May we be like elephants ?

On Rosh Hashanah, I shared some stories about my beloved Nonna, Alice Notrica Fornari. She was my father's mother after whom I was named. I shared how she was born on the island of Rhodes and grew up speaking Ladino. What I didn't share was that she left Rhodes in 1940 at the age of 24 in anticipation of a Nazi invasion.

She first went to Antwerp and stayed as long as she could until it was clear that they were no longer safe in Belgium. Her uncle's wife had a brother who had married a German woman named Hilda. Hilda escorted them all by train through Germany in the summer of 1940, flirting and playing cards with the Nazi soldiers on the train, using their Italian passports. Because of Hilda no one suspected they were Jewish. They told stories about giving out cartons of cigarettes and silk stockings to the soldiers at every stop. It was a very tense crossing, playing cards and telling jokes and acting like they weren't scared. Until they arrived in Bologna Italy. Italy had not yet joined the war. Mazliah proceeded with his family to Rome where they took a boat to Barcelona, and from Barcelona a train to Lisbon and in Lisbon they waited for departure. On October 8, 1940 they left Lisbon and what should have taken five days, took 20 days to get to Cuba because of all the mines in the sea placed by the Germans. When they arrived in Cuba they waited for approval to come to the United States. They arrived in New York City on Thanksgiving day 1940.

I think of her every year at this time. And even more so this year, as I just started reading a new book called Hundred Saturdays: Stella Levi and the Search for a Lost World. Stella is my Nonna's second cousin. They grew up together in Rhodes. The other night my father called and told me that reading this book is like talking to his mother. Stella captures the world of superstition and close-knit family that my father grew up with. A world where when you fall down and scrape your knee, you mix three teaspoons of sugar into a glass of water and then drink three sips.

This is a world I am longing to know full of traditions I am hoping to recover and reconnect with.

This longing is as ancient as it is personal. We read in this week's Torah portion, Toldot,

וְכׇל־הַבְּאֵרֹ֗ת אֲשֶׁ֤ר חָֽפְרוּ֙ עַבְדֵ֣י אָבִ֔יו בִּימֵ֖י אַבְרָהָ֣ם אָבִ֑יו סִתְּמ֣וּם פְּלִשְׁתִּ֔ים וַיְמַלְא֖וּם עָפָֽר׃
And the Philistines stopped up all the wells which [Isaac's] father's servants had dug in the days of his father Abraham, filling them with earth... (Genesis 26:15).

So much is loss from generation to generation, especially at the hands of oppressive governments.

And the parshah continues,

וַיָּ֨שׇׁב יִצְחָ֜ק וַיַּחְפֹּ֣ר ׀ אֶת־בְּאֵרֹ֣ת הַמַּ֗יִם אֲשֶׁ֤ר חָֽפְרוּ֙ בִּימֵי֙ אַבְרָהָ֣ם אָבִ֔יו
Isaac dug anew the wells which had been dug in the days of his father Abraham (Genesis 26:18).

So much of our own spiritual journeys are about digging anew the wells of our ancestors. Recovering what has been lost. Remembering their superstitions. Studying their languages. Receiving their wisdom. Recreating their recipes.

May we be like elephants on this journey, paying attention to the scent of water deep in the earth; patient and persistent; caring for loved ones, honoring their memories and digging anew the living waters.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ari Lev