glasses and gazed skyward. The moon’s movement was barely perceptible. In a culture that encourages us to process information as quickly as possible, to multitask at all times, it was a golden opportunity to slow down. To ponder the miracles that surround us daily. To witness wonder.
My mind wandered here and there. I found myself reflecting on the rabbi and theologian Martin Buber, who taught that during times of suffering and depravity, God’s presence in the world is eclipsed. Still present, but hidden. As I thought about it, I wondered if such a phenomenon can happen at other times too. During times we feel deeply sad and isolated, or when we experience a crisis of confidence or faith. Times we look at conditions around us and wonder if it’s fruitless, finally, to hope for better.
As if on cue, the sun nearly disappeared. Jackets and sweaters came out; the sky darkened and the wind picked up. Maybe it was the little red-haired girl cavorting next to us, now drawn close to her parents for warmth, but under that darkened sky my mind next wandered to the red-headed Bibas boys, Ariel and Kfir, still trapped in Gaza for almost 200 days as I write these words. Do they and their parents, also held captive in a place that must feel so far from home, also look up and see sky… ever? The same sky? Is God eclipsed for them and their fellow hostages? How can a world that affords some adventure and joy be one of fear and injustice for others?
The moon crossed over and I uttered a silent prayer for the health and well being of each hostage. Until our voices can join together, until light shines down on all of us. Until they are home and all are free. May hope not be eclipsed. May all that is bitter not overwhelm all that is sweet. May we all do our part make this so.
Shabbat Shalom, and a joyous Passover to our Beth David family.
Rabbi Gutterman
