To try, or not to try, that is the question. No, do or do not, there is no try.° Yet, I feel so hesitant about making a choice. If you do not choose, you still have made a choice.* My voice fails me; I no longer have words to speak. Give your will a voice. Find strength within. My will is weak. Strengthen me, master. The Force will strengthen you.
G-d will strengthen you, my child. Father, I feel so weak. Temptation abounds. Let His will for you, be your own. My voice falters, my words are diminished as I speak. His words are greater than our words, my son. I can hardly choose the right path, nor find my way. The way is narrow, and the path is straight. Then, I will try to make my way through the darkness. If you try, then He will meet you halfway.
O Aviv, upon your full moon, hinge all of the promises anew. The grains of the barley harvest, are roasted, ground, and sifted. Mixed with oil, a handful of frankincense placed on top. Then, consumed by the flames, it’s smoke arises to Shomayim. Thus, completed, we may partake of the abundance of the harvest.
The sheaf of the first fruits stands as a reminder across the generations. To all who aspire towards righteousness, as upright sheaves, standing in the field. Waiting for the harvest, we seek renewal, when the day arrives for joyful reaping. And, the sheaves will be gathered, waived like lulav branches in the wind. Carried across the lands of the earth, to be planted anew in Yerushalayim.
Pesach offering, unleavened bread, wine, and guests; waiting for next year.
Blue is the color of techeles: sky blue, looking down from Shomayim. The ocean, likened unto Torah flows within our veins, whether recognized or not, sometimes, only latent.
Until some rich experience, a wake up call orchestrated from He Who sits upon His throne in His place (makom) gestures, in a way that the designated angel understands, and makes its way to place the holy intuition within the mind of one who will be born anew, as if he always knew his origin, roots, and mission.