BackSHAVOUT AT THE BEACH
By Cindy Schneider
I did not go in the water. I did not even stay up all night to study. But I managed to drag my sleepy body out of bed to be the first Jew at Goleta Beach that morning.
The sky was overcast with the typical gloomy ambiance of June. One by one, the other cars arrived in the parking lot, until several of us had gathered. Those that did study during the night had a satisfied glow that more than compensated for the lack of sleep. I secretly decided that I would attempt the study session next year.
The rabbi arrived a few minutes later, Torah in hand. Someone offered a lovely blanket to cover the picnic table, a blanket from Israel. We each had our own feelings of expectation. The rabbi and a few willing participants submerged in the mikvah of the Pacific while the rest of us watched. Our rabbi said something about how it is our job, each Shavout, to stretch ourselves to the receptiveness of our ancestors at Sinai all those years ago. No ocean of water there, of course, but oceans of sand and time. Oceans of fears and openness.
The Torah was given, then. Our community of ancestors heard the sights, saw the sounds. We, on this beach, smelled the salty sea air.
With deference, we unscrolled the Torah, and a beautiful voice chanted the Ten Commandments just the way they were meant to be chanted. The sounds of the trope bounced into the wind at the morning beach. The words melded with the ocean waves. We stood under the rabbi’s tallis, our huppa, as if we were getting married to our history. I felt so peaceful.
Soon after, we headed out to our cars, cups of coffee, and the overcast freeway. Our daily responsibilities were looming. After our gathering, my thought was that this day seemed different from all other days. Or, wasn’t that seven weeks ago?