Friday Dispatch: Writing From Home
Words for the Shabbat of Return
”In our pocket we might put a tiny seashell, a clump of moist soil, a seedpod, or a stone—something that, when we hold it in our palm or run our fingers over its surface, brings our skin alive with resonance of all our relations and our relationship to the whole. Something that brings us not only mentally, but somatically and spiritually back to who we are and our place in the cosmos.” ~ Rabbi Adina Allen1
“On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed.”2
Friday greetings,
I’m writing from…
Inside the junk drawer filled with things you thought you lost.
The field hidden from the road, the one with the secret path.
The Garden of Eden, remember?
The cockpit of a spaceship surrounded by starlight.
The recurring dream where I’m naked in public. True story.
Under the orange tree where I put my head on your shoulder.
The smooth pink curvature of an ancient conch shell.
The shade of the 800-year-old Druid Oak.
Our favorite bench on the Torrey Pines cliffs.
The bed where I nursed my babies.
The bustling market, buying round challah and soup chicken.
The kitchen counter where I saw your name for the first time.
The turntable just before you lift the needle to turn the record over.
The white space after the last word in your favorite book.
The sound waves of my ancestors’ laughter.
The back of a Baleen whale on its way to warmer, shallower waters to give birth.
A rain-slicked stretch of unnamed road in a country that’s not my country.
The number four: Seasons, directions, elements, questions, avot v’imachot,3 hollow chambers of the heart.
The margins where you kept track of the good parts.
The handwoven rug on the floor of the welcome tent.
The word “yes” in every language.
The eyelash of a matriarch elephant.
The square by the fountain, the one with the cherubs and the doves.
One train car over.
The mountains of salt from the dried tears of the mothers.
The moment the sun peeks through.
Petal to birdsong and cradle to grave, irrepressible, indelible, ephemeral, and infinite.
Right here – sleeping dog, wood table, strong coffee, bright morning, Days of Awe, open gates, open book, quiet searching of the heart.
Everywhere all at once.
Gratitude.
Teshuvah.4
Home.
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Happy 11th anniversary (tomorrow!) to M.J. 😍
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Shabbat Shuvah Shalom5 and love,
Jena
I’m reading from a small bagel cafe in the Catskills, with a bag of chocolate covered halvah to take home to my sweetheart. I’m reading from a space of open heart, opened by your gentle words of hope and love. I’m hoping that the Ballena whale makes it to shallow waters to spawn its young.
So beautiful Jena. I'm writing from gratitude for all that connects us.