22 Elul 5773

22 Elul

 

I have become accustom to early mornings. Let me just say that the window in my study, large and accommodating, faces east and at this moment I am washed completely and joyfully with the sacred light of an orange dawn.  

 

And the window in my study is alive; the entire east wall reveals without comment and without judgment the trees upon the lane. For weeks now I have been watching the silent transformation from bare branch, to small wisps of green, to lush canopies of leaves that move in the wind, flicker in the light, quiver in the rain.

 

A silent spectacle.

 

And beyond the trees the sun rises quiet as the breath of God. And beyond the sun, sky, sometimes pale, sometimes blue, sometimes magenta, sometimes still, sometimes in motion, depends on the day.

 

Also silent.

 

And in my study, in the corner, turned toward the window and the lane with its trees and rising sun and sky I often sit, a student, a child really, trying to learn what it all means.  


By Rabbi Karyn Kedar