It feels impossible to believe this is our very last post of the year for my 54 Weeklys Project, which is what I set out to do at the start of 5786. Not sure about you, but I really feel like I blinked, and we’re already reading Genesis all over again. WHERE did the last year go? Time is so odd, isn’t it? I’m not even going to pretend that 5786 didn’t feel like an absolute dumpster fire of a year. My husband and I had a running joke for most of the year, and let me tell you. God heard us, and one day, gave us an actual dumpster fire, as if it were the punchline to a joke only He’s in on: long story short, one beautiful June day, a city dump truck with a full bed of trash literally caught on fire, and dumped the entire load in front of our house. A second municipal truck was dispatched to assist the dumpster fire, only for the second truck to catch fire as well, which proceeded to breakdown in front of our driveway. If I could sum up our personal 5786 as husband and wife, with four children seven and under, that little story would be it. We very much welcome a new year, and a new start. Already this year is starting off on a much stronger foot. I feel prepared to weather the challenges that will enviably blow in 5787. Bring it on!
The final chapter of Deuteronomy, we read Moses’ final words to Israel, in addition to his death. Moses lives the ideal lifespan of one hundred and twenty years – shall we all live that long! Moses’ final words are his very last blessing spoken to the people. It’s encouraging and uplifting, and teaches us that we’re not meant to do it all while we’re here. Moses is forced to pass along leadership to Joshua, for the next generation. Moses’ story ends with him doing something that is difficult for most of us: letting go. He cannot enter the land with the people. He cannot finish the story himself. He cannot remain the one in charge forever. Instead, he blesses the people and hands the future to Joshua. There’s something incredibly beautiful and freeing about that, isn’t it?
I read Ilana Kurshan’s Children of the Book last year (highly recommend, by the way!). In her introduction, she writes a gorgeous portrait of the Torah, which I’m going to share with you now, because it’s something that I know will remain with me for many years to come.
When I chant from the Torah in synagogue, it is in accordance with a fixed schedule of weekly portions that Jews all over the world follow, proceeding in synchrony by a few chapters each week. In the fall, at the start of the Jewish new year, we read about the world created in Genesis and nearly destroyed by flood. As the autumn chill sets in and the nights grow longer, we follow the patriarchs and the matriarchs, who look up at the stars and journey through the desert assured by the divine promise of numerous descendants. In the coldest and darkest days of the year, we read of Joseph’s descent into the pit, cast down by his jealous brothers, only to rise to prominence in Egypt as the winter days begin to grow longer and more hopeful. Wells and wombs give way to power and persuasion, and sometime around the start of the secular new year, we come to Exodus, completing the narrative of the Israelites’ deliverance from Egyptian bondage in advance of Passover.
Around the beginning of springtime, with the shift from Exodus to Leviticus, redemption gives way to ritual. We immerse ourselves in the details of sacrificial worship, reading of sin and purification as the first flowers break through the softening soil. Just when it starts to get warmer after Passover, we trek with the Israelites through the desert, and then, when it’s too hot to move forward anymore, we stop to hear Moses recount it all over again in Deuteronomy during the dog days of summer. No sooner do we finish reading the Torah than we start all over, scrolling back to Genesis and reading from beginning to end each year anew.
And perhaps that’s what I’ll take with me from this project. We read the same stories year after year, but we are never the same people reading them. This past year I read them as a mother of four, with chickens in the backyard and sourdough on the counter, trying to make a home and a life that feels meaningful in the middle of all the ordinary chaos [the days are long, the years are short, IYKYK]. This year I’ll begin again, but I’ll be reading differently because I will be different, as will you. Cheers!