2003-04-01 - 8:15 p.m.
This entry is my collaboration entry for On Display. The topic for March was "New Again." (Yes, I'm a bit behind.)NEW AGAIN
Family and friends have left. Day-Hay has lead services, read Hebrew from the Torah where it is written without vowels, and sung her Haftorah, a selection from the prophets. She did it with a dramatic flair, a soaring voice, and a poise I did not realize she possessed. I have moved from worrying about lessons, caterers, and florists back to everyday life. Everything is the same and everything is new again.
The lengthening of the days alone makes everything new again this time of year. You might think that an earlier riser would hate the coming daylight savings time but I don�t. Daylight savings time is for long walks in the evening with Mr. Philately, for possibilities, and for lifting of the spirit. Spring is coming into the light. Spring is for renewal of good habits such as exercise and writing. Spring is for shaking off the doldrums and other demons of darkness.
How appropriate then that the end of March was the time for Day-Hay�s Bat Mitzvah. Saturday morning, she asked me to put her hair up in a twist with curls coming down. Normally, that style would not have worked because she would not have had the patience for me to slowly make my way around her head with the curling iron. But the new, more mature Day-Hay sat. The new Day-Hay looked chic and tailored and very, very together.
But style is only surface. Day-Hay�s style was the least impressive part. I knew that Day-Hay could do her tasks well. What I did not expect was that she would shed her shyness and performance anxieties and belt out the chant of her Haftorah. What I did not expect is that she would be seized by a spirit and sing as though transported somewhere. What I did not expect was that my child who approaches God with trepidation and anger, if she approaches at all, would find such richness in a religious service and make it so beautiful.
Mr. Philately saw it and it moved him deeply. I�ve rarely seen my husband cry except an occasional surreptitious tear at a sappy movie. But when it came time to speak to Day-Hay of his love and pride, the tears welled up right there in front of the crowd. A less stubborn fellow would have handed his speech to his wife but Mr. Philately soldiered on. Day-Hay was sympathetic. Day-Hay was sweet and handed him a glass of water from beneath the podium. Day-Hay was so gentle that she undid him all the more. But he made it through.
We�ve been through this start of coming-of-age before. Day-Hay is, after all, our second child. Yet while much of Saturday was familiar, none of it was old. Of all the miracles and blessings of the day, perhaps that one was the greatest. It was all new�again.
LAST YEAR: Good for a Jolt
Silenced by Visions
What Can�t Be Undone
Needing a Little Exercise
War
Keys, Glorious Keys
Keeping Above Water
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
