Tears may linger when night falls, but joy arrives with the dawn.
This is, perhaps, my favorite translation of my favorite phrase from my favorite psalm that is part of the daily liturgy. I recite these five Hebrew words every morning—they have become an essential part of my spiritual practice because they express an emotional truth in my life. Every day is filled with moments of joy and gratitude, in which my soul soars. Every day is also filled with moments of sorrow and grief, in which my soul seeks a life of wholeness, shleimut.
Some mornings, I feel fully human as soon as my feet touch the floor. I silently sing my thanks: Modah ani l’fanekha ruach chai v’kayam, how grateful I am to awaken to the new day, filled with possibility and promise. I consider adding the campy preschool song, “I’m alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic (whoo!),” though I forgo attempting the “head, shoulders, knees and toes” movements until after I’ve tended to the dog’s morning routines.
Some mornings, the condition of being human in an aging body affects me more adversely, and I need to summon the will to spend half an hour performing the spine-stretching, core-strengthening exercises prescribed by my physical therapist before preparing to recite my next morning blessing.
* * * * * * *
In Atlanta, I used to French press my coffee only on Shabbat mornings. Since moving to New Jersey a little over a year ago, I began performing this ritual daily. It requires patience and attention to detail. While the kettle heats the water, I carefully measure the coffee, then slowly pour the water, gently stir the coffee as it bubbles to the top, gingerly press the filter into position. I set a timer and stand at the kitchen counter, watching the wildlife through the window.
Five minutes of deep breaths, anticipating my next blessing of the morning that will be whispered over the rim of a ceramic mug: Barukh atah…she-hakol n’hi-yeh bid’varo, Blessed are You, God…by whose word all things came into being.
After the first sip, I sit on the couch facing the sliding glass doors to savor the sights and sounds of God’s creatures who share my small patch of Eden. They, too, are engaging in their morning routines.
* * * * * * *
There are two trees in the backyard. One grows in the center, at the place where two neighboring yards meet ours and I, a city dweller by nature, must use an app to identify what species it is. This does not prevent me from appreciating the beauty of its dark red leaves.
I didn’t expect to be living in the suburbs at this stage of my life, didn’t imagine a home with a garage to house my pottery wheel, a shed to store our sukkah, a yard that would be home to more rabbits than squirrels.
After a few minutes, I open the NY Times Games app to solve the Connections puzzle. This prepares my mind for the intellectual challenge of my next morning ritual. Some days, when I see the groupings almost instantly, I am grateful for being a divergent thinker. Other days, I swear under my breath for losing my winning streak.
Win or lose, it’s time for the next blessing: Barukh atah…la’asok b’diveri Torah, Blessed are You, God….who made us holy through the mitzvah of engaging in the study of Torah. Then I dive into the sea of Talmud.
Most mornings, I can only devote fifteen or twenty minutes to Daf Yomi, so I read My Jewish Learning’s Daily Dose of Talmud email, occasionally clicking through to study select passages in Sefaria. Serving as a rabbi in a congregation, I’m responsible for offering divrei torah, sermons, every Shabbat, and facilitating a weekly Torah discussion for adult learners. This taste of Daf Yomi keeps me personally grounded in the spiritual practice of Torah study for its own sake.
* * * * * * *
One morning last week, when I wasn’t concentrating too keenly on Connections and Daf Yomi, my attention was diverted by the appearance of visitors in my peripheral vision. Two white-spotted, white-tailed fawns slipped quietly past the kitchen window, and both my spouse and I stood to look for their parents. He spied a large adult female in the next-door neighbor’s yard. She soon wandered slowly toward her young and positioned herself right beside them under the Cherry Plum tree. She stood still and strong as they craned their graceful necks beneath her belly to nurse.
Some mornings, the condition of being human—the daily challenges to body and spirit—interferes with my morning spiritual practice of joy and gratitude. But on this particular morning, even as I recognize the deer have been forced into our backyard by the human encroachment on their woodland homes, and I feel momentary sorrow and grieve this loss, simultaneously I feel my soul soar with gratitude upon witnessing the fullness of God’s creation. Tears of joy arrive unbidden as I recite one last blessing: Barukh atah…she-kakhah lo b’olamo, Blessed are You, God…whose world contains such beauty.
**Artwork by Rabbi Pamela J. Gotfried