“Hear this voice from deep inside
It's the call of your heart
Close your eyes and you will find
Passage out of the dark
Here I am
Will you send me an angel?
Here I am
In the land of the morning star”
(Send me an Angel, Scorpions)
Once again, I am in the lovely garden. The trees have grown taller, the vines climbing on them have risen higher, in my absence. The branches intertwine, forming a canopy of lush green. In an arbor of otherworldly serenity, they have joined forces against the wind, the heat, and have reached new heights. Warm rays of sun sparkle through leaves which are still a deep green, even now.
I listen to the sound of the birds, calling. Seemingly from far away, as an echo of previous times, an echo of peace, of tranquility, of serenity. But as I listen carefully their song is almost within reach, perhaps hidden in the greenery of dense foliage.
It is summer now, in the Land of Dreams. Brown leaves lie in a disorderly array at my feet. The fallen leaves, once sparkling and hopeful on graceful branches, are now still and cheerless in late morning’s heat. Their very profusion providing a sense of abandonment. A carpet of memories, a blanket of brittle harshness.
We are now in the month of Tammuz, the month which begins the summer season.
The month of Tammuz is a month of sorrow. On the Seventeenth of Tammuz occurred the sin of the golden calf, which resulted in Moses shattering the first set of Tablets (Exodus 32:19-20). This day begins the three week period of “bein Hametzarim”, which ends with the fast of Tishah B’Av. It was during this time that many calamities befell our Nation, including the destruction of both Temples.
“How deserted lies the city, once so full of people!…Bitterly she weeps at night, tears are on her cheeks…” (Lamentations 1:2)
But the month of Tammuz is also the month of a great miracle.
It was on the third of the month of Tammuz that the laws of nature were suspended.
The sun and the moon stood still, and with them, time itself. Joshua was leading the People of Israel in battle in Gibeon against our enemies, the Amorites.
“Joshua said to the Lord in the presence of Israel: ‘O sun, stand still over Gibeon; and you, O Moon, in the valley of Aijalon.’ So the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, till the nation avenged itself on its enemies.” (Joshua 10:12-13)
We have today, a feeling of timelessness. Time came to a halt many months ago in the Land of Promise. Life as we once knew it was put on hold, and we entered a new dimension of suspended time. The carousel of Time turned upside-down, and we, caught in midair, are waiting. For an awakening of our world to one of kindness, of decency. For a renewal of the warmth of the human spirit, which lies within.
We are waiting, for an end to the unbearable tragedy of suffering and destruction. For a blossoming of the intrinsic goodness and giving nature of Man, we who are created in the Image of the Divine.
The clock has stopped, and we are waiting.
“Send your light and your truth, that they may lead me; they shall bring me to Your Holy Mount and to Your dwellings“ (Psalms 43:3)
According to tradition, there is a deadline by which the Messiah will arrive. And yet, according to the Talmud (Sanhedrin 98a) although there is a designated time for Redemption, the coming of the Messiah depends also on us. “Rabbi Yohanan says: If you saw a generation whose troubles inundate it like a river, await the coming of the Messiah, as it is stated: ’When distress will come like a river that the breath of the Lord drives’ (Isaiah 59:19)”
The Messiah may appear at any time. He is among us today, if we are but worthy.
“Elijah said to him…’today, if you will hear His voice’ (Psalms 95:7)”
Perhaps today.
It is Motsei Shabbat, and the little one calls us outside, urgently. Come, come, he is insisting, joyfully, you will see something miraculous. We follow him, in curiosity. Three stars in the night, in a sea of blackness. And the delight of the child who is looking for them. The joy of the child who has found them.
Would we could retain that certainty, that knowledge. Somewhere above are the stars, still shining. Waiting for us to find them.
Three stars, and a child’s delight. And we, have we forgotten? In a bridge between the mundane and the profound, can we retain the holiness within us, that knowledge of the miraculous? The hope, the dreams. Where are they, now?
The blackness of night engulfs us, mingles with the joy of the child.
Where is the light? Where is the wonder? In which direction are we looking?
Daylight has arrived. Fallen leaves whisper of desolation, of a night which refuses to depart. Motionless, they are resting on a windless summer morn.
Rays of sunshine light up their outline, golden-brown in the sunlight.
I reach for the rake.
Perhaps today.
Dr. Devorah Ungar is an American-born scientist and musician who moved to Israel 30 years ago.