by Dana Janine Diamond
Shabbat is half a day away and the full moon is shining brightly, directly above our window. God is smiling on us as Fall turns to winter and we are floating like the harvest colored leaf, up to the light in the sky. Her laughter is in my heart. She laughed within herself. Was this her brilliance, her modesty? We are the deep, the divide, the mystery of mysteries. And our laughter, what do You and you make of this? Is our sweeping sound our deepest truth? An expression of our awe, humility, incredulity, the foreshadow of the pain of birth. A deep inhale in preparation for what comes next.
Our mother wants us to laugh, our mother wishes us joy before the day begins. There’s no man in the moon, silly story. It’s our mother, the gentle tug of the tides, bathing us in laughter. It’s within her and within us. So much we must keep to ourselves, we all live in secrets but this, this, this, we can share. She is sharing her moment with God, she brought the Almighty humor into the world with her laughter, and so begins the birth of joy. The cachinnation that births a nation. We celebrate, we light the light, as she foretold the parting of the waters, in her dialogue with God. The ironic, iconic, twist and we’ve come through, the bellows of her laughter echoing in our memories, the chord that ties us to her love.
Even late into the day, at the end of the night, we still hear her after all this time, this waiting. Even as the leaf leaves the tree in the lighter light, carried away in the arms of the wind, and snow readies itself to purify. Even now, it is not too late. Rejoicing waits for us. And the muse of amusement is missing us. We pine, we long to fly up to the moon. And the laughter, the laughter, the laughter is our knowledge, our deepest expression of our truest truth. And she laughed, for she understood more of God, she knew Avraham and the world a bit better. The infinite howl, the chortle, guffaw, the giggle, mirth, the peals, the glee and the great Tee Hee! The insight, this is her gift, a mother’s gift that precludes all words. So we know, once and for all, we are born in joy by the light of the moon and all the stars in the sky.
Detail of The Wedding Candles by Marc Chagall, 1945
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