I just finished davening Shacharit. I am not a morning person. Shacharit takes a little more concentration and focus, but that's a good thing. Years (and years) ago, at my rabbinical school entry interview, one of the rabbis on the interview committee asked me how adding Shacharit had added to my day. I responded that I needed to be more awake and aware. If I wasn't, my tefillin strap would get tangled in my tzitzit, and I'd need ten to fifteen minutes to untangle them before I could proceed. It may not have been the most practical answer, but it was honest. It improved my davening and my morning. The committee laughed and, later that day, accepted me into rabbinical school.
I've come a long way from worrying about tangling my tefillin straps (although it still happens every once in a while as a cosmic reminder to attend my prayers). I now have multiple tallitot for different days and places. I wear my father's z"l white tallit for the High Holidays. I wear my JTS tallit when representing the community. At home and on the road I wear a smaller red tallit. It's smaller. It's light. It's simply easy.
I also have a large, loose-weave, blue tallit I made one summer at Camp Ramah. No matter what tallitot I get or make, I always come back to this one. It wasn't my first. It was my fourth. It wasn't even the first I chose for myself. But it's my favourite.
What's so special about this tallit? I can say that I loved the fabric from the first time I saw it. I can say it's because I made it by hand. I can say it's because the loose-weave keeps it from sliding. But the real reason is ephemeral. Though I love all my tallitot, this one feels right. It feels right the way a worn-in pair of jeans or a favourite sweatshirt feels right.
That's in normal times. These are not normal times. We are amidst a pandemic. Now, when I wrap myself in that tallit, I feel the warm, solid weight of memory in its weave. I feel the comfort of every moment shared with family and friends in shul and at camp, in mornings before building with Habitat for Humanity, and at shiva minyanim. Its fibers are like the embrace of the community around me. This morning, I wrapped myself in my tallit, and as I felt it settle onto my shoulders, I heard in my mind a lyric from "Snoopy," by Steve Krause, "though his blanket may tatter he'll still hold it close 'cause security's something we never outgrow." Covid has made my mornings times to reflect. To look back to that interview question, how has it changed my davening? Tefillot are a quiet oasis of comfort and memory in a world I don't fully recognize.
There's another lyric from the song, "and then there's Charlie Brown falling down again." No matter what, Charlie Brown continues to hope. "This time," he thinks, "this time I'll make the kick. I'll succeed." We're all Charlie Brown right now. We need that security. But just like one season passes into another, like one year turns to the next, this too will eventually come to an end. For now, "memory shines like the spring coming just around the bend." I hope Snoopy will save me a dance.
To check out more of Steve Krause's music click here or like his Facebook page. Steve is a friend from years ago. He is a gifted musician and a good human being. I highly recommend his music. I receive no benefits through this endorsement.
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