We Are Family
The Jewish world was rocked this week by a tragedy in Norfolk, Virginia as Rabbi Reuven Bauman, a counselor in a local day camp, jumped in the water at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge to save a young boy. The boy’s life was saved, but Rabbi Bauman went missing for five days before his body was eventually found.
I prayed along with everyone else. The messages started pouring in. He was a local Clevelander’s brother; my friend’s neighbor; another friend was friends with his wife… The Jewish world is inextricably connected. I’m friends in an online way, morphing into phone conversations, with the mother of two boys who were there.
These kinds of horrible events bring out so very many emotions. There is horror - this can’t be happening. This can’t be happening to my people, to people I know by one degree of separation. There is solace through group prayer, even when separated by many miles. There is solidarity: your tragedy is my tragedy. Your struggle is my struggle. Chaverim kol Yisrael - the entire Jewish people are friends. In fact, the rescuers who eventually found Rabbi Bauman after the Coast Guard had all but given up, were comprised of several Jewish volunteer organizations - one was called just that: Chaverim, in from Rockland County, NY to help a brother, along with many other volunteers.
There is crushing disappointment that the body was found, ending any shred of hope. But also gratitude that the family could have closure and could bring the body to a kosher Jewish burial. A sense of peace that shiva could begin and with it, permission to grieve.
The Jewish world comes together in times of challenge, feeling all these feelings together.
But also this week, we’ve returned to town after the engagement of our son, and have been experiencing the exact opposite kind of Jewish solidarity: the rallying in times of joy.
I’ve been away since the couple’s engagement, so whenever people see me they approach with hugs and smiles, wishing me “mazel tov!” That my joy is someone else’s joy is somehow surprising anew each time. We’ve celebrated other simchas, but they’ve all been anticipated and expected - the birth of a child, a bar or bat mitzvah. You see them coming. An engagement is different - it’s a wonderful surprise! So other people’s happy faces, reflected back to mine, likewise fill me with a sense of connectedness to my Jewish community - a sense of togetherness and of unity.
As a family, the Jewish people do what families do. We argue, we fight, we compete. We disagree and jostle for dominion. But underlying all that is a sense of loyalty. It doesn’t matter what denomination the Jew in Norfolk was - this is everyone’s tragedy. And it doesn’t matter if someone agrees or disagrees with what I write or teach or say - my son’s engagement is everyone’s joy.
For this, I am grateful to be a part of this Jewish nation. We can debate each other to death, but we will always be there for one another.
Because that is what it means to be a family.
Shabbat shalom,
Ruchi
