Israel 2016-- Night in the Negev

5/16/16

Every human being should be required to spend at least one night sleeping in the Negev. The loudest sound is the wind blowing across the hills and through whatever trees dot the landscape. The brightest light is the moon. Aside from the wind, the moon, the stars, and the quiet, there’s not a lot of stimuli out here. It’s the type of unplugged that gets harder and harder to find for individuals as we accrue more and more responsibility and for society as we collectively become less able to access this sacred remoteness. And yes, the fact that I’m clacking away on a MacBook isn’t lost on me. But the keystrokes and glowing screen and even the occasional passerby can’t alter the undeniable fact of the Negev.

Tonight I miss my 5 year old and 2 year old a bit. I guess that’s because I’m used to checking in on them at night when they’re sleeping. Tonight I get to do that with your kids, along with my fellow amazing chaperones. If I’m missing my kids, I bet you’re missing yours (or not!) and I know for a fact that they’re missing you as well. But the Negev gave us a new way to think about what it means to be connected.

After a traditional hafla dinner that stuffed even our allergy sensitive kids, we took a night walk deep into the Negev. Yishay asked us to be quiet. He told us that the Hebrew word for “desert,” Midbar, is connected to the Hebrew word for “speak,” Diber. He basically said, in much nicer words than this, shut your mouths and let the desert speak to you. After all, there must be some reason that our faith was born in the desert. There must be some reason why the word for desert and the word for speech are so deeply and purposefully connected. There must be some reason why God appeared to Moses in the desert and gave the Torah to the Jewish people in the desert. There must be some reason why people of all faiths and no faiths seek the solitude and the deafening silence of the desert.

And so tonight the desert spoke to and through your kids. And your kids spoke through and to the desert. I wonder if Micah, Gal, Audra,  Dara, Isabelle, Gabi, Sarah St., or the countless others who spoke amidst the darkness remember exactly what it is that they felt, heard, and expressed in the desert. I think they will. They spoke of seeing their shadow and wondering what their future holds, they spoke of you telling them that we all sleep under the same sky, they spoke of looking at the spaces between the stars and wondering what they meant, they spoke of the billions of people living, dying, laughing, loving, and dreaming right in this very moment. They spoke of unknown and exciting futures, ancient pasts embedded in jagged stones.  Sitting next to me was Adam P. Initially he had his hand raised to speak but put it down. I can’t put it into words, he told me. Those are the thoughts that push us forward. The thoughts of the desert. The thoughts of the Negev. The thoughts of your children. The thoughts of the 56 beautiful souls that are sleeping alongside one another in the darkness of the Bedouin Tent in the darkness of the Negev, under the light of the moon. The same moon that you’ll sleep under. Hadara and Caleb Lapidus too. Have you ever been to the Negev? Have you ever had an experience like the one I’m describing? If so, consider this blog a virtual desert and share a bit if you’re willing.

Last night as the kids were going to sleep up in the Galilee a group of Dutch tourists with rooms next to ours suddenly started singing Dutch songs in four and five part harmony. At first it was unexpected and a bit funny. But quickly it became soul wrenchingly beautiful to watch a group of adults stand in a circle, look one another in the eye, and sing to their God. A few of us watched and listened. In that moment I understood something for the first time. I understood that there are pilgrims and there are seekers.

Those Dutch tourists had come to the Galilee on a pilgrimage. Pilgrims have a specific destination in mind. They come to connect with a specific story, a specific place, a specific virtue, or a specific purpose. These pilgrims had come to walk in Jesus’ footsteps. To stand in the place where he delivered the Sermon on the Mount, the place where he healed the sick, and so on.

Our Davis 2016 Israel trip can also be thought of as a sort of pilgrimage. But I actually think it’s more accurate to describe our kids as seekers rather than pilgrims. They came to Israel to connect. But they don’t yet know what it is that they are hoping to connect with. They don’t yet know what stories, what places, what virtues, and what purposes. The Negev embraced our seekers and brought each a little (or a lot) closer to a deeper understanding of that which they authentically seek. Know that they may not be ready to articulate this. Or that they may not be ready to share it with you. But sure as the stars in the sky and wind blowing over the hills “there’s something happening here.”

We came back from our night journey more connected and open. That led to yet another awesome experience around the campfire. We’ve been on a roll at the Bedouin campfire for the last couple of years, but this year might’ve topped them all. After leading the kids through a few favorite Jewish songs with shout outs to Mrs. Kaiman among others, I was so happy to turn the guitar over to Phillip who agreed to perform a song. For me and Mr. Michek who together persuaded him to do it, it was a moment of absolute bliss. It couldn’t have gone better. In fact, Mr. Michek and I gave each other a huge embrace afterward, remembering similar moments in our own lives. It was a joy to see. From there Max R. and others led us in a searing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody dedicated to Morah Sara Beth. And on and on. The guitar made the rounds and the kids fluctuated between Jewish and secular tunes like a Bar Mitzvah DJ at CBM. Ironically, the secret to the Bedouin campfire is to not actually light the fire. The heat, the smoke, and the wind destroy the very energy that we seek to create.

Everything that transpired today before our arrival in the Negev was also really splendid. The Dead Sea never disappoints. But it was so hot that no one wanted to overstay our welcome. The bus even had to pull over on the ascent from Sea. And our morning swim at Sachne, where we stood beneath a waterfall while little fish nibbled at the dead skin on our feet, was the perfect way to stay cool on what was, at least meteorologically, a truly hellish day.

In a few hours we’ll climb Masada. Some of us will climb as pilgrims, some as seekers, some as 8^th graders fulfilling the promise of a lifetime. Out in the desert someone remarked that they’d spent more than half their life studying and dreaming about Israel. I can already tell you that when the sun rises tomorrow there will be other groups of 8^th graders up there with us. But I can also tell you that none will appreciate the sunrise more than our kids. None will show more Kavod. And none will take more fabulous selfies. You heard it here first.

So how was your Monday?