That initial invitation led to more. Our neighbors were new to the area as well; they had lived in the neighborhood just a few more months than we. Like ourselves, they were members of the transient Navy community which created an instant camaraderie based on common experiences.
When the storms finally cleared, the sidewalk between our homes soon became a roadway for trucks, fire engines, and other vehicles. While our boys raced up and down the walk, my neighbor and I became acquainted. Before long we discovered we shared an interest in cooking, gardening, and reading. This feeling of friendship was cemented by similar mothering styles: we were the only two stay-at-home moms on the block, we both had nursed our boys, and we strongly believed in the importance of an attentive, loving mom. It wasn’t much longer before invitations were no longer necessary, and we were popping back and forth between our houses quite frequently.
Although most of our discussions centered on child-rearing and the exploits of our boys, we also shared new tidbits about our similar interests. My neighbor pointed out new recipes in her cooking magazines. I brought over samples of some of my culinary experiments. We loaned each other books and children’s toys. She shared some of her knowledge about nutrition, while I let her know what groceries were having specials.
When our gardens began to flourish, produce was traded, as was assistance in watering when one family or the other was on vacation. My neighbor gave me tips on composting, and I helped her weed. Between the bounty of our two gardens, we made enough gazpacho for the entire block.
Our husbands also became friends, and we began to get together for dinner occasionally. Originally from California, my neighbor is adept at vegetarian dishes. My husband, on the other hand, has spent time in Italy and loves to prepare Mediterranean specialties. These shared dinners are just as relaxed and enjoyable as a night out, but without the expense of baby-sitters, as our boys play boisterously by themselves in the toy rooms.
The only challenge to these dinners together is the fact that our neighbors are Jews who keep kosher. Even though they do not insist that we serve kosher meat at our dinners, we do take care not to prepare dishes that combine meat and milk products or to serve pork, shellfish, or other foods banned in the Torah. When we sit down to eat, one of their boys recites a blessing over in the meal in Hebrew, after which our older son leads us in our traditional grace before meals.
These meals have become an excellent vehicle for discovering the roots of our beliefs and for strengthening our knowledge of the Old Testament. For example, Jewish people who keep kosher are mindful of their food everyday. We, too, should have a mindfulness of our bread. Echoing the words of Psalm 104:13-15, the Hebrew blessing over a meal gives thanks for God’s works of creation, redemption, and sanctification, as the Catechism notes (CCC, 1328), works that perhaps we acknowledge too rarely. Just as God gave the Israelites bread in the desert, we have been given Bread to sustain us through our journeys. The Hebrew blessing over the cup includes a note of hopefulness for the Messiah. Our Cup of Blessing fulfills this hope.
These meals aren’t the only opportunities we have had to learn about our faiths and traditions. On the Jewish Day of Atonement, our neighbors invited us to accompany them to a ritual symbolizing the discarding of sins. At the close of their day of fasting, members of several local synagogues met at the nearby canal to toss bird seed into the water, a sign of their rejection of sin, reminiscent of the scapegoating ritual described in the Old Testament books of Deuteronomy and Leviticus.
Shortly after this fast day, our neighbors celebrated Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish feast of the New Year. They shared some delicious cookies soaked in honey. These cycles of feasting and fasting are important for all religions. Our own aversion to fasting has led to the blending of the Advent/Christmas and the Lenten/Easter cycles. No longer are the liturgical seasons marked by the food on our tables, which should not be surprising since we cannot differentiate spring from fall by the fruits in the grocery any longer.
This lack of differentiation not only leads to a lack of nutritional variety because we choose to eat the same foods all year around, but it also leads to a lack of devotional variety. We often fail to mark the rhythms of the Church year because it is so easy to continue serving up the same platitudes about our faith. Great sacrifice is not commanded, as it was in the Old Testament, and so often it is not freely offered.
Jews memorialize the sacrifice of the first fruits, commanded in Deuteronomy 8:3 and Exodus 34:26, during the Festival of Booths — a week of giving thanks to God for the harvest. Our neighbors constructed a primitive booth, or sukkah, in their back yard and decorated it with leaves, cornstalks, brightly painted sheets and fruits and vegetables. During the day, our boys would join theirs to play in the “tent,” while in the evening for several nights during the following week, our neighbors would eat their meals in their sukkah. It is a festive week for them, marked by gift-giving, gratitude, and offerings. It is a week that could easily become the target of commercialism, but hasn’t, and thus has retained its feel of genuine celebration, rather than hectic preparation for a spiritually bankrupt holy day.
Our neighbors have taught us a great deal about the roots of our faith and about how to fast, feas and live — mindful of God’s generosity. I have been so thankful for their openness in sharing their traditions — how much richness this has added to our friendship, our family life, and our understanding of the good God we share in faith.
(This article courtesy of Canticle Magazine.)
