Everything I learned about my neighborhood, about the Lenape and the Welsh, the churches and the Overbrook School for the Blind, gave me more to ponder on my walks.
Why did those men build an exquisitely beautiful school for children who cannot see it? Can those children feel the beauty around them? Do they run their fingers over the first words of the first embossed book, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ; the son of God” and marvel at how they can touch a story to life?
And those Quakers, their respect for faith and religious freedom so great that they built a church for those who worshipped in a different way. They named the towns in their new home after the places they’d left: Berwyn, Bala Cynwyd, Upper Merion. I imagine how much they missed home, the sounds of Welsh words, the misty mornings, the hedgerows along country lanes.
And the Irish, my people, hearty stock, who survived persecution and famine and ocean crossings on coffin ships. Did they miss the peaty taste of potatoes dug from Irish soil? Did they miss the rain? They had their ceilidhs at what is now the 63rd Street trolley stop, ever creative in their desire to come together for eating and drinking, for singing and storytelling.
I wondered about the Lenape, friendly, good neighbors to the newly arrived Welshmen. Did they know when they sold land to William Penn that it was the beginning of the end for them, that the creeks would be diverted and the woodlands felled and their tribe nearly extinguished?
On Saturdays, when I walk on Merion Road, I share my path with the Orthodox Jews of this neighborhood. Couples and families with little children, grandparents, and groups of young boys walk up and down the street, a diversion for those hours when no chores or work can be done. They are often shy, especially the children, and unfailingly polite. A kind of goodness surrounds them. There’s no yelling or cursing, no vying for sidewalk space. They are demure in a brazen world.
I know lots of secular and reformed Jews, and some who’ve converted to Catholicism, but other than conversations about Chanukah versus Christmas, a fascinating Passover dinner shared with friends, chats about atonement or Israel and Palestine, there isn’t much that makes me think of the differences between us. These Orthodox Jews, they are as intriguing to me, as the Lenape must have been to the Welsh, and the Welsh to the Lenape. Some of the differences are obvious, the women walk in dresses that cover almost completely. The men wear black suits. They don’t take selfies.
A few years ago in search of more detailed answers, I looked Orthodox Judaism up on the internet. I wanted to find out more than the common knowledge details most of us know. I learned many things. I double checked with my Israeli coworker, just to be sure.
When the sun sets on Friday, it is Shabbat and there are many rules about what can and cannot be done until nightfall on Saturday when three stars appear in the sky. Shabbat is when Torah prohibits Jews from work, melachah, when they rest as God did on the seventh day after He saw that what He had made was good.
Melachah is not work in the modern sense of work, it refers instead to creative work, work that exercises control or dominion over the environment. Kindling a fire, salting meat, writing or erasing two letters, taking an object from a private to a public domain, these and many other activities, are prohibited on Shabbat. As with all the commandments, Shabbat can be violated to save a life.
Shabbat is also about remembering, calling to mind not just that God created all things, but that He freed His chosen people from enslavement. In Deuteronomy, Moses tells his people, “remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord, your God brought you forth from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.” And so observing Shabbat is a reminder that we are not slaves to work or to the world or to the Prince and princes of it, but a free people because God has made us so.
This is a belief that the modern world would do well to remember and practice.
As I’ve mentioned, this road where the Orthodox Jews and I walk together on Shabbat is home to the Merion Botanical Gardens. I just love that a group of people came together and made this lovely garden and that I can walk to it just about whenever I want. In 1944, The Botanical Society of Lower Merion purchased an abandoned lot and, along with the adjacent grounds purchased by the township, they created these gardens. The Botanical Gardens are truly lovely. There are numerous trees, most with tags identifying the tree by both its Latin and English name. One of my favorites trees died a few years ago from the disease verticillium wilt and I mourn it as I would a friend. An Ever Red Japanese Maple, it stood leafless and failing for months, but was still beautiful like a dowager, her dignity unadorned and in full bloom.
There are plants and shrubs, various species of birds, and a monarch way station where butterflies and hummingbirds can rest and sip on the nectar of zinnia and milkweed. It’s a beautiful place and if you live nearby be sure to visit. During the pandemic lockdown it’s been a refuge for many, the wide expanse of lawn roomy enough for several groups to get together for picnics or to play games or to lounge around and read. I think there are many people who took these public places for granted until late March of 2020. Hopefully, one lesson from this trying year that will not be unlearned is an appreciation of the bountiful gifts of the natural world. Gifts that God has given us to treasure and care for, to foster and enjoy.
thank you! I am so glad you enjoyed it...
I love this post - made me feel like I was there, walking those streets (not that I did that as much as you did but it did make me regret for not walking them more). Thank you!