Israel is a land that amazes. It's part of the cradle of civilization, and is the center of the Western spiritual world. It buzzes with innovation, immigrants, ideas, and intentions. There's an overwhelming abundance of natural, historical, and cultural wonders, and all manner of incredible things. Israel is one "wow" after another.
This richness, actually, can be a problem for a visitor. It's too easy for Israel to become a collection of remarkable sites and stories, almost intimidating in its wonders that can keep us moving from one to the next, nudging out the emotional impact that the place has on us.
This richness, actually, can be a problem for a visitor. It's too easy for Israel to become a collection of remarkable sites and stories, almost intimidating in its wonders that can keep us moving from one to the next, nudging out the emotional impact that the place has on us.
But visiting sites isn't the reason I travel. I travel to be challenged by the undercurrents, to force my stodgy brain into seeing the world in a way that may not make sense to me, to turn what I know upside down and hand it back to me on a platter fashioned from my own naivete. But when there is so much to see and do, and it's all so amazing, how does one find the space, the time, to make the trip more than marveling at one site after another?
In one of my guide books, "Israel: A Spiritual Travel Guide," the author, Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman, puts forth a solution. He calls it "something better than 'Wow!'." His idea is rooted in the fact that most American Jews are visiting Israel not because it's got great beaches, nice weather, and a lot of good-looking people. They're visiting because Israel has a meaning for them. And many of those visitors may be like I was, superficially aware of Israel as the spiritual center of the teachings I was raised with, but not really understanding what a visit there means to me personally.
Rabbi Hoffman's proposal is reflection. Reflection not just after visiting a site, but beforehand, too. And being able to find the sacred, the hopeful, and the personally provocative in ordinary places, not only in the spectacular sites.
I tried to practice his approach as best I could; there is only so much you can contemplate and anticipate beforehand when you're in a place that constantly surprises you. But on the flight to Tel Aviv, I thought a great deal about what it would mean to be Jewish and not be the minority, about being able to share my time in Israel with family I see too seldom, and about speaking a language that I associate with a dining hall at summer camp.
In his book, Rabbi Hoffman reminds us that one of the things Jewish culture values most highly is memory. Memory is how we keep people alive, keep history alive, and keep learning from the past. His premise is that not only should we reflect on our experiences, but we should record those reflections so other people can learn from them. It's this sharing that gives our experiences their greatest value.
So this is my tribute to Rabbi Hoffman's suggestion. I hope those of you reading it discover an unknown tidbit, or find yourself thinking something new. Maybe you will even be encouraged to contemplate your own adventure, large or small, far or near, that up-ends what you know and makes you different than you were when you left home.
In his book, Rabbi Hoffman reminds us that one of the things Jewish culture values most highly is memory. Memory is how we keep people alive, keep history alive, and keep learning from the past. His premise is that not only should we reflect on our experiences, but we should record those reflections so other people can learn from them. It's this sharing that gives our experiences their greatest value.
So this is my tribute to Rabbi Hoffman's suggestion. I hope those of you reading it discover an unknown tidbit, or find yourself thinking something new. Maybe you will even be encouraged to contemplate your own adventure, large or small, far or near, that up-ends what you know and makes you different than you were when you left home.