Anomalies and Winter Barbeques

Often during winter days, the Goodness of Life lays dormant while the murkiness of the fogs obscures its presence and the chills of the cold demand it seek refuge indoors.

Today, though, was a different winter day. The rays of the sun traced the trail of the dancing breeze and insisted that I follow while the fresh air belied his affiliation with winter. And everyone noticed. Towards evening, I sat in the Gan Sacher Park and watched as two families separately conducted barbeques on opposite sides of the grass. Each reclined, laughed, ate and played. Each left a few plastic cups behind. Each enjoyed.

One was Jewish and the other Arab.

I sat in close proximity to the Arab family and watched as they ate sunflower seeds and joked over bites of chicken and sips of tea. A little girl curiously walked by me and smiled. The family soon packed up to leave and I relocated to sit beside the other family. It was a Chareidi family with six young children. They giggled and fought and played soccer and ate and I watched.


The mother eventually approached me to offer a pita and hamburger. She profusely apologized for not having offered me food earlier and yet I politely declined on the ground, of what I assumed legitimate, and explained that I was a vegetarian.

She looked at me with an astonished yet gentle glance.

Vegetarian? But what will you do when Mashiach comes—how will you eat karbanot? Eat. Eat. You can start again tomorrow. Please.

I smiled.

Her voice was sweet and genuine and harmonized with the subtle tones of serenity that seemingly escaped the grip of the fleeting hours. Her authenticity surprised me yet propelled a feeling of pleasure for it is the anomalous incident that often provokes reaction.

I was overwhelmed with appreciation for hot winter days; for simplicity; for real people; for latent goodness; for the ability to reveal.

Much of life is a matter of exposing the concealed—of ordering the indiscriminate. Especially in Israel. Beyond the muddled nature, though, of life resides a most basic structure of wholesome people who enjoy picnics in the park. Such is the power of summer weather in the midst of winter. It is the power to influence a sensitive perspective. It is the power to remind us that the existence of subtleties is a matter of subjectivity. It is the power that disperses the fog and provides harbor for the cold and reassures the Goodness of Life.

And so I walked home slowly and noticed that beside my house there was a fragile tree dressed in delicate blossoms.