Only the boys

Each year, when we reached the Torah portion of Yitro (“Jethro”) in the annual Torah reading cycle, it always stood out.

Even as children we knew it contains the Ten Commandments. To arrive at shul in time, so as not to miss this reading and not to miss standing up along with all the grown ups for the duration of these crucial verses, was always a priority and a wee bit of a pressure, different from an ordinary Shabbat. This, you couldn’t miss. For this, you had to be in shul.

Yitro, a Midianite priest, was Moses’ father in law. His daughter Zipporah married the great Jewish leader. Yet, in addition to this, his was a legend in his own right.

It is due to Jethro’s astute observation and insightful guidance and advice to Moses that the original judicial system of courts as we now know it was set up. The execution of justice and righteousness in society is part and parcel of Jethro’s legacy.

In addition to the Pentateuch, Jethro makes a cameo appearance in the Prophets. He is such an interesting Biblical personality — non-Jewish, yet part of the Jewish nation — and more than most, he is intimately connected to its leadership.

I’d studied the textual layers of his fascinating personality: the contrasts with and connection between him and Rahab; or, the contrast between his response to the miracles of Egypt and Amalek’s.

But that was pretty much it. He was a Biblical persona of the past. Or, so I thought.

Then I moved to Israel, and got a whole new education on Yitro.

For starters, I met his meaning through the eyes of a Druze person I knew. In the Druze community, Jethro is the central prophet of their faith. He is revered for his special friendship to and covenant with the Jewish People. Once a year, the Druze hold a pilgrimage to his grave. Also annually, Jethro is celebrated on an official holiday dedicated to his honor.

Interesting . . . that was something I hadn’t known anything about.

One day, while still living in Israel, as I was approaching my apartment from the side entrance on Zippori Street, one of my neighbors, a French woman, was walking past me, smiling, bearing a beautiful platter of petite delicacies; the tiniest braided challah loaves you ever did see. Itty bitty cakes. Mini tarts and dove shaped cookies.

Now, I find anything adorably miniature as irresistibly charming as the next person (do you also suffer from hotel shampoo and conditioner syndrome?), so naturally I asked her about it.

“Oh, it’s erev Parashat Yitro!” she replied with excitement. She went on to say something in a foreign language. Then “se’udat Yitro, the feast of Jethro,” she quickly continued in Hebrew. “Chag ha-Bbanim” or “Chag ha-Yeladim,” the holiday of children or the holiday of the sons, I don’t recall exactly. “We’re Tunisian,” she explained. “It’s Tunisian custom!”

I was intrigued.

She went on to explain. Hundreds of years ago in Tunis, there was an unexplained plague. For some reason, it attacked the little boys. That’s who kept dying from it. The boys were either saved by the pigeons, or a pigeon soup was cooked that finally healed the boys, just before the great Shabbat of Yitro, of the recitation of the Ten Commandments. From then on, they celebrate this time that marks the end of this accursed plague on the boys! Always on the Thursday preceding Shabbat Yitro. And the boys all know how to say the Ten Commandments!

To be sure, this was a new custom to my ears. A plague? It afflicted only one gender? Hmmmm. How weird. How interesting.

I admired her handiwork, how beautiful all those finger food petit four-size delicacies were.

“This? This little platter? This is nothing!!” She retorted hotly. “Come see the whole table! Like a doll house! A special party for little kids. This is se’udat Yitro. Everything so small and so perfect. And the croquembouche? Such a cake you never saw!”

Believe me, I was tempted. It was just the type of little adventure I enjoyed happening upon in my Israel days, authentically participating in a tradition I had previously not known about.

Alas, I had a previous commitment and was unable to join her. Next year! we both said. But next year, I was already back in America.

I remember walking away, wondering to myself . . . a plague? only the little boys were targeted in this pandemic? . . . Hmm . . . Sounds a bit unusual . . .

Thus was the pre-plague era of innocence we all lived in, when a plague sounded like something primitive out of the dark, long past time, gone forever.

Yet, here we are, on the eve of Shabbat Yitro, sobered, in the throes of, our very own plague, understanding all too well what those simple words can mean . . . how a virus can be structured in such a way that certain populations are more vulnerable to succumbing to it than others.

Somehow, now, after living through COVID, Shabbat Yitro for me will always be — in addition to the Ten Commandments — that Tunisian custom interwoven into its fabric.

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