Last night began my son's birthday. It's a fairly ordinary day in December, if it doesn't happen to be your own birthday. But it's a remarkable morning in the Jewish month of Tevet here in the southern foothills of Jerusalem.
Cup of steaming coffee in hand, I walked outside to appreciate the view. It's always lovely here. But today felt like a special miracle, a love-note from Hashem. The full moon was still out, which always reminds me of a sweet children's song we used to sing in Brownies, all of our faces so serious, wanting not to drop our places in the round:
Mister Moon, Mister Moon, you're out too soon.
The sun is still in the sky.
Go back to your bed and cover up your head,
and wait till the day goes by.
This moon was so very bright, so well-defined. I thought of my newly-minted 21-year-old, working in the fields in Beit Shean, loving the land and its produce and the Land and her people more and more each day. He's probably awake, getting ready for his day in the fields, I was thinking. I wonder if he can see this moon where he is?
My sister's daughter just had a son, and she wrote about the joy of small miracles:
The most holy and sacred gifts of this life, for me, are the most ordinary. The baby was simply born. Today, like every day, simply came. I am grateful for the abundance of miraculous, ordinary moments.
Here's to some of the recent "miraculous, ordinary moments."
|Some of the children I love, who don't belong to me, and their children.|
|One of my very own little miracles: he looks just like his dad did, way back when.|
|Another one of my little miracles, who looks a lot like her Savta did, but with her mama's amazing eyes. Photo credit: KF Productions|