The Jabotinsky Rosh Hashana Table
Shaking my head in disbelief or pinching myself has
become routine these days. I cannot quite believe that it is September, that I
have already completed my first quarter of Rabbinical school, and that this
very week, marks the start of the High Holidays, and a new year in the
Jewish cycle. (5774 if you're counting...) Summer’s learning and the daily challenge in acclimating to
living in Jerusalem, have proved to be a roller coaster so far, but ultimately, an enjoyable one, thanks in large part to the
40 classmates I’ve come to consider my family here, as we spend just about 95%
of each day in each other’s presence. Whether with late night Chinese delivery
to study for biblical history, or end of the week scrappy basketball games, we
keep each other from taking the intensity of this program too seriously to
enjoy life. I’ve also adopted a 3 ice cream
bar per day diet that I highly recommend for desert living, grad school
survival and general well being.
This past week, to begin the new quarter, the
whole gang of us hopped a bus up North to the Galil or Sea of Galilea region, to
explore some of the key sites in the narrative of the founding of Zionism. In studying
a very young nation’s ideological evolution , I saw some parallels to our own
educational undertakings-also characterized by a collective of largely
20-somethings with little certainty, experience or precedent for the process
they embark upon, buoyed by pluck, faith, and desire to affect change. And
plenty of trial by error.
We met fascinating individuals who imparted
their versions of the pioneer experience, making it very clear there is no one
way to tell the story of Zionism or innovation in modern Israel. Our tour included a spirited historic re-enactment
the ill-fated fortification of Tel Hai by early pioneers, and a discussion with
a 26-year old resident of the small, economically challenged town of Kiryat
Shmone, who has opened a co-op café as a hub for social protest, inspired in
part after the Occupy Movement in the states.
Of the many rich conversations had, there was one
in particular that inspired my current thoughts on the approaching new year:
A man named Muki, one of the earliest Kibbutz
residents in Israel, now in his 80s, came to speak with our group, and gifted us with an anecdote I’ll attempt to
paraphrase. He recalled, at the age of 20, being appointed “Secretary” of his
young, flegling kibbutz, and fielding a complaint from a recent Russian
immigrant, about the deteriorating state of the furniture in his simple kibbutz
room. The room, with its standard-issue table, chair, and pot, were badly in
need of repair. Proudly, Muki told the man that the Kibbutz would replace the
old table with a new table, the kibbutz would simply provide a new one, and he
could go pick out something from the communal supply store.It wasn’t what the man wanted. What he yearned for, he said, was the table that his family had in Russia-the eternal dining room table that withstood time’s wear, and wore the marks of generations. Muki was left to ponder-what did the Kibbutzniks have that would endure time the way this man described? What, if anything, would be preserved-what would have enough value to be passed to the next generation, without the perpetual need for reinvention?
This Rosh Hashana, I have on my mind growth and
change, academically, personally, spiritually. Just as deeply, I have on my
mind preservation, memory, and enduring narrative. What from our lives deserves
safeguarding from all the anticipation of change surrounding us? What will we
abandon in the name of innovation-or to make space for what is newly possible? What,
as we move forward, will remain on our own Eternal Tables?
