Snapshots.

A little bit of life through my eyes...

[afternoon sun]
[jerusalem stones]
[looking up]
[nachlaot graffiti]
[stones and sun]
[shirat devorah girls in the light]
[desert at sunrise]

Some Rosh Hashana Impressions.

I close my eyes and all I see is white. I hear the voices rise up around me and form one, whole voice which then settles down into my core, sending reverberations through my whole body. The melody is haunting, slow, intentional. Coming from that same core place in all those around me. We let out this voice, our voice, a call in hopes of drawing closer. To what? To the divine infinite all around us, to each other, to ourselves. A harmony of yearning.

"I called out from the narrows and you answered me with expansiveness."

And then, silence. Heads bowed. Waiting. Trembling. The shofar sounds, sending shock waves through each member of the congregation until it reaches every corner of the room. The sound travels through us, now one whole, like a wave. Shattering our false pretenses, our exterior shells, exposing our truest selves. We continue to listen, awaken, return to. Surrender to that which is so much greater than ourselves. I hear tears rolling down the cheek of my neighbor. I am still.

When my eyes open, I can finally see. Despite my exhaustion, I am being pulled upward. Growing and shrinking at once, transcending my physical limitations.

And the singing brings me back. This time joyous. The Torah, our ancient and timeless truths all wrapped into one scroll, is carried through the crowd. Our most precious possession. When it reaches the women, the tears start again. But this time I can see them. In my eyes and the eyes of all those around me. Gratitude. Awe. Devotion. All shared. Women dance in the aisle with their infants, grasp hands and sing with their neighbors. The majestic head coverings crowing each woman glisten in the sunlight that shines through the windows. The vision is both ancient and futuristic at once. I close my eyes again and all that I breathe in is light.