Late last year, I donated some money to the Chabad house that had taken care of me & my dad the last two Yom Kippurs (here and here). I’d been meaning to do that for a while, but it slipped my mind. After the Mumbai terrorists targeted the local Chabad house for special treatment, I didn’t have any excuse.
My donation led my being added to the distribution list for their weekly e-newsletter, which usually goes out Friday mornings. I skim through most of the contents, but I try to check out the parshah section, which details that week’s reading from the Torah. (For those of you who are unacquainted with Judaism, here’s the skinny: each Saturday morning during sabbath services, the Torah is brought out and a portion of it is read in seven segments. Over the course of the Jewish year, the congregation works through all 5 books that comprise the Torah: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. At least, I think that’s how it works. I’m sure my brother or my mom will correct me on that.)
I’m not a practicing Jew, and if I were, I doubt I’d be part of the Lubavitcher movement, the Hasidic sect that runs Chabad. That said, my experiences with them have been rancor-free; they welcomed me and Dad with open arms and demonstrated zero pushiness or guilt-tripping about our religious slackness.
Early this week, they sent an e-mail about a ceremony I had never heard of: Birkat Hachamah, the 28-year-blessing.
See, because the solar cycle is 365 days and 6 hours, it takes 28 years for the sun to be in the same position on the same day of the week. Today is supposed to mark the anniversary of the creation of the sun, so Jews go out within the first 2 hours of sunrise and thank God for creating the sun. (Read the FAQs; they explain it better than I do. And there’s always Wikipedia.)
I didn’t have time to meet up with the Chabad group this morning to pray. Actually, I didn’t have the inclination to do it. I know the spirit of prayer for Jews is that of community, not solitude, but there are a lot of ways I fail to live up to my heritage, so there you are.
Instead, I printed out the prayer & the psalms, put on my yarmulke, and walked around the block to the area with the best view of the rising sun (which happens to be the yard of a house owned by observant Muslims). And in the chilly morning I read:
Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who re-enacts the work of Creation.
What a beautiful, evocative and mysterious phrase that is: “Who re-enacts the work of Creationâ€! How better to characterize the sunrise?
(The psalms that followed had a few, um, problematic sections, mainly the ones about ruling the nations of the world. But hey: I didn’t write ’em.)
Once I finished reading, I walked home, trying my best not to look over my shoulder to glimpse the sun again. Yeah, I failed at that, too.
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In keeping with my half-assed Judaism, I should note that tonight is the first night of Passover. My mom’s visiting for the occasion, but we’re going to have our seder on the second night, because it’ll be easier on us and the dozen or so gentiles who’ll be in attendance. To all my Jewish readers, observant or not, chag sameach!
Here are a couple of neat Passover-related links, a little Unrequired Pesach Reading for you:
Take a three-hour hasidic tour!
Ever wonder why how they make matzo?
Israeli Jews & Arabs can work together just fine sometimes!
Update: One of my coworkers told me that the sun-story reminded him of this old cartoon, the Sunshine Makers: