Lost
While living abroad in Israel, now fifteen years back, traveling throughout the country wasn't easy. Especially on your own. The only piece of technology I had on my person was an old Nokia phone. And while it could survive an apocalypse, the only thing it did was call. No navigation. No Uber. Which left me taking busses to get where I needed to go. But this is Israel we're talking about. A decade and a half ago. So you were lucky if there was even a map at the bus station. Or if there was even a station at all. Sometimes people would just point out a nondescript corner to stand on and wait.
And as soon as I would hop on and doors closed, then came the hard part –attempting to explain to the bus driver where exactly I was hoping to go. Typically, the driver would wave me to sit close by.
And while some people may be relaxed enough for this. I certainly am not. "Slicha, excuse me. Anachnu ka'an? Are we here?" If I was lucky, I would get a head nod. And sure enough, 5 minutes later. "Slicha…excuse me..." And 5 minutes after that. Finally, we would get to my spot. "Beseder. Anachnu Kan. Yalla. Okay. Goodbye." And if you don't know Hebrew, let me translate that for you. It means, "Get the heck off my bus and leave me alone."
As technology has gotten better, getting lost these days is an anomaly. Because we don't make as many wrong turns as we once did. We don't open the glove box for a map anymore. We don't look for the red barn with white shutters, not the blue one with red shutters. No. Nowadays, the voice of an angel instructs us to "Proceed 250 feet. And our destination is on the right."
But just the other day, I remembered again. I set out for a run with my dog Charlie after sunset. It had been an emotional week. And I was ready to leave it behind. So I left my phone behind as well. I was so ready to just start running, I made an unexpected turn. And then another. And another. I was so caught up in my mind, I finally stopped to look where I was. And realized I had no clue where I was. It was dark. I didn't have my glasses on. I recognized nothing. So I ran faster. I stopped. I ran. Turned around. Ran in another direction. Stopped. Ran some more.
Fast forward three hours later. Drenched in sweat. The dog was panting and overheated. I think he still holds a grudge. I was done. I sat down on a curb. Not a soul in sight. "This is an absolute nightmare," I thought. How did I get this far? A few wrong turns, and now I'm going to die outside of a CVS. I was so overwhelmed that I had completely forgotten I had my Apple Watch on my wrist. The entire time! I was so determined to find my way back –to correct my missteps. But I was too far gone. I couldn't fix this. Not at that point. My watch had two percent battery left. I made the call of a lifetime. And a friend came to pick me up. I was three miles from where I thought I actually was.
If you're wondering what this feeling is that I'm attempting to describe, think back to a time where you stopped to tie your shoe. Or walked away from your group. At an amusement park, museum, or concert. You look up. You recognize nobody. Strangers everywhere. Your heart beats faster. Everything looks unfamiliar. And that sharp feeling of panic sets in. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no...
Science writer and Senior Editor Michael Bond writes:
"Fear of being lost appears to be hardwired in the human brain...Millions of years of evolution have taught us that the experience tends not to end well."
But what's most interesting is that Bond explains that being lost isn't a geographical challenge as much as it is a psychological one. Being lost is a cognitive, emotional state.
"Not only are you stricken with fear, [Bond explains], you also lose your ability to reason. You suffer what neuroscientist(s) call a 'hostile takeover of consciousness by emotion.' [Studies show that] 90 percent of people make things a lot worse for themselves when they realize they are lost —by running, for instance. Because they are afraid, they can't solve problems or figure out what to do. They fail to notice landmarks or fail to remember them. They lose track of how far they've traveled. It's essentially a panic attack [he says]. If you are lost out in the woods, there is a chance you will die [Bond notes]. That's pretty real. You feel like you're separating from reality. You feel like you're going crazy."
It is indeed no coincidence that in Modern Hebrew, the word for being lost is "avad" –aleph, vet, daled. And in its biblical Biblical Hebrew root, "Avad," means "To perish. To vanish. To be destroyed." I think the literary message of our ancestors is clear. They've left us a literal breadcrumb trail –a record conveying precisely what was meant when the Children of Israel murmured. When they moaned, and complained in the desert. As recounted in our Torah portion this week. A question directed at Moses but never answered:
“Why have you brought the LORD’s congregation into this wilderness for our beasts and us to die there? Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place…”
Why, why, why Moses. Why would you do this to us?! They say it again, again, and again. I'm certain my dog asked himself the same question. Now, one could say that while God, or maybe his chosen leaders knew they weren't lost –the Children of Israel, however, felt very lost. They were so lost...How lost were they??? They were so lost they named an entire book of the Torah about it. The book of Numbers –Bamidbar. The wilderness. And you know what, looking back at this Torah portion with fresh eyes. If I were stuck in the middle of the desert, I would probably complain too. Typically I take the side of Moses, but this week. I'm all in for the Congregation of Israel.
Yes, they were afraid of death. Yes, they felt lost. Because they're innately one in the same thing. These verbs are synonymous. We're just more sophisticated now. Or at least we think so. So it happens less often. But this part of our brain is still hardwired in.
Michael Bond asks the following question:
"What does our powerful response to being lost tell us about our relationship with space? For one thing [he says], it shows how important it is for us to be grounded in physical reality and to have a sense of place— however much time we spend in our digital worlds, we still need to know where we are. Where we are has a big impact on how we feel. Places can frighten and excite us, and make us feel safe. Cognitive maps are atlases of feeling as much as geometry; they capture emotional as well as spatial information it can be hard to separate the two..."
As Jews, while we are so used to being lost. And getting lost. Completely dislocated geographically. We've done such an excellent job at figuring out ways to be found once again. I can think of no better feeling in the world than the feeling of waiting outside that CVS, and finally, finally…a familiar face pulls up. Because being lost is a state of mind. As noted, it's not about geography necessarily. It's not always about the Land. It's about feeling secure.
In Judaism, not only do we have Israel, but we also have Torah. And we have one another —the People of Israel. And the people of Israel predate the Land of Israel. What we found first in the desert was one another. Before we ever got to the Land itself. Because Judaism isn't attached entirely to the Land. Our spirituality and the feeling of togetherness. Of not feeling alone. Of not feeling lost. These are our priorities. And yes, in THAT exact order.
After a year of digital everything, we've all felt lost over the past year. So sucked into our devices, we've put so much emphasis on technology. I don't know about you, but sometimes technology doesn't often make me feel less afraid. Less lost. Or any less alone or scared. It's people that win in the end. It's familiarity. It’s our holy spaces.
And so, as we enter our year ahead, let us find our way back. Let us safely leave the wilderness and move on to the next chapter of our lives. Let us find one another again. May God help us as hands meet hands. And faces meet faces. As we gather together as a community once again. May God help us always to never feel lost. Because what we have is each other.