There have been times when my life felt as steady and reliable as the sidewalk that rolls past my front door; mostly straight with enough gentle curves and turns to keep it interesting, but never too challenging. I knew where I was going and how I planned to get there.

Other times, it feels like the path through the woods that my dogs and I take most mornings; rambling, never quite the same, trickier in wet weather. I have to watch my step carefully because there might be a snake slithering by or a big spider’s web in my path. It’s a little more dangerous, a little less reliable, but to be honest, a lot more interesting.

This Shabbat we’ll read the end of the book of Numbers, called Ba’Midbar in Hebrew; in the desert. The Children of Israel are almost at the end of their four decade trek through the Sinai desert. They’re about to enter their new home, but to settle there they’ll have to go to war with the current residents first.

You’d think the imminent prospect of war would be heavy on their minds, but instead the Torah talks extensively about land rights. How much property each family will get, where they’ll live, and setting aside cities of refuge for inadvertent murderers.

They’re looking ahead, beyond the war they will have to wage, to the settled life they hope for and aspire to. It is a very human reaction to stressful situations, to know that things are going to be tough for a while and yet be willing to go through it for the anticipated positive result. Even good changes are difficult – getting married, starting a new job, and moving to a new home (or a new city) are among the most stressful situations we encounter, even when they were done by choice.

The paths of our lives are seldom straight and simple. Things happen. Cancer. Love. Leaving home. Having children. Illness and death. Like the Children of Israel who had to imagine an entirely new life for themselves, we too have found ourselves redefining what’s important and reimagining new ways to go forward.

I have found that the best, perhaps the only, way to deal with adversity and change is in community. I didn’t go through my cancer journey alone. For nearly four years, the people around me helped and supported me. My family, my kids’ teachers, neighbors, colleagues, rabbis and fellow congregants, my medical team and even strangers stepped forward with support and caring.

The wild rambling path has hidden beauties, unexpected moments that shine like shafts of sunlight through the trees. The rat-tat-tat of the woodpecker. Unseen birds singing their various songs. The occasional hawk swooping down, talons extended toward the rabbit in the bramble.

I thought I preferred the smooth easy road, but I have learned to cherish the wild, unexpected path. And I have discovered that it is always easier with a companion by my side. Better still, with an entire community.