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Maybe it is burrowed deep within my Jewish DNA, the propensity to wander. As the Israelites made their way from Egypt to the Promised Land they spent two generations’ worth of time wandering the desert. Certainly, the physical journey would not really take forty years, but this was not a physical journey. The journey across the desert was a spiritual one-one of forging an identity as well as a relationship with God. It was also one which taught that while we are earthbound, we are to experience this physical life cognizant of our divine roots. To be made in the image of God is to carry a little bit of heaven around with us down here on earth.

The wanderings of the Israelites in the desert are very much an allegory life. Firmly planted in middle-age, I can look back at a map of my own circuitous footsteps that have taken me through a fantastic array of experiences-some magnificent and some very painful. At moments of repose I can see the redemptive value in all of them and give thanks, even for the ones that brought me to my knees in despair.

In Torah The Promised Land is the physical (and metaphysical) place where the Jewish people would feel spiritually at home. My wanderings have been filled with beauty and hardship that are only possible in a physical life. Persistent trekking has led to stretching, growing and learning (both invited and not) and have yielded rewards of feeling spiritually at home, even if only temporary. Earlier in life I imagined I would arrive at these much-needed rest stops having followed a straighter path, but am now realizing the vastness of the desert we are tasked to sojourn makes that unlikely. The desert does not lend itself to straight paths. I saw a shirt that says, “All that wander are not lost.” I found it encouraging that “wandering” and “lost” were not considered synonymous.

As we enter the book of Leviticus this week, let’s wander together. The desert awaits us.

Shabbat shalom,

Beth