I cannot speak or write about the things I experience with community or congregational members because it crosses the borders of confidentiality. Every now and then there is an exception:
It was a small dark colored car. Four door. Kind of old and battered.
It is hard to see inside the windows of a car, even from a short distance. I knew that someone must be sitting in the car because of its position outside the main sanctuary. I waved, not knowing whether the people inside saw or acknowledged me.
Opening the door to the sanctuary I motioned to the blank window and yelled,”Do you want to come in?” The door cracked open and three people climbed out, two from the front and one from the back.
They introduced themselves to me as newcomers to town from Texas. Then the man pointed to the younger man and told me that this was his son who is in training at Ft Jackson.
The three of them davenned with the congregation in the chapel that Friday evening. The father knew his prayers well and sang them loudly, so loudly that he forced me to change one of my tunes so that I would be in sync with him.
Services ended with Yigdal and after a few hand shakes and embraces I made my way over to the trio and asked how long the young man was going to be here in Columbia at the Ft Jackson. “He’s leaving tomorrow,” said the father.
“To Afghanistan,” added his wife.
I nodded.
“Come with me,” I pulled the three of them over to the Aron HaKodesh, the Holy Ark, after the last member had exited. “Stand here.”
I opened the Ark, held the young soldier’s hand and prayed: “Avinu Shebashamayim, Lord of Heaven, I am here with Your child who is off to a distant land tomorrow. Look after him. Guard his steps. Be with his officers to protect them and protect one another.
“Let him serve his duty with dignity and grace and bring him back home to his family whole.”
Tears trickled down this soldier’s cheeks. Everyone is human.
The father placed his hands on his son’s head and bensched him with the Priestly Blessing.
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