Birkat Hachama: Here Comes the Sun

Mirriam's early morning routine did not waver. If the weather was good, she would rise from her bed, perform her morning libations, then wrap herself in her red terry cloth robe, slip on her furry slippers, scurry into the backyard, sit in the lotus position on the ground under the old oak tree and meditate. She had been meditating since college, in one form or another, and it had become an essential part of her day. It was no big deal, really-- just fifteen minutes of serenity in the morning. She wasn't a Buddhist, or anything like that. If forced to classify herself--and she hated being pigeonholed-- she would have described herself as a modern orthodox Jew, or perhaps an egalitarian Jew. But who needed labels?

After her meditation she would go back inside, daven, have breakfast with the New York Times, and leave for her morning commute to work. The meditation was worth it just to keep her blood pressure down on the clogged, competitive highways of northern New Jersey. It would take the cosmic calm of a yogi not to get upset when people were cutting you off at the bottleneck known as the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

In many ways her morning routine was Mirriam's favorite part of her day. If she timed it just right, the sun would be rising as she sat beneath that majestic old tree, and its rays would warm her as she sat there. In the fall she would have to push the fallen acorns out of the way to find a comfortable place to sit. In the spring the leaves would be budding and then sprouting. In the summer she had the shade and the birds chirping. In the winter she meditated inside her house, in her sun room. She simply wasn't hard core enough to go out there when it was below freezing and the ground was hard as a rock.

Today's meditation session was special. On this particular day, the Jewish people would be reciting birkat hachama, a blessing on the sun. To Mirriam it sounded rather pagan, but the rabbis had discussed it in the times of the Talmud, so obviously it was legit. Once every twenty-eight years the Jews would go outside and make a blessing on the sun, Blessed are you Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who makes all  things in creation. It was the same blessing you made when you saw lightning or other beautiful acts of nature. Except this time it was being said to appreciate a sight you see every day.

According to tradition, every twenty-eight years the sun assumes the exact position in the sky that it had on the day G-d created it. It is like a reenactment of the heavens from the beginning of time. To Mirriam the concept held great spiritual energy. Clearly birkat hachamah was a great symbol of renewal and rebirth. A lot of Jews got together and celebrated the event with a community wide recitation of the blessing, but Mirriam decided to celebrate privately, in her own way.

The alarm clock went off fifteen minutes earlier than usual. Mirriam showered and dressed quickly; she was on a tight schedule. Her morning recitation of the shacharit service normally took her about twenty minutes, but that day she compressed it into fifteen. When she finished, she went outside and sat under her tree. The glow of the sun was clearly visible on the horizon.

She was in full meditative mode when the sun rose over the hills in the distance. She was focusing deeply on her breathing and keeping her back arrow straight. Mirriam could feel the warmth of the rays on her skin. She was one with the moment. She was certain she could sense the very moment that G-d had--

A fire engine's siren pierced the peace a few blocks away, but she tried to stay in the zone. What could she do? Despite her best efforts, she still lived in suburban New Jersey.

Mirriam stood and recited the bracha. Oseh Ma'aseh bereishit. She had done her best.

To complete her ritual, Mirriam rose from beneath the oak tree an walked to the corner or her yard. She reached beneath a hemlock bush and pulled out the trowel from where she had left it last week when she had planted tulip bulbs. She dug a small hole, reached into her pocket and pulled out apple seeds from an apple she had eaten the day before. Red Delicious. Her favorite.

Mirriam dropped the seeds into the hole and covered them with soil, working hard not to get her slippers too dirty. On April 8, 2037 , the next recitation of birkat hachamah, she would recite the blessing and eat an apple from the tree that had grown on this spot. Satisfied with her efforts, she dropped the trowel and headed for her house.

Three steps from the back door, Mirriam stopped in her tracks and turned around. She looked at her yard. She looked at her oak tree. She looked at the sun.

Mirriam cinched up her robe, marched back to the oak tree and scooped up a lone acorn, stranded since the previous fall. She walked back to the corner of her yard, picked up her trowel,  and ten feet from the apple seeds she dug a new hole. She dropped in the acorn, filled the hole, and returned to her house.

In 2065 her grandchildren would make the bracha under the shade of this oak tree. Would they meditate?  Who knew? They would have to choose their own path, just as she had.

Mirriam smiled. It was a good day to bless the sun.

Comments

[Rivka with a capital A]

We said Birkat HaHama on Har HaBayit, in the place where Rav Goren said you should say it. It was TOTALLY COOL!!

I posted a bit about it here. I plan to write a more detailed post (or two) soon.

[Rivka with a capital A]

The link didn't go through. Here it is again:
http://coffeeandchemo.blogspot.com/2009/04/har-habayit-temple-mount.html

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