Immigration Blues, Part II

We wander the wilderness.

This is the defining feature of the Book of Numbers, whose Hebrew name Bamidbar means “in the wilderness.” We look toward the promise, and the promised land of Israel, but reaching this home often eludes us.

I had planned on venturing to Israel on my annual pilgrimage of study and learning at Jerusalem’s Shalom Hartman Institute, but Israel’s bombing of Iran’s nuclear facilities and Iran’s missile attacks on Israel’s cities caused Delta to cancel all their summer flights. It was impossible, and some even thought, unwise, to find alternative flights to Israel and so we instead made a trip to visit our son Ari, who is now fashioning a home for himself in Antwerp, Belgium.

The city is known for its bustling port, as well as its amazing chocolate, beer and fries. The port’s significance dates to the twelfth century and helped to make Antwerp an important center of trade. This is why one hundred years ago, it served as the departing city for many immigrants making their way from Europe to America. Some two million people traveled through this city as they wandered toward a new home.

In fact, it is from here that my grandfather boarded a ship to New York. A mere two miles from Ari’s apartment Papa Bill, along with his mother and two siblings, waited in the Red Star Line’s boarding area. There they were examined to make sure they did not have any ailments. If these third-class passengers were turned away by American authorities, they would be sent back to Europe at the shipping company’s expense.

Walking through the Red Star Line Museum, I tried to imagine my then two-year-old grandfather clinging to his mother in the crowded warehouse. It is impossible to imagine the anxiety she must have felt trying to keep her children nearby and hoping everything would work out as she and her husband planned. Would the American authorities allow them into the country after such a long journey? What would she do if she could not be reunited with her husband and other boys in New York? There was no home behind her.

The only promise was ahead of her.

And now it appears that this transit point is a waystation no more. Antwerp is becoming my son’s home.

Perhaps wandering is what has always defined our people. Home is not some place on a map. It is instead what we build for ourselves. (By the way, growing up in St Louis, I never imagined Long Island would become my home or that I would become a New Yorker!)

Wandering is not aimless.

It is not the destination that writes meaning. It is instead the movement from one place to another that define us.

History, and Torah, are written by wandering forward.

The promise always remains ahead of us—wherever that might lead.