CONNECT THE DOTS

From Seaside to Shabbat

By Alexander Davis

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After nearly 10 years, I have come to enjoy Minnesota and appreciate its natural beauty—the rugged North Shore along Lake Superior, the modest headwaters of the Mississippi River in Lake Itasca, the quiet of the Boundary Waters. But I have to be honest. For me, there is no more beautiful state than Oregon. Oregon has it all—towering mountains, sandy beaches, dusty desert, lush valleys.

I like the many lakes in Minneapolis where I reside. But Portland, my home town, with its views, its rose gardens, its fountains and vibrant downtown is unsurpassed. And, there are fewer mosquitoes.

What can I say? I admit it. I am biased. I grew up in Oregon.

I spent the Fourth of July weekend this year on vacation in Oregon and had the opportunity to travel with my family from Portland to the coast. It had been several years since my last visit, so I got my bearings by looking at a map. I noticed the map’s dotted line along the coastal highway indicating a scenic route and looked forward to the views. “What a great job that must be,” I thought. “You travel all over and decide which roads get dots, which roads are the most beautiful.”

But as I crossed the Willamette Valley and headed over the Coast Range I became annoyed with the cartographer. “Who gave him the right to decide which roads deserve a scenic designation?” I thought.

The road to the coast was beautiful in a simple sort of way. Through small towns, over muddy creeks, past farms whose yards were littered with rusting pickups, the drive was not without its charm. There was no shortage of scenery to keep my children’s attention. (OK, to keep my four boys from fighting with each other—“Look, cows! A train! A huge logging-truck!”) With each new vista, I felt the injustice of the cartographer’s decision. How dare he deny this unassuming stretch of highway the dots it deserved?!

These were hardly the musings of a want-to-be travel agent. Rather, under the influence of cruise control, they took on a theological significance. If “k’vodo malei olam, God’s glory fills the earth,” as our musaf prayers teach, then why should Hwy. 101 get dots but not Hwy. 26?

But then I reached the coast. And I was reminded that not all places are created equal. To paraphrase the Talmud, of the 10 allotments of beauty, nine were measured out for the Oregon Coast Highway, leaving only one for Sunset Highway.

I had left Portland’s sun for the coast’s drizzle. But no amount of clouds could diminish the moment. Were it not for the hour, I would have stopped at each and every scenic overlook. Who wouldn’t pause and marvel at such sights—sea lions and sandy beaches, light houses and wooded hills?

From the tiniest tide pools to majestic Haystack Rock, I sensed that even if my mouth was filled with praise as much as the sea is full of water, still I could never fully express the awe I felt. Instead, I simply said thank you using the traditional words of blessings: “Praised are You, God who made the great sea, who continues the act of creation.”  

And then I understood the dots.

The rabbis teach that words in a Torah scroll highlighted by dots above the letters demand special attention. So too, from now on, would the black dotted lines on my AAA map.  

Now back “home” in the Midwest, I continue to reflect on my vacation in the Northwest. And I have come to appreciate that while lakes—even “Great” ones—are no substitutes for oceans, still, Jewish Minnesotans are like Jewish Oregonians in at least one respect; we have been given a detailed map to guide our lives. And it too contains dots.

As I began preparing my Shabbat shopping list on the Thursday night flight back to Minnesota, I realized that what is true of place is true of time—all days are not created equal.

Regarding Shabbat the Torah says, “ot hi l’olam. Shabbat is a sign for all eternity.”

Shabbat is indeed a sign, a dotted marker on our weekly journey. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. I cruise through these days past familiar sights—work, home, kids’ activities.

To be sure, there are precious moments and pleasures that can be enjoyed along the way. But Shabbat has an extra measure of beauty. It is an opportunity to pull off the road, a chance to stop and explore the view, to notice the wonder in the landscape of our lives.

Sunset in Minneapolis is nothing like sunset in Manzanita. But until next summer, the scenery of Shabbat illumined by the quiet flicker of the Friday night lights isn’t too bad either.

Rabbi Alexander Davis is the spiritual leader of Beth El Synagogue in St. Louis Park, Minn. He grew up in Oregon until moving away for college.