A plain Shabbat. Sweet Friday morning at the school, preparing for Tu B'Shevat, and then seeing the modern day manifestation of two portions of manna before Shabbat: all of the children of Israel in crazily crowded grocery checkout lines, their carts spilling over with fruits and vegetables and challahs and treats for Shabbat. Everyone calling out to friends, loudly discussing every issue in the news, making sure their voices are heard. Shabbat dinner was all about the crossing of the Red Sea, that definitive moment when our people had two options: swim or turn back and fight the huge Egyptian army. Options? Both were useless. When option a and option b are both pointless, just take a moment and listen. From the waves, a whole new possibility will open. Survival is in that moment of possibility.
And then today we were in the Arab village of Tira. Arab, Muslim, and part of Israel. A plain and simple hello and we helped in the shaping and baking of these big flat pitas, with mounds of fresh fresh oregano leaves and green onions folded into the dough before it is patted and baked in the windy woodfire oven, out near the lemon trees. Here it's not some significant event when Muslim families and Jewish Israeli families spend an afternoon together. It's plain and fine and ordinary, and the warmth is a sharing.
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