Not ready for the blast, the awakening. Not ready for the wrenching sobs from tens of dozens of people who must be better prepared.
I am not ready.
Although I’ve taught Elul and thought Elul though I’ve carefully penned Ani L’dodi V’dodi Li on letters although I took on a tiny kabbalah on Rosh Chodesh and have been struggling all month to keep it up.
It is Erev Rosh Hashanah. The house is humming along quietly; I have no excuse. Still living in my parents’ home and lucky enough not to have work today I feel an intense pressure to do more prepare be ready.
I set the table and run errands and forgive me Hashem have no choice but to spend two hours in the mall procuring supplies for work. My job as teacher in elementary and high schools can’t take a rest — this is my only day off and Tzom Gedalyah will see me back in the classroom at 9:00 a.m. I spend the bus ride in a haze of guilt self-justification and the flutter of butterflies: I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready.
Not ready to stand in judgment.
Not ready for the recall: each moment each captured snapshot of time frozen in a space that bears witness for all and forever.
Create a free account to keep reading.
