Rosh Hashanah came and went. What a busy three days it was!! The non-stop eat fest culminated in the Fast of Gedalia, commemorating a tragic time in Jewish history. After the gluttony of the week, I must say I had no problem going a day without food. The last remnants of the holiday feasts have gone either into our stomachs or into the freezer, awaiting retrieval for the next holiday, Sukkot. But before another joyous holiday spirit can enter our homes, we must face the solemnity of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. On this day culinary excesses are not only omitted, but forbidden, and we spend it fasting and praying in houses of worship. We try to focus on repentance and not on the growling of our stomachs during the 25 hour fast. And although many do not look forward to this day, which challenges us on many levels, it is without a doubt a day of spiritual supercleansing and reflection like no other in the Jewish year.
Although there is trepidation mounting in our homes, the Days of Awe, as we refer to the ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, are our chance to redeem ourselves, ponder the choices before us, and put our hope in our Creator that all will be forgiven and that our slates will be wiped clean. But I am finding it hard to surrender myself. Something about the sum total of my daily, monthly, yearly responsibilities leave me feeling disconnected. I can't seem to think about faith much these days; ironic, as those who know me would call me "religious".
Many people of many different faiths wear their spirituality on their sleeves, and although I once might have thought it inappropriate, I find that lately I envy those people. Oh, to have the connection of my youth, the undaunting knowlege that I never walk alone. Although I know that to be true, still, hope is more fragile these days, when illness, poverty and war surround all that we hold dear.
Still, the mornings are fresh, the sunlight warms, and the air in this place holds promise. I journey through this miraculous land, the Land of Israel, and I marvel at my good fortune, to live and breathe its essence. Still the threat to the north lies in waiting, while we wait also, predator and prey. But try as it may, this everlasting dance cannot overcome the power of humanity. At hospitals in northern Israel, Syrian men, women and children lie fearfully in hospital wards. At the mercy of their caregivers, they await food, prosthetics, and social workers who spend days or months undoing the damage of fear that has been welded into their hearts of the enemy Zionist regime. As long as it takes for the patients to heal, they learn that years of this education was for naught. The enemy feeds them when they cannot feed themselves. They provide a new leg for the 15 year old girl, whose own was amputated by doctors in Syria in efforts to save her life when the government of her birth country turned against her. The three year old girl brought in alone, devoid of loved ones to calm her, is comforted day after day by the Israeli hospital staff. After days of continuous weeping, she learns that trust can be found in this place. Slowly she improves, inching closer to the day she will be reunited with her family, if in fact her family survived the attacks. The eight year old boy became hysterical upon learning that the hospital he was lying in was Israeli, and not Lebanese as he had thought. How could it be that the worst of humanity were the very ones in whose hands his life now rested?
Life by life, heart by heart, the world is changing. Through the horrors of war have come clarity and understanding. How fortunate are those unfortunate ones whose lives are cherished by those that care for them.
Perhaps it is the stories of these brave individuals that will be my connecting force as I fast and pray. My heart is with them, as is my wish for a full recovery.
Although there is trepidation mounting in our homes, the Days of Awe, as we refer to the ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, are our chance to redeem ourselves, ponder the choices before us, and put our hope in our Creator that all will be forgiven and that our slates will be wiped clean. But I am finding it hard to surrender myself. Something about the sum total of my daily, monthly, yearly responsibilities leave me feeling disconnected. I can't seem to think about faith much these days; ironic, as those who know me would call me "religious".
Many people of many different faiths wear their spirituality on their sleeves, and although I once might have thought it inappropriate, I find that lately I envy those people. Oh, to have the connection of my youth, the undaunting knowlege that I never walk alone. Although I know that to be true, still, hope is more fragile these days, when illness, poverty and war surround all that we hold dear.
Still, the mornings are fresh, the sunlight warms, and the air in this place holds promise. I journey through this miraculous land, the Land of Israel, and I marvel at my good fortune, to live and breathe its essence. Still the threat to the north lies in waiting, while we wait also, predator and prey. But try as it may, this everlasting dance cannot overcome the power of humanity. At hospitals in northern Israel, Syrian men, women and children lie fearfully in hospital wards. At the mercy of their caregivers, they await food, prosthetics, and social workers who spend days or months undoing the damage of fear that has been welded into their hearts of the enemy Zionist regime. As long as it takes for the patients to heal, they learn that years of this education was for naught. The enemy feeds them when they cannot feed themselves. They provide a new leg for the 15 year old girl, whose own was amputated by doctors in Syria in efforts to save her life when the government of her birth country turned against her. The three year old girl brought in alone, devoid of loved ones to calm her, is comforted day after day by the Israeli hospital staff. After days of continuous weeping, she learns that trust can be found in this place. Slowly she improves, inching closer to the day she will be reunited with her family, if in fact her family survived the attacks. The eight year old boy became hysterical upon learning that the hospital he was lying in was Israeli, and not Lebanese as he had thought. How could it be that the worst of humanity were the very ones in whose hands his life now rested?
Life by life, heart by heart, the world is changing. Through the horrors of war have come clarity and understanding. How fortunate are those unfortunate ones whose lives are cherished by those that care for them.
Perhaps it is the stories of these brave individuals that will be my connecting force as I fast and pray. My heart is with them, as is my wish for a full recovery.
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