It’s chillier here than I expected. I picked up a purple hoodie emblazoned on the front with a graphic Route 66, at a Texas-sized truck stop. It made me feel both warm and iconic. As I pulled it over my head, I felt the increasingly familiar twinge of privilege, and I thought about those traveling to the USA with only the clothes on their backs, and no debit card to buy a fleece comfort against the cold.
The hospitality of those in whose homes we have stayed at night is thoughtful, generous, and kind. This morning in the home where I stayed I emerged from a hot shower to find our host, Robin, preparing espresso lattes and warm bagels, at 5:30 am.
Last night at Temple Eman-uel, we dined on Mediterranean wonders, and afterward, reflected in a gallery of Chagals.
Today we head to El Paso, an all-day drive. Before climbing into our respective cars this morning, we formed a circle in the parking lot, our breath visible in the crisp morning air. In that circle, Rabbi Josh said that the rallies at our various stops have felt like buoys in an ocean, holding us up, encouraging us on, giving us rest. Again I thought of the stark difference between the way our caravan is traveling and the experience of the migrants we hope to help. And I pray that they are experiencing occasional mercy, and that they find buoys along the way: shelters in the storm.