She Said: She Said: Spaces\Holiday Reflections

I thought I was starting to understand the finer workings of Israel. Milk comes in bags. Crosswalks are to be ignored. "Please" is not part of common vocabulary. If a woman needs help with her stroller, five people will immediately come to her aid, while offering unsolicited advice about the care of her baby. Also, it is perfectly acceptable to have a heart-to-heart talk with a stranger, but petting stray cats is taboo. Cats, in fact, are considered scary here.

The local rules also include the buses. Most of the time the bus will stop at designated stops. Most of the time, they will continue to designated places. Most of the time, the buses will arrive within half of an hour of their scheduled time. Most of the time they will have their final destination printed above the driver's window. 

About a week ago, everything changed. I was waiting for a bus to the old city. The "20", which was the bus I needed, pulled up to the wrong bus stop. I was close, though, so I was able to make it. Then, being a paranoid ex-American, I double checked to make sure the bus did indeed go to Jaffa Gate. I looked up into the information booth above the driver's window. It didn't say "Sha'ar Yafo."  There was no destination written there at all. Instead, the electric print proudly pronounced: "Shanah Tova."

I was flabbergasted. It wasn't so much that I was upset the bus company was confusing immigrants like me, but rather that public transportation was posting a greeting for the Jewish New Year. Israel is an amazing place. Things like Rosh Hashanah greetings on public buses, though, help me to appreciate this nation's particular awesomeness.

When I finally got to the old city, I realized that the bus company wasn't the only entity appreciating the coming High Holidays. The Jewish Quarter and all of its surrounding areas were overflowing with school groups. Students had come from all over the state to pray at the Kotel and to spend time as close to physical Kadusha as they could.  

The rest of the week was the same. Every bus that passed cheerfully read "Shanah Tova." I'm sure that there were some confused lost tourists trying to find the section of the city with this name, but I happily enjoyed every electronic holiday sign. Meanwhile, the Rova, the Old City, continued to be full of visitors.  The Kotel continued to be packed.

The day before Rosh Hashanah, one of my friends and I handed out apples and honey in the Jewish Quarter. The only thing we asked of the people receiving the food was that they make a blessing. Our "guests" ranged from secular soldiers to groups of foreign tourist to local haredim. I watch strangers share kippot and seculars sharing brachot with religious. I wish it was Rosh Hashanah again just so I could reexperience those blessings. 

I'm certain I'm not the only one who notices that the Jewish Nation is remarkable. I'm certain that I'm not the only one who notices our strong faith. HaShem, too, has seen. Moshiach will reveal himself this year. Shanah Tova.

-Becca

It is the in-between times, the space that occupies the calendar after one set of holidays is over and before another set begins. These moments neither commence a new importance nor conclude it. Yet, these days and nights are remarkable and are, in fact, invaluable in that they are entirely necessary for our continued appreciation of the bounty of holy days that Hashem has given over to us.

Without these in-between times having been called into being, time could manifest as a continuous holiday, and as such, would lack moments of distinction. We would loose, consequently, the kedushah that comes with separation. We would be robbed of our holidays' merit. Alternatively, were there no device of days and nights that separate the holy and the mundane, time could manifest as entirely commonplace. In this scenario, too, we would consequently lose the fact of celebration, in general, and, the facts, more specifically, of opportunities to give thanks, to implore forgiveness, and to take joy in Blessings. In this case, too, we would be robbed of our holidays’ merit.

Consider that opposites in the least define each other and in the most fuel each other. When Hashem Separated the waters, for instance, suddenly, the universe manifested something more than the upper and the lower seas. When Hashem Introduced light and darkness, for instance, suddenly the universe manifested something more than the amorphic energy that had previously "illumined" it. In both cases, clarification, elucidation, even explanation, came into being.

Similarly, we learn about the necessity of wanting, of craving, and of yearning, globally, and of wanting, of craving, and or yearning, specifically to merge with Hashem, from the revelation brought forth from the spaces among the letters of the Torah. While I can no more comment on the gist of Torah's words, themselves, or the crowns on some of their component parts, than I can comment on the gist of Torah's spaces and on those spaces' shapes, I can and mean to point to those spaces' existential significance.

Without the visual partitions constructed by the fact of the existence, simultaneously, of Torah's letters and of the spaces among those letters, the Torah would be entirely white, and, as such would be too unreachable, too inscrutable, to elevate our souls. Alternatively, without the visual partitions constructed by the fact of the existence, simultaneously, of Torah's letters and of the spaces among those letters, the Torah would be entirely filled with "ink," and, as such, would be too dense, too impenetrable, to elevate our souls. The Torah, though, because of HaKadosh Baruchu's chesed, kindness, is both that which is and was and will be, i.e. the letters, and that which never was, is not, and never will be, i.e. the spaces. Whereas those spaces will never morph into letters, since the Torah is a fixture in eternity, the precedent established by those voids invites us, in an approachable way, to fill the spaces within ourselves, to actualize our energies to service. Those spaces proffer that invitation in a manner unobtainable by actual words.

From Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, we added and changed prayers during Shemona Esrei. In a short while, we will, beginning with Hashanah Rabbah, and ending with Pesah, also mark worldly time with additional prayers. During these few days between hagim, holidays, though, we take leave of sanctity in order to make room for more of it. During these few days between hagim, when we still have a chance to change our destiny, still are able to petition the King, we focus on the spaces.

-Channie