The lines at the arrivals at JFK International Airport were unseasonably long, Jeff noticed. Must be all those new security measures, he thought. Oh well; what can you do.
Jeff was coming home after a long tour of the Far East. After many years of being stuck in the corporate cubbyhole that some people call an office, he felt a need to go somewhere far and wide to empty out his mind and soothe his senses. A month ago he wouldn't have been able to handle the long, noisy and seemingly senseless hassling of the decent citizens coming home from vacations spent pouring hard-earned American dollars into third world economies. But, he thought to himself with a smile, that $14,000 trip paid off after all: "Now I can go back to my dark corner on Wall Street and feel more relaxed, thus being able to better perform my task of being a human computer. Thank G-d for vacations far away from reality!"
"Passport please."
Jeff handed his U.S. passport to the man behind the counter.
"Yankel Baruch Horowitz?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, making a mental note to have his Hebrew name officially changed to Jeff Bob Hunter
.
"Where are you coming from, Yankel?"
"India." He cringed. No one had called him "Yankel" since he was a little boy, and it made him feel uncomfortably out of place.
"Were you there on business, sir?"
"Well, let's call it an extended lunch break," Jeff retorted.
The customs, security man looked up, not amused.
"What's your fathers name?"
"Uh, David," Jeff answered, wondering what spurred on such a question.
"Where does he live?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just answer the question, sir."
"In Israel."
"When's the last time you visited him?"
Ahh. It must be that security thing. I guess I look a bit Middle Eastern or something, Jeff mused. "Um, I don't know, about eight years ago, maybe?"
"It says on your passport that you were born in Israel, and you tell me that your father still lives there, so what are you doing in New York, Mr. Horowitz?" the man asked accusingly
Caught off guard, Jeff began to stammer, "I, uh, I'm a stock brokers' assistant."
The man behind the counter suddenly stood up, displaying his six foot seven towering frame. "A STOCK BROKERS' ASSISTANT?! YOU LEFT YOUR FATHER, YOUR PEOPLE AND YOUR HOMELAND TO BE A STOCK BROKERS' ASSISTANT?!?" he bellowed, attracting the attention of every single person in the arrivals hall.
Jeff cowered under the giant's criticism and watched in horrific disbelief as the man took his passport and ripped it into shreds. "Go home to Israel. You don't belong in America. You're out of place, man. Go back to where you came from and stop trying to be someone who isn't you."
"Yeah!" agreed a Hispanic man behind Jeff in line, "go back to your people. Why you coming here looking for a job?"
"Yankel, go home," said a man from Bombay from the next line, "your heritage awaits you."
One by one people joined in to chant, 'YANKEL, GO HOME! YANKEL, GO HOME! YANKEL, GO HOME! YANKEL, GO HOME!"
Many people today suffer from what plagues Jeff. They find themselves alienated from their families' traditions and ancestral wisdom, traditions and wisdom they hardly are even aware of, but theirs nonetheless. Instead, they are pursuing careers and titles that are very far from giving expression to their true essence. Instead of feeling accomplished and fulfilled, they end up spiritually impoverished and neglected.
This week, we open a new book in the Torah reading cycle. Bamidbar: The Book of the Desert -- a place where nothing grows and no distractions exist. Hashem tells us to look to our father's home, to our tribe, to our neighbors, to our location in relation to those around us, both spatial and familial, in order to find our identities. We were born to be part of a specific family, to live in a particular neighborhood for a reason. By running away from them, we are running away from our destinies. By putting on someone else's shoes we are closing off our hopes of actualizing our individuality.
In this week's parasha everyone is counted, because everyone counts. We must be who we are as part of a continuum, whilst simultaneously maintaining our identity as individuals. Only by knowing where we come from can we know where we are, and where we are heading.
In the desert we must roam…
Yet we are not alone…
Back to my Father's home…
Mmmm, Shabbat Shalom…