I don’t know what I think about God. For those of you who know me well, you know I lost two parents to cancer within five months of each other two years ago. Beforehand, I had a rich Jewish spiritual life to the point of almost becoming a rabbi. I was actually accepted into rabbinical school at the time. The shock of the losses was too great for me to absorb and still believe wholeheartedly in an all-knowing, all-powerful being. Because where was it when I needed it most?
After losing my parents, I decided to travel and travel a lot. One of the first places I went to was Portugal. I speak Portuguese and was curious to see more of the world. I traveled first and foremost for my self – my exploration and my healing. And also because one of my mom’s regrets in her final days was that she wished she had seen more of the world.
My previous trip to Portugal was fabulous, but I still wasn’t in a state of mind where I wanted to “touch” my Judaism much. I did buy some books about Portuguese Jewish history in Portuguese – which have been super interesting to read. And Jewish history has remained a tie that has kept me feeling Jewish even when the religious dimension was evolving.
This trip to Lisbon, I decided to do something different. Feeling a bit lonely on the first Friday of my month-long solo trip which I did this February across the Mediterranean, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in several years: go to Shabbat services. It’s something I did growing up almost every week but had been absent from my life as I coped with loss.
Ohel Jacob is the progressive synagogue in Lisbon. Founded by Ashkenazi pogrom victims later joined by Holocaust refugees, it is now a largely Portuguese community. It includes many descendants of conversos who were forced to convert to Catholicism by the Inquisition and who have since returned to Judaism. Which is utterly inspiring.
I chatted with members of the congregation who made me feel at home. I even met a group of young people (and queer Jews!) who showed real dedication to their spiritual lives and to their community. And just seemed like a fun group of people!
I sat down and got nervous as the prayers began to be sung. Some prayers I was fine saying. Other times I struggled to say “Adonai” (“my Lord”). If I believe in a spiritual force, I’m not sure I believe in it lording above me.
Then, we got to the end of the service and the most incredible and moving thing happened.
First, let’s rewind a bit.
During my previous trip to Portugal, I went to Coimbra, a beautiful college town. In one of the town squares, a group of college students asked for volunteers to be serenaded. A bunch of women stepped forward and I raised my hand too, not sure what was about to happen but excited to experience Portuguese Fado music up close!
It turns out the song they were about to sing was aboutserenading a woman (hence me being the only man in the group, but who cares, I rolled with it). It’s the most beautiful tune. It’s called Menina estás à janela (“Girl you are at the window”).
As the students sang, a foreign tourist next to me started crying. I don’t think she understood the words, but it was just so moving that she couldn’t control her tears. And then I started thinking about my mom and I can’t explain it in rational words but I could feel her spirit guiding me.
Ever since, I’ve quietly and privately associated the song with my mom. And I get emotional every time I hear it, like just now when I played it and started crying.
So, fast-forward to the end of the service at Ohel Jacob. We get to end of the service and it’s time for the prayer “Adon Olam”. It follows a metric that allows many tunes to be used to sing it. Growing up, Cantor Sue Roemer, of blessed memory, would use many secular melodies – even patriotic ones on the Shabbat of the Fourth of July!
But instead of using a traditional melody, Ohel Jakob that night decided to use “Menina estás à janela” to sing it. It took every fiber of my being not to start bawling in the middle of the synagogue. But I did allow myself to feel what the Portuguese call “saudade”, loosely translated as “longing”. Longing for my mom, someone who loved me very much and who would’ve been thrilled to see me praying with a Jewish community in a foreign land – something she knew I lived for.
My mom would often look for signs. I often somewhat dismissed it as superstition. For example, she would follow cars that had my grandmother’s initials on the license plate for a few minutes. Just to see where they were going. That it was a sign of my grandmother’s presence even after she had passed away.
I don’t know what to make of the fact that this beautiful Jewish community chose a song I deeply associate with my mom for Adon Olam at the first Shabbat service I’ve attended in years. Is it a sign that my mom was with me that night in spirit? Perhaps. I think so. Is it a coincidence? Who knows, but it was such a beautiful moment that it almost doesn’t matter if it was just chance.
All I know for sure is that it is a sign that her love lives on in me. And in my love for others and their love for me. In community. In relationships. In feeling part of something great.
Ohel Jacob community (the folks on the cover photo of this blog) – you have no idea what that night meant to me. Although now that you’ve read this blog, hopefully you do.
Keep doing all the beautiful things you’re doing to revive Judaism in Portugal. And who knows, maybe you breathed a little life into the Judaism of an unsuspecting American who walked in your doors, um menino à sinagoga por primera vez em muitos anos. I have a feeling I’ll be back soon.
Planting Roots Bearing Fruits 