My Jewish renewal community has a traditional of doing group aliyot. In other words, instead of calling up one person to say the blessing before and after the Torah reading, they create a theme around the parshah, the Torah portion being read, and call up anyone that feels drawn to that theme to say the blessings together. Then afterward the person who read Torah blesses the whole group in a way that also relates to that theme. It’s a beautiful tradition.
During the Torah reading on Rosh Hashanah, I went up for the first group aliyah. I don’t remember the exact words of the theme now—something to do with being noticed by God. Anyway, I found myself standing in front of the table with the Torah on it. I reached forward and touched the tzitzit, or fringe, of my tallit to the place where the reader was about to begin reading, and kissed them. This is a common ritual. Then the reader turned to me and asked me to hold the right tree of the Torah open as she read.
I had done this many times before. I had done all of this many times before. However, I had not been coming to services except on special occasions—like the High Holy Days—for about a year or more. (And I had sorely missed walking my spiritual path.) I gladly took hold of the tree…the tree of life.
As did, I took a deep breath. It felt good to be there with the Torah. I looked down at the words of the Torah and marveled at the fact that after so long a time away here I was standing close enough to watch this woman, my friend, read the handwritten Hebrew there in the scroll. I could see her moving the yad, the pointer, along. I could see the whole section of the scroll. I could feel the wood beneath my hand.
Longing came over me. This sacred text, this book reminded me… I sent up a prayer, a prayer: Please God, help me write my own Torah, my own story, my own book.
Then I remembered the book I had wanted to write…the book that suddenly made sense to write, that tied all my writing projects together, that tied my seemingly disparate areas of work into one cohesive whole…I knew what I needed to do.
It was as if the words, the message, came to me out of the letters of the Torah before me or flowed through the tree into my arm and up into my head—and gave me new life.
With great joy—and sadness—I let go of the Torah after the reading. I again touched my tzitzit to the scroll, this time to the spot where the portion ended, and then I received my blessing. As I walked away I knew, indeed, I had been noticed.
Have you ever had a similar experience? Has God noticed you in some way?
