* Translated by Janine Muller Sherr
The time and venue felt particularly moving; on Rosh Chodesh Elul, I arrived at the non-denominational synagogue Hakippah in Be’er Sheva to deliver a lecture to a women’s group in memory of their member, Orit
Weil, z”l.
As a young woman, I came here to “do Shabbat” for the first time. This week, I stopped on the sidewalk at the entrance to the synagogue. I remember standing at this exact spot after attending Friday night prayer servicesfor the first time and feeling as if I had been privy to a tremendous secret. The prayer service had moved me and surprised me. It was my first exposure to the Torah portion, Shabbat meals, and Torah learning. But it was something else that occurred after the prayer service that was truly life-changing.
At the time, I was a young journalist and a true workaholic (okay, so this part hasn’t changed). After the davening, members of the congregation lingered on the sidewalk and stood in circles talking among themselves. I couldn’t understand what they were doing. The entire time I stood there wondering who was the special person they were waiting for.
Finally, I decided to ask someone. The lovely girl who was hosting me explained: “We’re not waiting for anyone. It’s just that today is Shabbat.” Boom. Is there any weekday whenpeople stand around on the sidewalk simply talking to one another, without glancing at their watches— I mean their cell phones? When are we not rushing to get somewhere? And even if we as individuals are able to set aside some time in our schedules for such one-on-one encounters, when is the entire community in “Shabbat mode”? When is the entire nation, in essence, the entire world tuned in to this special “frequency”?
Yes, I realize that there are more exciting stories than mine about discovering the beauty and serenity of Shabbat. And the highlight of Shabbat is certainly not “hanging out” outside a synagogue in Be’er Sheva. But what can I do? I found myself on this sidewalk this week and I couldn’t help but remember my experience.
On Rosh Chodesh Elul, the appointed month for thinking about teshuva, returning, and charting a new course for ourselves, I merited to return exactly to this place where it all began for me in order to teach Torah.
For passersby, this probably looks like just another scene outside a synagogue. But every “ordinary” place like this is actually a force of tremendous spiritual energy, a revolutionary “startup” hidden among the housing projects. In 2024, people are still standing on this sidewalk once a week, looking other people in the eye, and paying attention to what they say, leaving behind all the noise, commotion, and distractions of the week.
My deepest gratitude to Hakippah for hosting me this week, and for hosting me on that unforgettable Shabbat so many years ago.
