During the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, as I pondered a row of cars
waiting for gas, stretching down many blocks of South Oyster Bay Road, while
another 25 people holding gas containers waited in line at the station, I
remember thinking—is this Long Island? It seemed too weird, too foreign. It
would have been easier to think of it as a stage for the filming of a movie—one
of those doomsday flicks. It just seemed like anywhere in this world, but Long
Island.
But it was Long Island. Our home—Nassau County, Town of Oyster Bay. And during those days following Sandy’s destructive visit, life was a combination of normal and abnormal. We had access to food, though we could not necessarily cook it. We could sleep in our beds but not without a lot of blankets. We could surf the Internet but only if we could access Wi-Fi somewhere. Some of us experienced property damage—uprooted fences, downed trees, collapsed electrical wires and, of course, flooding. For us, nothing quite compares to the damage our neighbors experienced in Long Beach, Freeport, Oceanside, Breezy Point, or Staten Island. Their cars were totaled, their houses flooded, and in way too many cases, precious memories and important documents along with homes were burnt to the ground. We are all of us no more than one degree removed from someone who was so affected, which means that we are the lucky ones.
That was the mantra I heard over and over. Rabbi—we are very lucky, we are blessed, we have many reasons to thank God. And I must say that I was heartened by these expressions of gratitude. The day after the hurricane, Rabbi Hearshen and our good member Ari Yares suggested that we open the synagogue to the community, Midway having miraculously retained power (though having lost telephone and Internet) during and after the storm. It was brilliant and so right! We did our best to spread the word, and the word spread, and the people came—to warm up, recharge, watch a movie, schmooze, drink a hot cup of coffee, and just for the record ladies—to blow dry their hair. It was marvelous.
It was marvelous to ask the community for clothing and to be inundated with donations. Within one day of this desperate appeal from Rabbi Greenspan of Oceanside Jewish Center, the contributions were so great we had to put a halt to it. It reminds me of a verse in the Torah when those constructing the mishkan, the central structure of worship for the Israelites, tell Moses, “The people are bringing more than is needed for the tasks entailed in the work that the Lord has commanded to be done” (Exodus 36:5). Until Sandy, I had never actually witnessed communal generosity of that magnitude. Now we all have.
And for those who cynically observe that Sandy brought out the worst in people—the looters, the price gougers, and so forth—we can honestly counter that the goodness far exceeded the evil. Sandy’s power to destroy was great, but the power of God that worked through the hearts of all who opened their homes, opened their wallets, donated their time, was far greater. Sandy should not be referred to as an act of God—it was an act of amoral nature. The people who were so ready to help others, their collective efforts—that was an act of God! Long ago, Elijah discovered that God was not in the blustering wind or the quaking earth or the erupting fires, but God was elsewhere. In his case, God was apparent in a still, calm, and healing voice. In our case, we witnessed God in the healing generosity of New Yorkers. One couple anonymously gave me $3600 to distribute for hurricane relief efforts. I have—Barukh haShem, thank God—been able to distribute $4200 in aid.
Sandy is not over for us. We’re all going to be feeling the emotional impact of this storm for months to come. More critically, there are people whose homes have been so destroyed and whose lives have been so uprooted, that the drama and trauma of rebuilding will continue for months and possibly years. There are ways for us to continue to donate both money and time. For a list of such opportunities, just click here
On the Shabbat evening following Sandy, we recited a communal Birkat Hagomel, the Thanksgiving blessing, recited after emerging from an event of a harrowing nature unscathed or healed, or in the very least, alive. It seemed like the right blessing. In English it is:
We bless You God, for You guide us through this
universe,
and You graciously bestow upon the unworthy so much
goodness,
and whose goodness has now been bestowed upon me.
I love this blessing except for the “unworthy” reference. What’s that all about? I never understood it until I read the tale of John Bradford (1510-155), an English reformer who fell out of favor with the ruling powers of England and found himself haplessly imprisoned in the Tower of London, his ultimate fate yet to be determined. And as he sat in his cell, he watched a man escorted to the gallows at which time Bradford was purported to have said, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” And with that story, I finally understood Birkat Hagomel. Who are we to have been spared our cars, our homes, our lives? Are we so worthy? So many lost so much! Were they so unworthy?
There, but for the grace of God, have gone us. Thank You God for having blessed us so richly. We are the lucky ones.
