Rabbinic Reflections: A voice in the wilderness

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Under the stars in the Israeli desert. (Image from Tourist Israel, The Guide)

I just returned from a trip to Israel. Along the way, my tour group had a transformational moment in the desert. I was leading a group of college students on a Birthright trip. They hailed from West Chester University, Villanova University, St. Joseph’s University, Thomas Jefferson University, Lehigh University, Bucknell College, Franklin & Marshall College, and Muhlenberg College. Most of them did not know each other before the trip, having barely met on Zoom weeks before; a few knew no one when we started. You might be expecting me to say that we came together as a group because of our experiences together. That would not be quite right, though.

As it happened, several of our experiences together actually created some division. Travel takes a toll, fraying nerves, and we had a long journey to Israel. Rafting down the Jordan River is not for everyone, and the mystical spirituality of Tsfat (the city of Safed) does not have universal appeal. Enduring a heat wave in Tel Aviv left some more than ready to jump in the Mediterranean Sea and others too exhausted to move. Even with ice breakers, facilitated conversations and activities, it took something different to bring us together; it took the desert.

Before going to sleep in Bedouin tents, we walked out into the desert using the full moon to light our way. Once we were removed from most of the noise and light of humanity, I asked everyone to walk away from each other to spend ten minutes alone, quiet, just listening. Those ten minutes, that time in our own individual space, that experience is what brought us together.

Ten minutes alone, with nothing but the wind in our ears and the stars above in our eyes, took all of us, each of us, out of our comfort zone. I had encouraged everyone to listen to the “still, small voice” of God or of themselves. The results were so moving. Many reflected on their personal journeys, others on their values, and everyone on the risk in stopping to listen. While some shared what they heard and felt, others kept the experience to themselves. I shared that I heard a great deal in the wind, and when the wind died down for a bit how I could hear the blood flowing in my body telling me how alive I am, how present in this world. Returning back to the tents, we were not the same as before. We were both more ourselves as individuals and more open to others as a group. A bonfire with s’mores turned into a bonding session that included others not even in our group. For the rest of the trip, students took care of each other even and especially of students different from themselves. We became a family.

Again, it was not group bonding that got us there. It was stepping away from the group, away from the noise of people and devices, that got us to bond. More than anything else from my trip, I felt that the bond this group formed was the most inspiring. I felt God’s presence in their midst, and it reminded me of a verse from Isaiah: “A voice calls out, in the wilderness, pave a way for the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3).

I purposely put the commas around “in the wilderness.” Most translations shift the phrase to the end indicating that the way should be paved there. Jewish tradition with its cantillation marks leaves open that the voice is in the wilderness. Either way, it is read, the point for me is the same: get out. Get out of your regular routine or outdoors or out of your head (ten minutes of silence is long enough for your initial thoughts to clear). If you do, you will connect to yourself, you will connect to others, and that might just connect you to God individually and collectively.

About Rabbi Jeremy Winaker

Rabbi Jeremy Winaker is the executive director of the Greater Philadelphia Hillel Network, responsible for West Chester University, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, and other area colleges. He is the former head of school at the Albert Einstein Academy in Wilmington and was the senior Jewish educator at the Kristol Hillel Center at the University of Delaware for four years. Rabbi Winaker lives in Delaware with his wife and three children.

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