I went out to the hazel wood, drawn by the elaborate nomenclature, of its trunks, branches, and leaves, as if something stirring in the wind called to my soul. Because a fire was in my head, I needed to find a path, never before taken through these woods.
To my dismay, every way was already trodden with the footsteps of my predecessors. For, my ancestors have passed by this way, on horseback, in carts, walking side by side. From the shtetls of Europe to the Golden Land of Opportunity. Assimilation entangled me.
Until the woods opened up to a grove swept clean of the debris from past ages, raked clean by some heavenly angel, who with tears, showed pity towards me and my destiny. I have always searched within and without, above and below for a place to go, that I can call home.
The first evidence of a sense of the divine in my life, occurred when I was very young; my simple belief in G-d, demonstrated by my bedtime routine of saying the Shema Yisrael, praying for the health of my family, kneeling on the staircase leading to my parent’s room.
Years later, as a new ager, I transitioned back to my religious upbringing, when I saw the beauty of eastern thought, reflected in Jewish mysticism. So, I crossed that bridge, finding myself even more aware of the expansive void, that I previously had no name to reckon as an actual entity.
In following the arduous path that I was called to traverse, sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy;° yet, this always proves to be temporary, like the transient sounds of the night, outside the tenement window of a city dweller’s sanctuary.