Fernweh(noun): An ache for distant places
I didn’t think about visiting Ireland when I was packing for my adventure in Jordan. Two bathing suits, a party dress, and old sneakers, that I anticipated throwing out after hiking in Wadi Musa, were all the essentials I thought I needed on my trip. Traveling with just a carry-on suitcase for three weeks in summer is so easy as all the clothing is light-weight and sandals don’t take up much space.
Jordan in June should have felt like La Quinta in August. However, the weather was quite unexpected. On the first day, I had to flee the beach to seek shelter from the drizzle and the wind that blew in a sandstorm.
For the next days, it was surprisingly cooler than I anticipated, though not as cool as the next leg of my trip in the UK. Thankfully, I purchased a Jordanian woven scarf from a Bedouin merchant inside Petra. While most people recognize the scarf as a protective head covering from the intense desert sun, I found it to be extremely helpful as it shielded me from the chilly wind at the Henley Royal Regatta.
Unfortunately, the scarf didn’t help much on the final leg of my trip. I should have checked the weather reports before choosing Ireland over Portugal. I was not prepared for a San Francisco winter with gusty wind in the first week of July which forced me to buy a beanie cap, rain jacket, and a thick wool Irish sweater, and wear the same leggings four days in a row.
I also wasn’t ready for the hour-long queue at customs at Dublin airport. Who in the Border Management Unit decided to implement a multi-booth Gelsons’ check-out model instead of a one-line like Erewhon’s? Each guard took as much time to process a non-EU traveler as a cashier ringing up a full cart of groceries. I had to patiently breathe while waiting for my turn.
Finally, I was called up and I took a deep exhale. The border patrol officer inspected my renewed passport with its fresh stamps and asked why I was traveling to his country. “My name is Tara and I’m here to see the Hill of Tara.” “Welcome to Ireland,” he quickly responded as he stamped my book and let me through.
I met up with my travel buddy Annabelle, who essentially walked through customs with her UK passport, at baggage claim. We planned to drive west to experience the Ring of Kerry, Dingle Peninsula, and the Wild Atlantic Way. We were expecting beautiful vistas but couldn’t have imagined the palette of green that only Benjamin Moore could name. We also didn’t expect to flee a storm again, this time finding refuge in a WWII lookout hut next to Eask Tower above Dingle Bay.
Like the Delta in-flight Kaleidoscope commercial, our trip was lived in color. From the sharp contrast of bright blue skies touching the monochromatic beige terrain and the pink horizon kissing the red sand at sunset in Jordan to the gliding gray of a storm cloud over quilted verdant hills and the infinite blue of the Atlantic Ocean in Ireland, Mother Earth overwhelmed us.
Although Jordan and Ireland were dramatically different experiences, hot, dry, and calm versus cold, wet, and windy, I knew there had to be a connection that they shared beyond some tremendous hikes.
I thought about how my trip started at Mama Gaia and ended at the Hill of Tara. I then started researching the meaning of these names. The Roman equivalent of Gaia is Terra, meaning earth.
Terra is also spelled Tara, Tarah, and Terah.
Tara also means hill. It’s Irish Gaelic form, Teamhair, means elevated place. In Sanskrit it means star and symbolizes the light of the soul. It’s a guide for travelers, literal and spiritual. Tara is also known as the “Mother of Liberation,” “she who saves” and the “leader of the caravans – who showeth the way to those who are lost.”
In Hebrew, Terah means breather, wanderer. The etymology of Tarah is to patiently breathe. It’s a denominative verb from the noun ruah, wind, breathe, spirit. It also comes from rawah, meaning spacious and unrestrained.
Terah, a descendant of Noah’s son Shem, is Abraham’s father and Lot’s grandfather. He was a wanderer and led his family towards Canaan. Abraham and his descendants were called Hebrews or Heberites.
Nemed, a descendant of Noah’s son, Yaphet, off from Iberia to lead the 3rd group to settle Ireland. (The land was originally named Iberne then it was abbreviated to Erne and later Erin. It was later Latinized to Hibernia.) Nemed’s people fled to Greece after fighting with the Fomorians. The descendants of Nemed returned to Ireland as the 4th settlers, the Fir Bolg.
It was the people of Nemed who established the High Kings and their seat at the Hill of Tara.
This Irish history is believed to be an epic myth chronicled in the Four Annals of the Four Masters. A copy of it is at the library at Trinity College.
The story continues that Jacob’s son Judah had twin boys Zarah, who went into exile in Hibernia, and Pharez, who was King David’s ancestor.
When the First Temple was destroyed, King Zedekiah and his sons were killed but his daughter Teia escaped to Egypt with the prophet Jeremiah. Her journey then led her to Gibraltar, where she was proclaimed queen of the Gadite Israelites, then to Breogan, Spain, to Cornwall, and finally to Hibernia (Ireland) where she married King Eochaidh, a descendant of Zarah.
She brought a harp from the House of David as well as the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny,) also called Jacob’s pillar, from Jerusalem. When she wed the King, they sealed the breach caused by the twin birth. They united the split house of Judah. The stone was used in the coronation ceremonies of future kings to test whether they were worthy. The stone would sing when the rightful king would touch it.
Teia built her palace just north near Kells, known for the famous illuminated manuscript in Trinity College at the old library.
I visited the library just after roaming around the Hill of Tara. When I went upstairs to the long room, I discovered that almost all the books had been removed. The last time the library was renovated was in 1860.
As I walked down the center aisle looking at empty bookcases and marble statues wrapped in protective fabric, I spied a harp from the Middle Ages. I couldn’t help but think of King David’s harp.
It wasn’t until I was in New York last week that I started researching a connection between the two countries. I texted my Rabbi yesterday. I wrote about my discovery about the wanderer Terah and the deeper meaning of his name, wind, and that I had arranged to stop to visit the Rebbe’s grave in Jamaica, Queens on my way to JFK.
I love visiting the Ohel. It’s an exercise in self-reflection and manifestation. First, you go into a long room with several tables to write a letter to the Rebbe asking for blessings for things like marriage, children, a speedy recovery. The room was empty except for a few women so I choose to sit at the 5th table away from the entrance.
As I wrote, a group of girls from summer camp filled the seats around me. The girl across from me asked her teen counselor what she was supposed to write. The teen said just write your name in Hebrew.
I spoke to the girl, “Be sure to add your mother’s name too. Tell the Rebbe what you did that was good this week. How did you make someone smile? Then ask him for good health for you, your family, and your friends. Then the most fun part is asking the Rebbe for something you want. Can be anything, just be specific.”
Years ago, I wrote to the Rebbe asking for a boyfriend. I asked for a man who was kind and gentle and willing to live with my father. I took a photo of the letter so I could look back at it later.
When I finally had a boyfriend, I pulled up the letter. My boyfriend does live with my dad. He is kind. He is gentile. I misspelled gentle.
I can’t stress this enough. You must spellcheck when manifesting!
Yesterday, I couldn’t come up with anything specific to pray for beyond the blessings for my friends and family.
I asked for signs and clarity for my next steps to having a more meaningful life. I already live a life in service both through my retail career or my connection to charities. Yet, I know there is more that I can do and give. That’s the beauty of life. There’s no limit to learning or kindness. I just need guidance and direction on where I should be going. Every Friday night in shul I keep asking myself “Why am I here?” I asked the Rebbe for the answer.
After I finished my letter, I went out to the grave where I would read two psalms and my letter aloud. First, I read the Rebbe’s psalm 122. Then, I read mine, psalm 55. Your psalm is your age plus one year.
“And I said, ‘If only I had wings like a dove! I would fly way and be at rest.
Behold I would wander far away; I would lodge in the desert forever.
I would quickly find myself a refuge from a sweeping wind, from a tempest.’”
As I walked out of the Ohel I started recording a video. I said that I just finished asking for blessings. A man walked by me and said, “You’ll receive them.” “I know,” I replied. “You’re a shaliach.” “I know,” I said.
A shaliach is an emissary or a messenger sent to do a mitzvah. While most people think a mitzvah is a good deed, it means commandment or connection.
I got back into my car and headed off to JFK. I thought about the stranger and his message to me. I asked for answers to why I’m here and how to have a more meaningful life and I was told “You are a connector, a teacher.”
I took out my laptop and wrote on my flight home. I reflected on my experiences in NY and how the last person I met was an exhibitor from Greece. Knowing nothing about me, she said, “You should go to Hydra. It’s where all the great writers go for inspiration. It’s magical.”
Since Irish mythology talks about the Hebrews going to Greece and this stranger directs me to go there, perhaps the answers I’m seeking are in the Aegean Sea?
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