Simplicity and kindness mark his starting over

OCEANSIDE, California — It’s been a couple of weeks now since my new life, alone, began here.  This transitional town, situated between the glistening ocean waves and Marine fatigues of Camp Pendleton, is hardly associated with metro San Diego’s more effete communities such as La Jolla, Del Mar, or Rancho Santa Fe.   This is not an enclave of BMWs and country clubs and high-end malls.  I see a lot of Toyotas and tattoos. The sinewy, tanned, designer-surfing folks don’t live here; I like it just fine.

Chapter Three of my journey is singular, not particularly expected, but it agrees with me to figure it out.  I’m not fearing any aspect of it and am refreshed by steady bursts of energy and hopefulness.

Meanwhile, my faith community is reading the opening segments of Genesis during these October weeks.  By scripture, the world starts over again every year.  Long before the Hebrews defined themselves nationally in the world’s first freedom march, before the Ten Commandments, the codes of civilization and practice that set this people apart from the other nations that didn’t yet envision an unseen God, the creation story makes something clear: from Adam and Eve, from Eden to Oceanside, God creates each and every human one-by-one.

The rabbinic tradition is adamant: this teaches us that no one person is superior to any other.  You start with that and then you can move on to your own liturgical language.

So I embrace the greeting at the Wal-Mart doorway from the smiling, octogenarian fellow who brings a moment of personalization into the mega-store and I like chatting spontaneously with the immigrant teenager who bags my groceries at the rather trendy healthy food grocery mart, and I compliment the weary cable guy who’s connecting me to the web in my little home just before he heads off to his second, night job.  There’s a lot of anonymous struggling out there. Men and women, dressed plainly, walking and holding their children, counting their dollars, longing for weekends, sturdily embracing a “resurgent economy” that has little to do with them.

People work hard to make ends meet, here in this exceedingly middle-class city at the northern frontier of San Diego County.  Yet it appears easy for people to simply meet.  It’s an unadorned, real existence—and yet we do not lack for some stylish restaurants, a busy civic center, a well-walked, wooden pier, and, oh yes, the radiant sunsets that come at no price but for the desire to notice and be grateful.

In one of the “superstores” the other day, I encountered a wizened, older black gentleman wearing an ancient but modish fedora.  As we both were washing our hands in the restroom, our eyes met.  His eyes twinkled and the two of us–strangers with stories—found it engaging to acknowledge each other.

“How are you doing today, sir?”  I asked the fellow.

“I’m all right!”  He responded with exuberance and, I think, a sense of rare acknowledgment.  He added, “And yourself?”

“You know what?  I’m good!  Hanging in there and going to make it.  You have a great day!”

The old man’s eyes twinkled with wisdom and affability.    He dried his hands carefully and, before walking out, said to me:  “You have a great day, sir.  And thank you for the simple kind words.”

Let there be light.  None of us is ever really alone.

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Rabbi Kamin is an author and freelance writer based in Oceanside, California.  He may be contacted via ben.kamin@sdjewishworld.com