it's the jewish new year tonight, so when you look up at those distant stars, think how a long time ago, our patriarchal fathers rode by camel across the desert from the euphrates through syria to the promised land where they settled and found both a home and religion under the unity of a single god, whose name we will never know or pronounce.
they understood.
all those nights watching the same stars we see, the utter emptiness, spaciousness and endless beauty of existence.
they knew of kant's moral law, long before that prussian philosopher gave words to it in his high german bhasa. they could feel it beating with their heart in the silence and numina that the desert offered. they didn't need youtube, mtv or itunes (regina specktor singing now...) to remind them of the uniqueness and fragility of their existence.
they knew enough to write their stories to praise their g-d. they knew enough to bow their heads in respect for a world that gave them existence, eyes to see, a heart to feel and a body to touch. simple truths, but profound ones.
ones the pace, problems and superficiality of our modern world can dissemble.
so, for this one day of the year, we, children of that ancient race, ancient creed, ancient religion, look up, once again, at those sparkling stars above, shimmering in a sea of blackness and possibility. we thank this dear, distant, immediate g-d for all that we don't understand and the little we do.
at this moment, when the rains are ebbing, the harvests are collected and we know that the shorter days of winter are ahead, we take a moment and rejoice in the cycle of life. the blessings of parents and, most definitely, children. for some of the most fortunate, grandchildren even.
simple, ancient truths. the turning of the gyre. the thankfulness that we can send our love to each other. bless you, sons. my your days be long and your joys bountiful.
with the love of a parent to a child.
they understood.
all those nights watching the same stars we see, the utter emptiness, spaciousness and endless beauty of existence.
they knew of kant's moral law, long before that prussian philosopher gave words to it in his high german bhasa. they could feel it beating with their heart in the silence and numina that the desert offered. they didn't need youtube, mtv or itunes (regina specktor singing now...) to remind them of the uniqueness and fragility of their existence.
they knew enough to write their stories to praise their g-d. they knew enough to bow their heads in respect for a world that gave them existence, eyes to see, a heart to feel and a body to touch. simple truths, but profound ones.
ones the pace, problems and superficiality of our modern world can dissemble.
so, for this one day of the year, we, children of that ancient race, ancient creed, ancient religion, look up, once again, at those sparkling stars above, shimmering in a sea of blackness and possibility. we thank this dear, distant, immediate g-d for all that we don't understand and the little we do.
at this moment, when the rains are ebbing, the harvests are collected and we know that the shorter days of winter are ahead, we take a moment and rejoice in the cycle of life. the blessings of parents and, most definitely, children. for some of the most fortunate, grandchildren even.
simple, ancient truths. the turning of the gyre. the thankfulness that we can send our love to each other. bless you, sons. my your days be long and your joys bountiful.
with the love of a parent to a child.
