Brave

On becoming nomadic.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve given away most of my things. Clothing. Camping gear. Furniture. Appliances. Half of my books. The remainder is now in storage: a mere 16 boxes of clothing, photos, and knick-knacks. One small box of valuables, mainly heirloom Judaica, is safely held by a friend.

According to my daughters, I’m now a nomad, a man without permanent residence. They say I’m brave. I don’t believe them yet. They also said it when I sold our suburban Chicago home, and everything in it, 14 years ago to make Aliyah. Back then, I brought three duffel bags, a suitcase, and a carry-on bag… more than I’ve kept with me now.

In the next year I’ll be in Fairbanks as Or HaTzafon’s student rabbi three times and LA twice, once for my daughter’s 40^th birthday, once for an HUC learning intensive. I’ll visit Chicago several times, including my mother’s 100^th birthday (poo poo poo). We have a family vacation to Mexico in the works. Why do I need a permanent address when I have places to go?

When in Jerusalem, I’ll be in a small, sweet two-room, AirBnB in Baka, where I’ll return between my travels, the place where I just completed my first Shabbat. My home in Alaska is Or HaTzafon. In Chicagoland, I’m a ben bayit with dear friends. The rest of the time, well, I’ll wing it. Through it all, I’ll keep up with my studies online.

I’m excited. I feel lighter and freer than ever. Not brave exactly. Willing to embrace adventure. An adventure that leads, b’ezrat Hashem, to a life serving the Jewish people — and the world — as a rabbi.