In the curve of the lulav
So I am driving to work on Sukkot.
Late of course, running my morning lecture through my mind while keeping my eyes trained on the traffic. Stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green, I glance almost mindlessly over at the side of the road. A young couple. He, tall and slim, dressed in black, suit, hat, shoes, a fresh white shirt peeking from his jacket, almost glinting in the morning sun as striking counterpoint. She, petite, long dark hair, matched with long dark skirt, long-sleeved top. They are standing on the overpass, peering over the barrier at the cars streaming on the freeway below. And then my eyes rest on the lulav in his hand, pointing to the sky, its graceful curve seeming to sway slightly in the wind. And the cup of his other hand, protecting what must be an etrog, imagined in all its bright yellow roundness, its faint citrusy scent on his skin.
And, I think. Who would have thought? It’s nine o’clock on an ordinary Thursday morning, the cars are moving by taking people to work, to school, to the gym, to the grocery. And here is a young couple, dressed as if from another era, walking to shul even as the heat of the day shimmers off the pavement, to mark Sukkot. What a day. What a time. How very beautiful.
The light changes. I step on the gas and go. I know it is a holiday. I spent the evening before welcoming its coming with friends, dinner in their Sukkah with a multitude of grandchildren, challah smeared with honey, sweet wine and the palpable warmth of family and friendship as fulfilling as the delectable holiday meal. They will be spending the next three days in the cocoon of the holiday, no work, no cars, no cell phones and computers, no ipods, no TV. It is enviable to contemplate, the depth of their commitment, the sureness of their path, the strength of their faith.
And yet. I am not there. Not yet, anyway, even as I learn more about our tradition, intrigued by what I do not know, did not experience. I soak up knowledge like the veritable sponge, hungry to know more, yet still hesitant (or could it be resistant?) to move further on the path to heightened observance. Yet, the sight of that young couple, lulav and etrog in hand, stays with me, even as I go about my day. I can see the beautiful bend of the lulav and envision the young man as the holiday ends this week, circling the bimah with it in hand, shaking it with a fervor I have yet to know, dancing joyously with the Torah, then walking home to retire in the shade of his sukkah for a refreshing repast.
And I am envious. And proud. And grateful. I may not be there, yet or ever, but I am blessed to know of the tradition, to be invited to share in the holiday, and to feel, even if it is only a momentary shiver, its beauty and its power.
29 Sep, 2010 >
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packerfanse - 07 Dec, 2011 - 22:43:13
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