A few months ago, my family took the trip of a lifetime: in celebration of my in-laws’ 50th anniversary, 11 of us made our way to Costa Rica, where we spent a week surrounded by lush jungles and breathtaking wildlife. My in-laws, who planned this trip for months on end, made sure that each one of us had a special excursion with our name on it: zip-lining down a volcano, horseback riding along the banks of a river, and white water tubing in the Arenal River, among others.
On one of our “adventure” days (we alternated between lazing and exploring), most of the group went horseback riding, while I stayed back with our youngest, Ayla, who wasn’t old enough to ride. While I anticipated her disappointment, I had a plan: we had tickets for a private tour of a one-of-a-kind wildlife sanctuary, where we would encounter some of her favorite animals, up close and personal. Sloths? Check. Ocelots? Yup. Jaguars? Got em. I even loaded up pictures of each of the animals on my phone, so that I could counter every word of protest with a photo of another creature awaiting our visit.
But something odd happened when I told her about our fun plans. First, she just shrugged off the horseback riding issue. No big deal. But as soon as I told her that we were going to an animal sanctuary instead, her face instantly curled into a snarl; she skipped right past disappointment and directly to fury.
“But Ayla, what’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go to the animal sanctuary?” I asked.
“Because I hate going to the sanctuary!” declared the daughter of a rabbi. She persisted: “They always make me be quiet, and it’s so boring! I’m not going!”
Like father, like daughter.
As it turns out, sanctuaries aren’t for everybody. While – admittedly – I deeply appreciate the grand architecture and the sanctuary’s ability to remind me of my smallness, I tend to have a tough time praying in them. Maybe it’s because I struggle to sit still for hours on end. Maybe it’s the expectation of silence until and unless prompted. Maybe it’s because I prefer spending time with my family, and sanctuaries are usually tough places for kids to be for extended periods. Either way, Ayla’s declaration resonated with me, and I assured her that she wasn’t alone in her feelings.
Our rabbinic ancestors may have felt the same way, too. Or at the very least, they anticipated that plenty of us would side with Ayla on this issue, and they gifted us a beautiful invitation, in the form of a Midrash:
“Said the Holy One to Israel, I have told you that when you pray, you should pray in the synagogue of your city. If you cannot pray in the synagogue, pray in your field. If you cannot pray in your field, pray in your house. If you cannot pray in your house, pray on your bed. If you cannot pray in your bed, meditate in your heart.” (Midrash Tehillim 4:9)
As we set our sights on Rosh Hashanah, so many of us will find ourselves inside of sanctuaries, however we might define the term. Maybe we’ll step into echoing, spacious rooms with hundreds of other folks, following along in our prayer books and standing, sitting, and singing when cued. Others might step into nature, where our mystical ancestors found both sanctuary and God. Others still might go about their days like any other days, but perhaps take even a moment to explore a meditation in their hearts, as the Midrash implores us.
In the end, Ayla and I made our way down to the animal sanctuary quite happily, and she soon found herself surrounded by the similarly fierce and lovable creatures there. We stayed for most of the day, eschewing the pool and hot springs for meditative staring contests with lions and monkeys. There was no lamenting the missed horseback rides, just sheer joy at witnessing the ocelots (which we mistook for cheetahs) playfully wrestling one another. And I will never forget the look of wonder on her face when she laid eyes on her first macaw, darting through the jungle canopy. “It’s like a flying rainbow, Abba!”
At bedtime that night, Ayla and I cycled through the memorable moments from the day that was, giggling about the miscommunication from earlier in the day. After I sang her the Shema and kissed her goodnight, she whispered to me: “Abba, I’m really happy we went to the sanctuary. I hope we can find another one soon.”
Wherever it is that you seek sanctuary in this season, whether you are surrounded by others in body or only in spirit, may you find good company and good comfort as we turn the page on this complicated and challenging year. L’shana tova tikatevu – may you be inscribed for a good year, of finding sanctuary for yourself, and sharing it with those you love most in this world.
Rabbi Elan Babchuck is committed to leaving behind a world that is more compassionate and connected than the one he found. In pursuit of that commitment he serves as the Executive Vice President at Clal, the National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership, and the Founding Executive Director of Glean Network, which partners with Columbia Business School. He was ordained in 2012, and earned his MBA that year, as well.
A sought-after thought leader, he has delivered keynotes at stages ranging from TEDx to the US Army’s General Officer Convocation, published in The Atlantic, The Guardian, Washington Post, and Religion News Service, has a column for The Wisdom Daily, contributed to Meaning Making – 8 Values That Drive America’s Newest Generations (2020, St. Mary’s Press) and is the co-author of the forthcoming book Picking Up the Pieces: Leadership After Empire (2023, Fortress Press).
He also serves as:
a Founding Partner of Starts With Us, a movement to counteract toxic polarization in America,
a Research Advisory Board Member of Springtide Research Institute, which focuses on spirituality, mental health and Gen Z,
a founding board member of Beloved Network, a network of startup Jewish communities, and
a member of the Board of Advisors of the Changemaker Initiative.
He lives in Providence, Rhode Island with his wife, Lizzie Pollock, and their three children: Micah, Nessa, and Ayla. In his spare time, he finds sanctuary while climbing rock walls around New England and tending to his backyard garden.