Prayers for a Rainy Day
October 15, 2006
Well, here in Jerusalem the holy days are officially behind us—a day before traditional Jews in the Diaspora observe the final day of the holy day cycle between Rosh Hashanah and Simchat Torah. But, here in Israel we also observe an “extra” day of the fall festivals. This “extra” day is called Isru Hag and follows the three pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. The Talmud (Sukkot 45b) states that “One who makes an addition (Issur) to the festival (Hag) is merited as if building an altar and sacrificing upon it.” The medieval commentator Rashi interprets this to imply the day after the festival. So, we acknowledge the day after the hallowed and hectic holy days as a kind of semi-holy day to allow us to ease our way back into the rigors of everyday, profane life after our sojourn in the sacred during the festival.
Yesterday, Shabbat, Shemini Atzeret (see Leviticus 23:36) and Simchat Torah, was an incredible confluence of celebrations. Amidst all the singing and dancing with the scrolls of the Torah, the (seemingly) endless Aliyot to the Torah read in small minyanim throughout the building to allow everyone a chance to recite the blessings— I recited the Cohen blessing on the fourth complete reading of the portion in our minyan—and the general raucous cacophony that accompanies our Simchat Torah festivities, two decisively serious notes were introduced to the day’s liturgical symphony.
Following the Torah reading, our mood of joy and almost Dionysian abandon of decorum changes abruptly as we turn to the Yizkor service of memorial for our departed. In a whiplash of emotion, we move dramatically from exultation to solemn memory as we look to the past and those who have shaped us. For most of us, were it not for the people in our past and the undying influences that they etched upon our lives, we would not be the people we are as we approach this new year so filled with hope and prayer. And, so we pause to reflect gratefully upon our antecedents, giving thanks for the bounty of their harvest as manifested in and through our lives, just as we offer our Sukkot-thanks to God for the bounty of earth’s harvest. It is this reflective pause and the one that follows, amidst the frivolity and celebration that—for me—is key to the meaning of this festival of thanksgiving.
After reciting our service of Yizkor memory, we turn to the Musaf (additional service) of Shemini Atzeret during which we recite the blessing for rain—which we continue to recite until Passover and the end of Israel’s rainy season. The blessing traditionally is chanted at that service (at the end of the festival) in the hopes that rain will begin to fall in a few days. I say “in a few days” because our ancient forebears anticipated the need for pilgrims to return home on dry roads before the rains began to fall in earnest. Hence, our prayers for rain are accompanied by the unuttered proviso that the Master of the Universe hold-off on the blessing until the most practically advantageous moment. Like Yizkor, the prayer for rain adds another texture to the holy day—it directs us to the future (just as Yizkor reminded us of the past) and the realization that, despite all our scientific and technological advancements, we are still at the mercy of God’s natural blessings.
Today (Sunday, October 15, 2006) is Isru Hag and already some people have taken advantage of this break from the workaday routine to begin the daunting task of taking down their sukkah and putting it away for the year—the truth is that many of the sukkah booths, like America’s Christmas lights, often stay up well past the end of their appointed time. But, as for those who diligently began to take down their sukkah today, they were greeted, right in the middle of their labors, with a “premature” downpour! And, believe me, there is nothing like a Jerusalem downpour.
Due to our topography and climate, clouds move through Jerusalem with incredible speed. Clear and blue one minute, in a twinkling of an eye, the skies can transform into steel-gray as sheets—really sheets—of rain fall to the ground.
And so it was today, Isru Hag Sukkot 5767, the heavens opened up and blessed rain (quite literally, considering our supplications just yesterday) began to fall. Thankfully the rains were brief, though plentiful. Thus, any pilgrims caught in Jerusalem’s first major downpour of the season had no worries about being stranded on muddy roads as they make their way homeward. But, after months of desert dryness, this rain was welcome indeed. We were given a wonderful Isru Hag continuation of the meaning and message of the holy days just ended. We are reminded once again that life is filled with changes—often unpredictable—just like the turning of the year with its sudden downpour, and that it is as fragile as our Sukkot booths. So, too, we realize that life is about the gifts and griefs that we inherit from those whom we recall in Yizkor memory, while at the same time rich in hope for the future expressed in our prayers for nurturing rain.
May God grant you all the life-giving and life-affirming blessings of Isru Hag and a year of blessed rain and the raining of blessings.
Shalom from Jerusalem.
Yesterday, Shabbat, Shemini Atzeret (see Leviticus 23:36) and Simchat Torah, was an incredible confluence of celebrations. Amidst all the singing and dancing with the scrolls of the Torah, the (seemingly) endless Aliyot to the Torah read in small minyanim throughout the building to allow everyone a chance to recite the blessings— I recited the Cohen blessing on the fourth complete reading of the portion in our minyan—and the general raucous cacophony that accompanies our Simchat Torah festivities, two decisively serious notes were introduced to the day’s liturgical symphony.
Following the Torah reading, our mood of joy and almost Dionysian abandon of decorum changes abruptly as we turn to the Yizkor service of memorial for our departed. In a whiplash of emotion, we move dramatically from exultation to solemn memory as we look to the past and those who have shaped us. For most of us, were it not for the people in our past and the undying influences that they etched upon our lives, we would not be the people we are as we approach this new year so filled with hope and prayer. And, so we pause to reflect gratefully upon our antecedents, giving thanks for the bounty of their harvest as manifested in and through our lives, just as we offer our Sukkot-thanks to God for the bounty of earth’s harvest. It is this reflective pause and the one that follows, amidst the frivolity and celebration that—for me—is key to the meaning of this festival of thanksgiving.
After reciting our service of Yizkor memory, we turn to the Musaf (additional service) of Shemini Atzeret during which we recite the blessing for rain—which we continue to recite until Passover and the end of Israel’s rainy season. The blessing traditionally is chanted at that service (at the end of the festival) in the hopes that rain will begin to fall in a few days. I say “in a few days” because our ancient forebears anticipated the need for pilgrims to return home on dry roads before the rains began to fall in earnest. Hence, our prayers for rain are accompanied by the unuttered proviso that the Master of the Universe hold-off on the blessing until the most practically advantageous moment. Like Yizkor, the prayer for rain adds another texture to the holy day—it directs us to the future (just as Yizkor reminded us of the past) and the realization that, despite all our scientific and technological advancements, we are still at the mercy of God’s natural blessings.
Today (Sunday, October 15, 2006) is Isru Hag and already some people have taken advantage of this break from the workaday routine to begin the daunting task of taking down their sukkah and putting it away for the year—the truth is that many of the sukkah booths, like America’s Christmas lights, often stay up well past the end of their appointed time. But, as for those who diligently began to take down their sukkah today, they were greeted, right in the middle of their labors, with a “premature” downpour! And, believe me, there is nothing like a Jerusalem downpour.
Due to our topography and climate, clouds move through Jerusalem with incredible speed. Clear and blue one minute, in a twinkling of an eye, the skies can transform into steel-gray as sheets—really sheets—of rain fall to the ground.
And so it was today, Isru Hag Sukkot 5767, the heavens opened up and blessed rain (quite literally, considering our supplications just yesterday) began to fall. Thankfully the rains were brief, though plentiful. Thus, any pilgrims caught in Jerusalem’s first major downpour of the season had no worries about being stranded on muddy roads as they make their way homeward. But, after months of desert dryness, this rain was welcome indeed. We were given a wonderful Isru Hag continuation of the meaning and message of the holy days just ended. We are reminded once again that life is filled with changes—often unpredictable—just like the turning of the year with its sudden downpour, and that it is as fragile as our Sukkot booths. So, too, we realize that life is about the gifts and griefs that we inherit from those whom we recall in Yizkor memory, while at the same time rich in hope for the future expressed in our prayers for nurturing rain.
May God grant you all the life-giving and life-affirming blessings of Isru Hag and a year of blessed rain and the raining of blessings.
Shalom from Jerusalem.
posted by RSJD at 11:18 AM
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