How Everything (Except What You Most Expected) Is Illuminated

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When I first read Foer's novel--and this was re-iterated as I watched the film--I thought of the Jewish tradition that encourages visitors to a gravesite to place a rock on the gravestone before leaving the cemetery. The rock signifies, simply, that somebody has been there to visit. When another person comes to visit the gravesite, it is clear that there were others who remembered, perhaps even a person who might have taken a similar path and ended up at the same place. Predictably, the power of discovery in the film is not when we arrive on Augustine's front porch, but in the journey itself. Once they arrived, it was clear that no one had been there before, and each character had the opportunity to partake in what became a bit of a communal pilgrimage, each left the other with a rock, something to signify that each had been there.

As a daughter of Hasidism, I have my own experiences with pilgrimages. We would accompany the leaders of our community to the towns where the founding fathers of various Hasidic dynasties were buried, and be sure to leave a stone, tell a story, light a candle, and whisper a prayer by their graves. Hasidim believe that visiting the

, the sacred sites, is a

, a merit, especially on the anniversary of the death of the particular rabbi. There is a power to being

, at the same location on the appointed date; pilgrims meet as one unified voice to give credence to the memory of the man (and his wife, at times) whose life and work continues to guide them. It is an auspicious time to request even the most personal of needs: marriage, children, income, and health.

At four in the morning on one such pilgrimage to Poland--the anniversary of the death of

--I and my fellow travelers pulled into the lot designated for this annual event. Throngs of mostly men were rushing toward the little building that housed the headstone of the great Rabbi of Lizhensk. He was famed for blurring the lines between the Christian and Jewish peasants of the region. In the early 19th century, all sought his counsel. But this night was reserved for his Hasidim, his followers.

When I walked, half awake, into the little house, the feast, the

, was already in progress, the men already in the midst of song and dance, the women peering excitedly through the little doorway which separated them from the men. Despite the groggy time of night, I couldn't help but notice that I was surrounded by an international array of Hasidic women--from England, Israel, New York, and Argentina. Just by arriving, taking the trip to Poland, I had become part of a steadfast tradition that would continue with my grandchildren, and then, even, theirs.

Pilgrimage is not a particularly Jewish phenomenon, though "Everything is Illuminated" focuses directly on that strain of tradition. This is a communal practice deeply rooted in the faith that it is the journey itself, not so much the destination, that makes all the difference. Putting Jonathan on a plane and taking him to face what he imagines are his roots--and what he knows is his grandfather's hometown, Trachtimbrod--is the end, not the means to attain the much-sought-after quest for self-knowledge.

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