This Week: Fireflies and Summer Days
Moments of simplicity. And, of course, a whole lot of complexity, too.
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Dear fam,
Yesterday evening I sat out on our front porch and watched my Big Kid chase fireflies. It had been a long day (one of many) and I was tired, of course. It was also way past Big Kid’s bedtime.
Still, we weren’t in a hurry. The air had finally cooled off enough to be bearable — there was even a sweet breeze tousling the Pride flag that hangs between our home and the tree in our front yard. The fireflies were everywhere. Tiny sparkling bioluminescent miracles.
Big Kid is in that stage of a million questions. At times — a lot of the time — it’s completely crazy-making. Today, as I tried to ease my way onto the highway while being asked something I certainly don’t know I declared, “Ok! No more ‘why’ questions for the next ten minutes!” To which my almost five-year-old replied, “But why?”
I did not lose my mind then and there, but boy howdy it was close.
Nonetheless, as the sun set on a too-hot day yesterday, there were no questions. There was almost no sound, to be honest. Only the occasional chirp of a bird not yet asleep. It was pretty perfect.
Those moments of simple perfection are what keep me afloat.
There are a lot of powerful currents these days, threatening to pull us under or over or thrash us about until we’re on our knees coughing up salt water. By which I mean, things have not gotten better back home. And, as a result, things have not gotten better here either.
It’s confusing. Because, objectively, I am safe here in New Jersey with my two little ones and my decent job and my lovely garden full of fireflies. We’re playing in the water and worrying about bedtime routines. There are no air-raid sirens. We have enough food. We’ve not been forced from our homes as millions of Palestinians and hundreds of thousands of Israelis have been. Our lives, as such, are intact.
I know this.
Still, last week as I lay in bed and thought of all I’d read and heard that day, I had to tell myself where I was. The things is — that place is part of the fabric of my being. I will never not be braided together with the Promised Land. That place, double-booked by G-d and, subsequently, soaked in the blood and tears of innumerable people from all faiths and heritages, is my motherland.
I was talking to my younger sister a week or so ago. I wanted her advice about whether to go visit the motherland, and how things actually feel. Sister to sister. Mother to mother.
She’s also the mother of a young child now, so she gets it. Plus, we go way back, being sisters n’ all.
“Mikhali,” she said, “This is where you’re from. You can’t wait for it to be calm or you’ll never come. What’s happening now… it’s part of something that’s been happening for a long time. You need to understand that.”
She was right. I do need to understand that. I need to get it into my head that, as I teach my children the divine beauty of the Hebrew language, I will also need to teach them about the complexity of the place. Now, we learn the words for summer, and ice-cream, and beach, and wave. One day, they will have questions about air-raid sirens, and violence, and oppression. I will need answers.
To this end, I will continue to try to understand. Like my five-year-old, I will continue to ask why a million times, until I’ve made everyone (including myself) quite crazy. Like my five-year-old, I won’t take anything for granted. Big Kid asks “But, Mama, why does our tree have leaves this shape?” I will ask, “But why does our society have this shape? Can it not have a different one?” I will continue to seek out people to work with on making things different.
I am not naïve. I’m actually quite a cynic these days. I know the deck is stacked against peace-makers in just about every-which-way. But I also know that it’s better to try and fail than not to try at all. Because, one day, my kids are going to have questions about what I was doing during this time — I had better have some answers.
So, we’re going to Israel. I want to see my grandmother, who is almost 97 years old. I want to see my nephew, who is seven months old. I want to see my childhood home. I want to eat the food that tastes like home, and to hug my cousins and aunties and parents and sister. I want to hear Hebrew in my ears, everywhere.
The summer days will feel like my youth, maybe. I can show my Big Kid where I grew up, where my wife grew up. I want that so badly it hurts right in the middle of my chest.
This week’s Torah portion (or parashah) is Beha’alotekha, from the book of Numbers. This is the fourth of five Books of Moses, and it includes the stories of the People of Israel wandering in the desert for 40 years before arriving in Canaan.
Parashat Beha’alotekha has a lot of different stories I won’t get into. But one section (Numbers 10:29–34) stood out to me as I sought solace this week. In these verses, Moses speaks to his in-law, Hovav ben-Reuel, and asks him to be a guide in the desert. Hovav is not an Israelite, he’s a Midianite (another local nation) and he basically says, “Respectfully, no. I actually gotta get home.”
To which Moses replies, “Please do not leave us, inasmuch as you know where we should camp in the wilderness and can be our guide.”
And Hovav agrees. So they walk for three more days and, as they walk, “G-d’s cloud kept above them by day, as they moved on from camp.” (Numbers 10:34).
Two things are notable to me in this passage. First, as many commentators have noted, the use of the word na, which means ‘please,’ is interesting. Moses doesn’t demand, he requests. And he does so using the same language in which he will request that G-d save his sister’s life in Numbers 12:13.
There’s something intimate about this language. Moses is the leader of the whole nation! But this isn’t a commander giving an order; this is two people who care for one another having a serious conversation.
Which brings me to the second thing of note. Moses, our leader in the wilderness, knows that those who go it alone are destined for failure. He is not afraid to say, essentially, “We need each other. We are different in our heritage and beliefs, but our fates are tied to one another. Can we not work together to succeed? Lead us and share in our bounty.”
Later in this week’s portion, we read that Moses is the humblest among men (Numbers 12:3), and here we see why that matters. We need to be able to ask for help, to recognize how we can work together, to see that life is not a zero-sum game. When we all thrive — we all thrive.
And the cloud of G-d will be above us on our way, the whole time.
I’m looking forward to the trip back home. I can’t wait to hold my family close. I can’t wait for the summer days we’ll have together. Nothing is simple, and that’s ok.
Wishing you a week of fireflies and summer days.
Shavua tov,
Mikhal
What I’m reading…
Opinions: A Decade of Arguments, Criticism, and Minding Other People’s Business is a collection of Op-Eds written by the incomparable
. If you would like to read a series of powerful truths that make you want to go out of your house and change the world, this is the book for you.We Alive, Beloved is the new book of poetry by
who, if you don’t already know, has the gift of finding precise words for the most complex and singular of human experiences. I pre-ordered this ages ago and am so dang glad it arrived on my doorstep.
What I’m listening to…
New music announcement!!
Last year, my wife and I were commissioned to write a five-song record of music for meditation inspired by Jewish texts. The resultant album is called KAVANA (Hebrew for Intention) and is now available on BandCamp. In each song description you’ll see the texts we used. Hope you enjoy it!