The Narrow Bridge

In the small American town where I live (population 20,000), there are only a few Jewish homes in which, on Friday evenings, candles are being lit and blessings recited over wine and challah. In our own home, where the Sabbath is welcomed each week, the day’s special character is customarily augmented by the presence of guests. These dinner guests are almost always of Christian descent, if not confession, and are often witnessing the Sabbath-table ritual for the first time. For our children and us, it is an amazing opportunity, week after week, to share this treasure with our kind American neighbors.

By virtue of the connections we’ve made, people have come to think of me as a person with something to teach about Judaism, about Israel, about similarities and differences between Judaism and Christianity, and about other related topics. Occasionally I’ve taken a place in rotation with the pastors and priests contributing “Faith Matters” columns to the local newspaper. In partnership with the nearest Chabad community, located 50 or so miles away, I’ve also brought to town the annual lighting of a large Hanukkah menorah in the town square.

It was in this same role of mine as an unelected and unsupervised ambassador of the Jewish people that I recently received a surprising invitation. The chaplain at the hospital—there’s only one in town—asked me to serve as guest speaker at the annual holiday event honoring the volunteers who run the local hospice and the families who benefit from its services. This was daunting: to speak to a room full of mourners, still feeling the keen edge of their grief and, it must be added, without their actually having requested to be educated about or exposed to anything related to Judaism.