Any Holiday Shabbat is hard for me. Shabbat during Yamim Noraim is harder.
This is the time when I think of my life many years ago, the mistakes I made, the wrong decisions, and finally, my assumptions that these somehow paved the way to the death of the person I loved the most. By now, over twenty years after the fact, I know that the disease does not need any help from me, it is cruel and fast on its own. Most of the time, that’s what I think. Not these days. These days, I look in the mirror and see a woman over 50, way older than the man with no gray hair I lost. These are the days, when I ask myself again – how can I even pray to be sealed in the Book of Life if I am not sure that I want it?
I look in the mirror and get reminded of my own features long ago, in my maiden days – soft skin, bright eyes. Most of the time I am fine with my own appearance. People even say that I look very young. Not today. Today, I think of us – hopeful, happy on that spring day of 1983 – a lifetime back in a county that does not exist.
The verses come to my head, and I put them down after the sundown.
Life is seeping through my fingers
Trickling down to the puddle of minutes by my feet
Flowing the spring of hours to the sea of the days of my life
The sea is not big, but it rushes the falls’ waters to the seemingly endless ocean.
The ocean of years absorbs every day, so I can’t see the other side, but I know it exists.
There, at the end of it, far from my sight, your soul is waiting for me cared for by Gd, Himself
Just so that we can meet