Days of Awe
Tonight is a New Moon, and also the festival of Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashannah is a loud festival, marked by the blowing of four distinct blasts on the shofar, a traditional Jewish instrument made from the hollowed out horn of a ram or bull. My dad and brother could both blow it, although usually it was my dad who did for the festivals. My mother lit the candles and made a round challah, shaped like a crown and decorated with raisins, which my father would bless before breaking. Rosh Hashannah is not only the beginning of the Fall Festivals and a High Holy Day for those keeping the traditional Jewish festivals, but also the first of the Ten Days of Awe. During this harvest time before winter, observant Jews and those who celebrate alongside them spend these days between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur in reflection and prayer, preparing their souls for the Day of Atonement. It is a time not only to take stock of past mistakes, but also to evaluate one’s relationships; a chance to start the new cycle of festivals with a clean spiritual slate.
Growing up practicing Messianic Judaism is weird. To us, Rosh Hashannah was not the New Year but the day Yeshua (Jesus) is supposed to return. The round challah was a crown for the King. The shofar blasts are to herald his return, and the Days of Awe are a dress rehearsal for the serious soul searching necessary to pass muster on the great Day of Judgement. Since Messianic Judaism is essentially a Christian-Judaism hybrid, “Messies” don’t fit with “real” Christians; and if you, like us, are not Jewish you end up feeling like second-class citizens of your own faith. And since the vast majority of non-Jewish Messianics I’ve met seem to feel the constant need to prove their worth in the “kingdom” they have been adopted into—usually by trying to be The Most Right about…something—it’s unlikely that you’ll find a true place anywhere. It’s a lonely life sometimes, but it taught me to love ritual and the observance of the recurring agricultural festivals (not to mention a deep appreciation of debate), and for that I am grateful.
It is a time of year for self-reflection, however. Samhain is coming (October 31st), and with it the season of Endarkenment and the reign of the Crone. But, deconstruction is still too fresh for me to be comfortable tallying up my sins. Besides, October is one of my favorite months: the year’s Golden Hour. Right now the weather is just about perfect and the leaves are starting to fall. Mornings and evenings are cool enough to warrant cozy blankets and hot mugs of tea or coffee. Soon I’ll be able to get my weighted blanket out again (one of my favorite things ever). Fall isn’t just sweater weather, it’s boots and jeans weather (two other favorite things). It’s time to walk the property again and marvel at all the changes, like I did this morning with Lee, my younger daughter. We stopped to admire a half-formed Fairy Ring and I told her the legends about portals that open to the Otherworld (the realm of the fae) on Samhain and Beltane. I pointed out a brilliant garden spider in her masterfully woven web. We basked in the sun and shivered in the shade. It was the perfect way to start our day. And I thought, we should do this everyday.
“Awe” is defined as: “A feeling of respect or reverence mixed with dread and wonder, often inspired by something majestic or powerful.” This is how I feel when I am in the Autumn out-of-doors. The world is glowing and vibrant with this last blast of energy, but the dying time is coming…and every year the weather patterns grow less predictable. The Mother is wounded, and we all suffer for it (even those of us who refuse to admit the science is sound instead of simply “weird”). And yet, she is magnificent still.
I am hereby extending my own Days of Awe to include the entire rest of October, from now until Samhain. For this month I will begin each day with a walk, or at least poking my head outside for a minute if that’s all I have time for, and end it with gratitude. My husband started the tradition of saying what we’re grateful for at dinnertime a couple of years ago, although it’s been one of those on-and-off traditions. This month I want to turn it into a practice, each night saying something different that I’m grateful for. Tonight it was enchantment. I am grateful for a beautiful outdoor space to explore and for naturally wondering children to share it with. I am grateful for my imagination and curiosity which allows me to experience the magic all around me. My childhood experiences with the unseen world might have been largely based in fear, but they aren’t anymore. I have re-enchanted my life, and it is good.