Let’s face it; we’re nomads. It’s probably easier for me to say, personally, since I’ve lived in four different countries and four states in the US. If you’ve mainly lived in one place all - or most of - your life, you may be thinking “well, I’M not a nomad!” And maybe it isn’t true of your own lived experience... but I venture to say it’s almost certainly true of your ancestors a generation or two (or ten) ago, and ultimately it’s quite undeniable that we, as Jews, are most definitely nomads. Abraham, whom we consider the first Jew, is introduced to us with the words “Lech Lecha,” meaning “Go forth (from your homeland, and settle someplace new).” Before we know *anything* else about him, we know that he’s a stranger in a strange land. His son, grandson, great-grandson, and really countless subsequent generations are all defined by their status as aliens, foreigners, sojourners, and outsiders. So yeah, it’s hard to get away from the fact that we, as Jews, move around a lot and always have. It seems to me that it therefore behooves us, wherever we may roam, to consider what our relationship is like with the inhabitants of the land on which we settle?
Very briefly, I’d like to ponder this question with you from three different perspectives. First, our Torah portion: This week, we read the following in Leviticus, 18:3-4: “You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, or of the land of Canaan to which I am taking you; nor shall you follow their laws. My rules alone shall you observe, and faithfully follow My laws; I, Adonai, am your God.” In a way, this is a perfect elaboration of my statement above about us being nomads. The Israelites are, at this point in the text, wandering through the desert without a place to call home. And God makes it abundantly clear that you did not fit in among the Egyptians, nor will you fit in with the Canaanites. Wherever you go, you will be different. It’s also interesting to me that many rabbinic commentaries on these two verses feel the need to put down both the Egyptians and the Canaanites, and clarify that their practices are abhorrent and reprehensible, and THAT is why God issues this decree. But I’m fascinated by the fact that the text itself doesn’t actually say that. The Egyptians are doing their thing, the Canaanites are doing theirs... and you shouldn’t emulate either of them. Just be yourself, march to the beat of your own drum, and be who you are, and who you are meant to be.
A second perspective: This Shabbat at Ohev Shalom is our annual Lostice Shabbat, where we celebrate and honor the small Czechoslovakian town from which we inherited a Torah scroll that survived the destruction of the Holocaust. Every year, I emphasize to our congregation that we are celebrating the Jews of Lostice; we are not exclusively commemorating their deaths. It would be easy for us to look at European Jewry - pre-Holocaust, but in some people’s minds, even today - and say that it is defined by anti-Semitism, pogroms, expulsions, and hate. But that simply isn’t true, or at the very least it does a great disservice to our ancestors who lived there for centuries upon centuries. Those forbearers were nomads as well, to be sure, but that still doesn’t mean that all their neighbors hated them and tried to annihilate them! Everywhere we have lived, we have contributed to the economy, culture, trade, cuisine, and development of society. Sometimes it was symbiotic and harmonious; other times it was contentious and precarious. But let’s not be too quick to judge. Even in the Torah, Egypt was at times a welcoming and safe place for our ancestors, and even the Canaanites were sometimes allies and supporters! It is imperative that we consider the nuance and complexity of our relationships with the people around us... no matter where we have lived.
And so we come to our present day, and to our third perspective. What of our relationship with the people around us today? Again, it might be easier to contemplate this question if you too have done a fair amount of moving and resettling, or if you live in a community with many transplants. Regardless of where you live, I invite you to spend a little time considering what your nomadic heritage means to you, and how it may affect your relationship with your neighbors and friends. Maybe it manifests in how you speak about Israel (despite never having lived there), or a kinship you may feel with Jews you meet from anywhere else in the world. Or perhaps it comes when you study Jewish history, and learn that feeling comfortable and a sense of belonging has *never* sheltered us from the forces of hate and scapegoating... and we forget that teaching at our own peril. It isn’t easy being a nomad, or the descendant of nomads. But it has also enriched our existence and helped us thrive and adapt over the course of millennia. It is neither good nor bad; it simply is. So let us embrace our nomadic legacy and wear it with pride: This is who we are.
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