Where is the Finish Line?

23 Elul, Thursday, September 18

The trip to Limestone is usually magical. As we reach the northern miles of I-95, past Bangor, the traffic thins out, the trees become more lush and Mt. Katahdin rises to the west. This year, the trip was much quicker but no less magical. As the 30-seater prop-jet glided through clear skies over the miles of forest, I could make out the windmills along the Canadian border to the east, and not much else in between, except trees. It was one of the smoothest flights I’ve ever taken and the peacefulness of the empty landscape was as expansive as the horizon.

Just to emphasize the wonder of being in Northern Maine, when I arrived, I had a vision. As I waited outside the one-room airport, a man in white shirt, black vest and pants, a large kippah, tzitzit and peyos came out of the building, talking on his cell phone. I’d seen Amish people in northern Maine, but never an observant Jew! It felt like a hallucination. I waited patiently for an opportunity to talk to him and was disappointed that he got in his car, still talking on the phone, and drove away. Most likely, he was the mashgiach for the potato processors, here for the day to check out the factory.

At the hotel, our group was in pretty good spirits. Halfway through the week, they were excitedly discussing the week’s projects. I had a lot of catching up to do: where they were working, what had been done already, who the folks were in the house we were repairing, and all the tidbits that get shared over the course of the week. All in all, the Limestone magic was intact.

But before we got any further, the illusion shattered. A small group of the volunteers had stopped to meet a middle-aged woman in her broken-down trailer, to find out whether we might be able to do a little work for her on our final day. Just as they were all talking together outside her door, she saw through the window that her kitchen stove was on fire. 

Two of the men ran in after her to help her put out the fire. But since it was a grease fire that was not so easy. Nothing seemed to be working. The fire grew bigger. As the flames spread to the roof of the trailer, the other volunteers witnessed, horrified, from outside. The men’s wives shouted at them to get out.

Finally, the power went out and the three of them quickly left the trailer. When the volunteer fire fighters finally arrived on the scene, they did not appear to be very skilled. In what appeared to be a Keystone Cops routine, eventually they put out the fire. The firefighters went back in and miraculously located the woman’s purse, with her car keys and wallet. One of the cats got out (I never heard about the other one).

Most upsetting to the group was the feeling that they were responsible for distracting the woman from her cooking and felt guilty that they had contributed to this disaster. They could not escape the horror of what they had witnessed and their fear for this woman’s future.

Throughout the crisis, Sharon, one of our Limestone friends stayed with the group, calmly assuring them that it would be all right. Sharon, who is a social worker, had been the contact between our group and this woman. She insisted that this accident could have happened at any time. And then she said with great compassion, “everything happens for a purpose.”

That was difficult to believe. But two days later, I visited a family whose house had burned down a year ago. We had raised money last summer to help replace their belongings and were amazed when we visited them this year and saw their new prefab home. It was one of the most beautiful homes we had ever seen in those parts. Unlike their first home, it was clean and tidy and filled with lovely furniture. It was as if having a new home had also transformed their attitude as well. Truly, the fire had been a curse that yielded blessing.

Could we count on that happening for this other woman? No, we can’t count on anything. But she gained something that we could not have counted on either. At our closing circle Sharon reflected on the fire in the context of our many years together. She talked about how inspired she and the community are by our very presence each summer Sharon recounted that when she tells people about our annual trip, they often ask, “why would they do that?” Then she added, with awe and admiration, “not everyone goes into a burning building to help someone they had only just met.”

Everything happens for a purpose—or put another way, we can find purpose in everything that happens. We cannot know the impact of our actions. We cannot predict how anyone’s life can change. There are people we have helped who have left town and never been heard from again. But for the people who have watched us for the past nine years, our commitment has given them hope and empowered them to make a difference. 

Perhaps our purpose was not just to repair homes. Perhaps our work had something to do with repairing hearts. A fitting task for the month of Elul.