Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
(Isaiah 43:19)
I am standing at the seashore, once again. It is late Friday morning, and bright white sunlight glistens on waves of enchantment. Pale blue of the the sky is mirrored by the pale blue of the ocean at my feet. As I gaze farther out in the distance, a deeper hue of blue may be seen. Perhaps it is the elusive blueness of tekhelet, the color of the tallit. Or the blueness of eternity.
Some aspects of life are seen more clearly when viewed from afar, as we gain a different perspective. Their essential nature crystallizing into view, when observed from a distance.
Standing on the shore, we are engulfed by the sound of the ocean, by a loud roar. A welcoming roar which lures our thoughts, our feelings, into a realm of tranquility. Its strength and majesty dulls the pain, the confusion, the grief mixed which joy which has become the essence of our days. A roar of peacefulness which leads to silence, where thoughts are erased, memory is for a while put on hold, and we are immersed in the moment.
Our hearts blend with the heart of the ocean, the pain of our sous muffled by the sound of the ocean and for a while, there is only peace, serenity. Engulfed as we are by the vastness of the sea, the vastness of the universe, the vastness of the destiny of our people.
On the sandy seashore, waves are rolling in, a powerful froth of white foam, only to roll back out again. Mirroring the endless passage of time, of joy and sorrow, which arrives only to depart, only to return, once again.
Mirroring a gratitude mixed with pain, a joy mixed with sorrow which is greater than the power of our minds to comprehend, greater than the power of our souls to contain.
Has is been more than two years now? That was when vision became blurred as by a mist of clouds, sound muffled as by a constant roar of the sea.
Everything has an appointed season,
and there is a time for every matter under the heavens…
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance…
a time to be silent and a time to speak…
(Ecclesiastes 3:2-7)
But what happens when the times become blurred? Can grief and joy coexist? Can relief and gratitude for the blessings we have witnessed, coexist with pain and grief? Pain swirls with joy, and a feeling of surrealism covers both with a blanket of whiteness. Of utter stillness. As in the far distance, where the tranquility of ocean meets the calmness of sky.
We wait, for clarity. Wait perhaps for our return to the Garden of Eden, where evil had no place in the world of the Divine. Does the first sin of Man accompany us until today? Did knowledge of the possibility of evil somehow bring it into existence, allow its presence in our world?
I stand at the beach. And a dream of serenity is pulling me upward, out to sea. Out to eternity, where all is silent, where all is calm, where tranquility rests as the blueness of the sea meets the blueness of the sky.
Slowly I turn. Children are playing in the ocean, running back and forth, laughing in glee as they chase the waves, marveling at the castles in the sand.
There is that point between the spiritual and physical. When the dream of beauty becomes beauty itself. When the dream of life comes to life in the form of a child. When the song in one’s heart becomes music which fills the air with the joy of Creation. When the vision of a castle in the sand becomes that very castle.
And what happens when the castle is destroyed? What then? What happens when the castle returns to being just sand, when the waves which just minutes ago were on the shore begin to flow out to sea, unrecognizable in the vastness of ocean. What then?
Can we retain the memory, even after their form has been washed away by the sea? Can we retain the knowledge, that they will appear one day once again?
There is a Before, and there is an After. And after, life is never the same….or is it? Within our souls is an ember of a Divine spark, if only we can nurture its glow. Within our hearts is a hope, a prayer, a knowledge of goodness which stubbornly persists in the belief that Life one day will be different, redeemed.
“You are to be holy to me because I, the Lord, am holy, and I have set you apart from the nations to be my own.” (Leviticus 20:26)
On the serenity of the seashore, we hear the endless roar of the ocean, proclaiming a mightiness which is beyond our comprehension, a vastness of life, an endless potential. As waves roll in and out, pain swirls with joy, grief merges with gratitude, and a roar dulls our senses, beckons us to let go, and just be.
I feel the warmth of the sand beneath my feet. Am engulfed by the glow of the sun, the power of the waves. Watch in wonder as children play in the sand, as my children had also played at the seashore, such a long time ago. When life in the Promised land was one of promise, when it seemed that tragedy was something we had left in the past.
As I write these words, I hear the sound of a warplane flying overhead. The uncertainty of our situation emphasized, the precariousness of our life in this Promised Land. Are we being tested? Is our faith being tested? Our hope? Our belief in ourselves, in each other, in the blessings which accompany us daily, if only we could remove vision’s cloudiness, and see. If only we could remove sound’s muteness, and hear.
As I stand and listen, a call rolls in, as incessantly as the waves. The promise made to our fathers and forefathers.
And it is this (the promise) that has stood by our ancestors and for us…in every generation they rise up to destroy us. But the Holy One, Blessed be He, delivers us from their hands. (Passover Haggadah)
And now? A prayer of gratitude swirls with the Kaddish of mourning.
The roar of the waves as a reminder of eternity, of the wonder of the persistence and majesty of Life.
We are now in the month of Cheshvan, the eighth month from Nisan. The number eight in gematria symbolizes transcendence. A spiritual realm which is beyond the ordinary, of eternity, healing and new beginnings.
It is in this month (on the 17th)that the Flood which destroyed the world began
(Gen 7:10-11).
And it is also in this month (on the 27th) that the Flood ended (Gen.8-14).
According to tradition, in the month of Cheshvan the Messiah will inaugurate the Third Temple. Fast days will become holidays (Zecharia 8:19).
Pain will be transformed to joy, sorrow to happiness.
Waves are rolling in, rolling out. I watch the motion of the waves, feel the freedom of the wind.
The children are playing on the sand. A ball is rolling. I watch their delight. Listen to their call. Our hope for a future of serenity and joy. One day. Once again.
The laughter of the children though muted, as from afar, is a reminder…For their sake. For the sake of Life which is to follow, we must shine. Let Kindness and Goodness be our guide.
As an awareness of the miraculous alternates with pain, as gratitude mixes with sorrow, and a heavy blanket of stillness covers all with a sense of surrealism, the mighty roar of the ocean elevates our very being.
Behold, You desired that truth be in the hidden places…wash me, and I will become whiter than snow. Make me hear joy and gladness…Create for me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me…O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare Your Praise. (Psalms 51: 8-17)