On June 18, 2011, just 10 weeks after I stepped from the mikvah, I was privileged to give the d'var Torah at my husband's childhood synagogue. The parsha was Shelach. At this point in the Torah, the Israelites have made it to the borders of the promised land, and they send in 12 spies to scope out the situation. The spies find a beautiful land flowing with milk and honey, with grapevines so large that it takes many men to carry them back to the camp. But they also find a land filled with formidable inhabitants. Ten of the spies report back that the land is good, but not worth the fights with the “giants” (Numbers 13:32) who live there. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, insist that settling the land will be worth it and that with God's help they can settle there. The people side with the ten spies, and for this lack of faith, God dooms them to 40 years wandering in the wilderness.
Unfortunately, I've lost the copy of the d'var Torah I gave in 2011, but I remember that it was about fear, wandering, and finding your place in the world. We moved a lot at that time in our lives - for jobs, for grad school, and then for jobs and grad school again. Between 2010-2015, we lived in 4 cities and 6 apartments. We've been settled in the DC-area for over ten years now, and with our wandering days behind us, it seemed like a good time to revisit the themes of that old d'var Torah.
The Israelites let their fear keep them from the life God had promised. They saw themselves as small and insignificant, “like grasshoppers” (Numbers 13:33), and let their own insecurities cloud their judgement. The 40 years of wandering was a punishment that helped to reshape their thinking. A people who can survive a nomadic life in the desert can do anything. While not a punishment, my own years of wandering helped clarify my values and strengthen my community ties. Nashville and Birmingham taught us the value of small, engaged Jewish communities. Philadelphia showed us the power of walkable communities. We learned the differences between areas with many transplants and those with more homegrown populations, and the importance of pride of place. Everywhere we went, we joined a synagogue, defying the demographic trend of young 20-somethings not embracing memberships. We didn't let the possibility of moving away in the future keep us from engaging in the present. In each place, we built relationships, celebrated holidays, and did the daily work of discovering who we are and what we wanted from life.
Now, more than a decade into our time in the DC area, I see how those wandering years were not just transitional, they were formative. They taught us to be brave enough to try something new and grounded enough to keep showing up. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, we learned who we were as we traveled. Looking back, I think the heart of that long-lost d'var Torah was this: fear tells you to wait, but faith tells you to begin. Wandering gave us the wisdom to know when to pause and when to move forward. And now, as we stand more firmly rooted in the life we've built, I’m grateful for the places we’ve been and the courage it took to journey through them.
