For several years in New Jersey, before they built a cell
tower in our town, I walked around our house, holding the phone up as high as I
could, to see where I could find a spot with reception, with ‘bars’.
When I was at conferences at Camp Isabella freedman in
Connecticut, a lovely site in the woods, my previous cell phone provider’s
service did not extend there, and I was compelled to wait in line and use a
phone calling card.
We want to be connected to our families and friends, and
then, there are moments when we need to be on our own, to have moments of
silence and reflection. We need a safe
and protected place where we can find peace.
What is the safest place for each of us in the world?
Where do we go when we need to ‘get away from it all’?
Does a place like this actually exist for us anymore, in an
age that our lives, our work, news and more can follow us almost anywhere in
the world?
We studied today the ancient cities of refuge – These were
not necessarily the most calm, protected, or isolated cities. Our ancestors did not flock to these places
for reflection or spiritual renewal.
They fled to these cities in the event they were involved in an act of
involuntary manslaughter. The example
the Torah cites is someone is cutting wood, and the axe handle flies off and
‘strikes another person so that he dies’.
To protect the individual from revenge, he flees to a city
of refuge for asylum. There were six
cities of refuge: 3 on the eastern banks
of the Jordan – Bezer, Ramot, and Golan, and 3 on the western side: Kedesh, Shechem, and Chevron.
The cities were marked well – and the roads to them needed
to be wide and well-maintained. In order
to achieve full asylum, the individual had to stay in the city until the death
of the current High Priest.
These cities were intended to protect individuals from
revenge, even though in other places the Torah teaches us not to bear grudges
and not to take the law into our own hands.
The manslayer is still culpable, still guilty, but his crime was unintentional.
In this season, when we do cheshbon ha’nefesh, when we look
inward to turn our hearts to God, to turn our hearts back to the people we love
so that we do not take them for granted, so that we honor them, we may feel we
want to escape to a city of refuge, or a place of refuge. The weight of having to seek forgiveness or
pursue reconciliation is heavy.
Running away might not even take a change in geography. Too often we turn inward, shut down, think
about things that are not important, fill up our time with distractions so that
we do not have to confront our loose ends, the broken places that we may be
able to repair.
Setting up the cities of refuge was as challenging as our
task this season. Our ancestors as we
said needed to keep these roads in good repair, no small challenge when dealing
with mud and rock.
And although the manslayer’s action was unintentional, it is
highly likely that the personal sense of guilt, in addition to the idea that a
family member of the victim could be in pursuit, filled the individual with
fear and anxiety. We feel the same
thing. As the Bal Shem Tov taught, we
may run away from our problems, but when we turn around, we will find these
things running after us, right behind us.
And still, if there is a place we can go to find peace and
refuge, a place where we can put our thoughts together, stop time for a few
brief moments, this gift we can give ourselves will help us to get ready for
the fall holidays. The gifts of building
courage within ourselves so that we do not delay. We cannot stay in these places for too long,
or we’ll get stuck, and not be able to find our way out.
A story from Rabbi Chayim of Zans
A man had been wandering the forest for several days, not
knowing which was the right way out. Suddenly, he saw another approaching him. His heart was filled with joy. ‘Now I will certainly find out the right
way!’, he thought to himself. When they
neared one another, he asked, ‘Brother, tell me the right way out. I have been wandering for days.’ Said the other to him, ‘Brother, I do not
know the way out either. For I too have
been wandering many days. But this I can
tell you: do not take the way I have
been taking, it will lead you astray.
And now let us look for a new way out together.’
It is time now, this month of Elul, the month when we begin
to hear the sound of the Shofar, time to help each other, time to forgive each
other, time to let go of grudges, time to find healing in our lives even if we
cannot also find a cure.
And may the invisible, ever present, and whispering voice of
God lead us from our places of refuge back out into the light of the New
Year. Amen.
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