Tag Archives: Shechinah

Hooray, Heaven-Driven and Heading Home to my Honey and my Hearth

May Rose from Theresa May
My Merrily Blooms in May rose from my Rosey friend Theresa J. May

My father has agreed to move to our home in California!!!! I can be at my own hearth and help him and have all the support I need. It’s taken a year of my life and my brother’s life and our families’ lives. It has been extremely trying and deeply painful, but more triumphant and terrific than I could ever have imagined. Caring for all the parties in this story, including myself, has taken all of my being. Really, like the rose pictured above, which by the way is the size of a pecan pie, and smells like heaven, there are layers and layers to something this beautiful and there are thorns as well!

If it’s in the cards and written in the stars and with the will of the Divine we will move my father to our home in California. Since last March I have been here most of the time and home very little. It’s been very hard for me to be away from my husband and my home. It’s also been what needed to happen to help my father recover from his heart-attacks and subsequent heart issues and the death of his beloved wife Judy.

“A person, her days are like grass, She blossoms like a flower of a field. Then a wind passes, V’EINENU, and it is all gone, nothing! Her place on earth no longer knows her. But Havaya’s love stretches from world to world, the Holy One’s sovereignty embraces all life.” ~Psalm 103: 15-19  Rabbi Tirzah Firestone’s translation

It appears that my father is not in danger of dying anytime soon, in terms of how he seems to my brother and me. The  Denver Hospice folks are not so sure. My father is better than he has been in months. We have found the right cocktail of different medications given throughout the day along with an oxygen machine. He still uses his walker some part of every day. He sleeps a great deal of the time but is also awake and telling stories and getting his affairs in order. He has been given three choices.

  1. Move in with Kevin and me in Bayside.
  2. Stay in his apartment with care-givers 6 days a week and Paul one day a week.
  3. Go into a nursing home in Boulder with Paul and Kathryn visiting many times a week.

He is choosing to move in with Kevin and I. He is talking with Kevin regularly and there is a growing sense of him having something to look forward to. Ethan will be home for the summer and will help spell me when I need a break and I’ll hire a care-giver as well. The tricky part will be getting him to our home. Paul and I and the hospice team are working out the details so as to minimize the trauma to my father on his body. He has a medical death sentence, he is not getting better, but he may defy the odds and the statistics which do not account for the kind of care my father has been getting. The food, the massages, the love, the time spent in silence and also the stubborn strong Barchilon/Cohen genetic make-up are just not what most folks at this stage in their lives have.

My grandfather Jaimé, lived to almost a hundred and two. My great-grandfather, the Rabbi of Tangiers, Aaron Cohen lived to be a hundred and four. My father has longevity in his bones.

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Aaron Cohen, Rabbi of Tangiers, my Great Grandfather

There is no way to predict when my father will cross the river Jordan and leave this earth. I can no longer stay in his home caring for him indefinitely, the toll on my body and heart is just too great.

The current plan is that I will head home to California the first week in May. My friend and sister, by choice and love, Terret will fly from Boston to Denver to help me pack up the Xterra and drive it back to Arcata. Terret and my father have a sweet relationship, when I moved away, before he found Judy, he would take her out to dinner regularly. She was my proxy, while she lived in Boulder spending time with him.

Terret will spend two days here in Denver with us and then we will drive to Boulder and I will say goodbye to my mother and Kenny, who are now in Boulder to take up residence at their new condo at the Peloton. They will spend a few months of every year here and perhaps move back to Boulder. My brother Paul and I have been getting the space ready for them, with furniture and stereo systems and they arrived to a mostly furnished home. We will fête Kenny (my other beloved father/beau-père) who will be turning 70 on April 30th.

Mom and Ken by Ellen
My mother Helen Redman and Kenny Weissberg, picture taken by his sister Ellen.

It will take Terret and me three to four days to drive back. My friend and another one of my Holy sisters by love, Tara has already been in touch with the Humboldt Hospice.  When I get home, I’ll start getting the back bedroom and our house ready for Dad and making our home accessible and safe for him. My brother will fly with Dad in early June with a portable oxygen machine from Denver to Sacramento. I will drive down to meet them and we will go to a hotel overnight and let Dad rest there. The next day, we will get on the road and drive two or three hours more and stay at a hotel again, unless Dad is up for another three hours of driving and then we will be HOME!

On a spiritual/emotional/liminal note, I have a sense of how hard it is to leave a body. I’ve spent a great deal of time with folks leaving their bodies in my time as the chair of our Hevra Kadisha/Sacred/Burial society. Please see my piece Encountering Death Consciously if you haven’t already. I’ve attended many bedsides and witnessed folks crossing. It is rarely easy for a person to disengage from the shell/vessel of their bodies.

It takes time and some interesting uniquely personal set of circumstances for each person to be finished with their bodies.

Since my father has no religious beliefs, of any kind, it’s pretty much the end for him, like stepping off a cliff and knowing that’s final. I think moving to our home is sort of a gentle step towards death, a letting go of Judy, of their home, of his life as a professor of French for over 35 years at CU, of all his Free French Forces resistance books and posters and all the stuff of his 95 years of life.

This is where he met and married my mother, this is where my sister died, this is where my brother was born, this is where he was divorced, this is where he worked and lived and where he got together with Judy and married her and enjoyed almost 20 years of love with her. This is where she died and where he is mourning her actively.

Our home is none of those things. It’s full of music, books and great art and the best part is Kevin (who my father, like me, adores). He will be able to sit on my deck and enjoy the flowers and the sunshine and the beauty of the outdoors. He will be closer to the sky and the earth and to a place of expansiveness and grace. So, his coming to us, is like a step away from his life, but not the final one, it’s the next one, bringing him closer to the step out of his body.

Please hold him, my brother and me in your thoughts and prayers as we navigate the next two months of work to make this happen. My father will have been six months with Denver Hospice by May. The statistics for his condition, age and situation say he should be dead very soon. As Mark Twain said though: “There’s lies, damn lies and then there’s statistics.”

We just have no idea what will unfold, but we’re making plans for a shift and hope it will be a gentle bridge to a time of sunshine, Ethan playing Chopin and Bach on the piano for him, Kevin having intellectual conversations with him and telling him jokes, flowers blooming, time on our deck with the birds and my beloved Redwood Tree standing sentinel over Papa and reminding him of all that is beautiful and good and of course, lots of artichokes!

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Chez Papa with my brother Paul Barchilon and his partner Kathryn Taylor. Photo by my cousin Dan Levy.

While my father and I spend a great deal of time in silence, his preference, there are times when he wants to wax philosophical.  I’m sharing teachings with him from the Buddhist tradition, the Jewish tradition and many others. Lovely and meaningful conversations are ensuing and unfolding around all of this.

Here’s one of the teachings from a Buddhist perspective that we read together.

37 Practices: Verse 4

“You will separate from long-time friends and relatives. You will leave behind the wealth you worked to build up. The Guest, your consciousness, will move from the inn, your body. Give up your life—this is the practice of a bodhisattva” ~Tokme Zongpo

“Tokme Zongpo was a 14th century Tibetan monk. After serving as abbot of his monastery, he retreated for 20 years and wrote these 37 practices of a Bodhisattva, seen by many as the core of Mahayana Buddhism.” ~Rabbi Tirzah Firestone

This teaching comes from the materials that were part of a Shabbaton/Weekend intensive I attended, called: (Lighting the Way in a Dark World The Tzaddik and the Bodhisattva). This workshop was given by one of my dear friends, and teachers Rabbi Tirzah Firestone.  My father remarked that the teachings were very interesting and beautiful. No more comment has been made about them, but I know he is processing slowly all of these moments we share. One of the teachings from the weekend really moved me profoundly and my favorite line is at the end.

“He (Rabbi Akiva, born 20 CE) used to say: Everything is given on loan. And a net is spread out over all that is alive. The store is open and the storekeeper extends credit; the ledger is open and the hand writes, and whoever wishes to borrow may come and borrow. And the collectors go round every day and exact payment, with or without our knowledge. And they do not act capriciously; their judgments are correct. And everything is prepared for the banquet.” ~Mishneh Avot/Pirkei Avot:

“Commentary: Life is on loan. Receive all that is given, and do not pretend to choice or ownership. You are a knot of God’s infinitely knotted net, never apart from and always a part of the One Who Is All. Reality allows you to do as you will, for good and for bad, and every deed has its consequence.”

~Rabbi Rami Shapiro

Many folks no longer have any relationship to Holiness or any beliefs or spiritual practices, and my father is in that category. This makes me very sad for all the suffering and fear he and others endure around so many things. This teaching by Rabbi Akiva, is one that speaks to my core. I know that everything is being prepared for the banquet. One of my ways of serving the Divine is to try to prepare a banquet for folks now, to offer them beauty, delicious food, kindness, compassion and spaciousness. I do this because I want to help create a pathway, in all those I encounter, to remind them that Olam Ha Ba/ the World to Come is real. Our time here on this earth is an opportunity to practice our table manners for the glorious banquet on the other side of this life.

 

Blue Shabbat Flowers
The Banquet I prepared for the Shechinah, every Shabbat,  in Ireland when I was on my silent, solitary retreat.

 

Night of the Dead by Steve Smith

Dia de los Muertos
El Dia de Los Muertos: photo by Steve Smith
 “In the casa where I am currently staying in Jalpan, Mexico, an altar is set up prominently to honor the ones that are loved but seen no longer. Their photos, together with food offerings for their journeys, a shrine to the Virgin Mary, and other mementos are displayed as a living tribute to the dead. It is this way in every casa in this puebla, and throughout Mexico. This tradition fuses the Christian doctrine of the communion of saints with the more ancient beliefs of the distant past. The dead live among us, and together, we and they pass through this temporal life joined together. Across the great divide that separates mortality and the life beyond, an unbroken chain of love binds one and all.” ~Steve Smith
Let me introduce to you my friend Steve Smith. Steve and I met at Holy Hill Hermitage in Skreen, County Sligo, Ireland when we were both on retreat there. Steve and his wife were there for two months. I was there for nine. You can read all about my adventures in Ireland, if you haven’t already, right here, under the Jubilee tab. Steve was working on his novel called, The Twin, which is historical fiction about Jesus and his brother Thomas, who Steve has conjured and who is very much real. Steve’s story is an accurate historical portrayal of life in Israel/Palestine around the years when Jesus walked the earth.

His story is about the entire family and their hard lives as Jews under the oppressors of the Roman Empire. All the characters that folks know from their bibles are here, but they are having lives, just like we do, and those lives are colored by terrible horror, acts of barbarity, beauty and complexity. Steve consulted with me, which was a happy circumstance for us both, about all things Jewish. Steve is a retired priest, he knows his stuff Christian and Jewish, Buddhist and Hindu. Nevertheless, he isn’t Jewish. Part of his story is about the Divine Feminine and both of his Marys, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene are women of power and are channels for the Shechinah.

Steve is already in touch with the Shechinah. Shechinah gets mistranslated and mispronounced all the time. Trying to name the Divine, is just not really possible. All we can do is list the attributes, describe the qualities. Shechinah is not the name of the female part of the Divine. Shechinah is much, much more than that and not containable within any boundaries. She is called the “In-Dwelling Presence” most often. In the Hebrew, when there is a reference to the cloud that protected the Jewish people as they journeyed in the desert for forty years, that cloud is referenced as the Shechinah’s Presence. She is the protector and the lover and the gentle, tender, green-earth growing mothering aspects of the Divine. Whenever the Divine is being referenced as merciful, the word used comes from the root for the word womb/rechem. This word becomes the word Rachamim.

A more accurate translation for this Hebrew to English would be Womb-Like One. Imagine if when you read the bible, instead of  “Merciful God” which is how it gets translated, it actually said “Womb-Like One.” I always try to get folks to understand this basic concept. There is no word for god in the Torah (see Why Ha-Shem Not Naming the Divine). There are only attributes of Holiness that are used interchangeably based on what is going on and what is needed. When those qualities are feminine, which many of them are, female gendered language is used, verb tenses etc… When those attributes are masculine, male gendered language is used. Obviously, the Divine does not have a gender, nor are the words masculine and feminine very useful to try and understand the fluidity of gender that exists in the actual Torah when read in the original Hebrew.

Shechinah Mama
The offerings of the Shechinah Mama as she is clearly visible in this photo taken by Steve Smith

Access and understanding of the sacred texts in their original language is crucial, but it  is something few of us can do. Since having feminine references to GOD THE FATHER was not okay, back in the day, when all of this was translated to Latin, Greek, German and eventually English, we have the mess we have now.The Divine is all and more. The Shechinah is part of that all and more. My connection with Steve happened in Ireland, where we studied her works and who she might have been in the lives of the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene. I invite you to read his book, if you are interested in a great story that many folks think they know, but the way Steve tells it, is something all together more. The link for his book will be at the end of this post. With no further ado, I am greatly honored to include this Dia de Los Muertos travel-narrative story by my friend Steve. Unlike his book, this post is not about Jesus as a child, but about being saved when you are lost and alone and finding that you are indeed held in a womb-like way, even when you think you are alone.

In gratitude for all the ways Holiness unfolds in folks and in the world, nicole_logo3-400

Sierra Gorda
Steve Smith at Sierra Gorda

Dear Family and Friends,

After settling in to our new life in Mid-Coast Maine, Jeannette and I have just embarked on another ex-pat adventure.  Jeannette is in Barcelona, Spain, where she has been invited to team teach an extended workshop in Internal Family Systems to a mostly Spanish-speaking audience.  She will be participating in this workshop in November, January, and March.

This week, I left for Mexico, and am staying first in a small mountain town, Jalpan de Serra in the Sierra Gorda, in an exquisite ecological zone five hours north of Mexico City.  Jeannette will be joining me for a seven week stay in San Miguel de Allende, followed by a week in the Yucatan, before she heads back to Spain.  I will be travelling to Peru in January, where good friend, Michael Corrigan will join me to experience Cuzco, Macchu Pichu, and Lima.  Then I will meet up with Martin in Chile, and travel to Patagonia for some trekking, before visiting Argentina.  While we are away, Colleen and Luke are taking up residence at our house-sit Seacroft, our wonderful home, by the Penobscot Bay.

It was a crash landing arriving in Mexico a couple of nights ago.  I picked up my rental car in Mexico City, and, foolhardily perhaps, tried to rely on my long since atrophied cab driver skills to negotiate my way out of one of the largest cities on the planet.  That painfully accomplished, I started out my journey to Jalpan, which Google Maps had identified and directed me to north and east of Mexico City.  Even then, I managed to fritter away my time getting lost, and as darkness set in, I found myself on deeply pothole pocked roads, doing untold damage to my front tires and rims.  Finally, my left right front tire blew, and I coaxed the car into a Pemex station, and got out the spare, which, predictably, was bald.  Into the night, I pressed on, now sleep deprived and disoriented heading up into the switchbacks of the montañas.  Suddenly, my right tire blew, and I had no breakdown lane or place to park the car.  For at least a few miles, I drove the car on its rim, hoping against hope for somewhere to pull out.  Finally, a small opening appeared in the darkness, but still, I was not out of harm’s way.  Ongoing trucks bore down on me, blaring horns and high beams alight.

For a moment, I had a strong premonition, with no dramatic exaggeration intended, of my death, brought on, no doubt, by an overwhelming sense that I was completely lost and vulnerable, that brought on, no doubt, by my complete stupidity and arrogance in assuming I could bivouac my way through this uncharted territory.

Despair is a funny thing. It eviscerates, but it also provides for some detachment. I raised the hood, put on the hazard blinkers, opened the trunk, and stood in the darkness, facing the oncoming lights and blare of horns.  In that timeless place, I thought it would be hours, if at all, before rescue would come.  And at that very moment, a truck approached and turned on its blinking lights. My loved ones must have been praying at that moment.  I sure was.  It was a wrecker.

Out appeared a young man, Mitch he introduced himself, and we began the task of communicating what had happened to my rental.  My Spanish is rusty in my good moments, but without sleep and stressed, it’s a jumbled mess.  After several fits and starts, and appeals to my Google map, and showing him by the light of his cellphone the damage I had done to both rims, he cheerily urged me into the cab, while he waved off traffic, and hoisted the car on to truck’s bed.  Ten miles further, he brought me to his hometown, Huauchinago, and pulled into his workplace, where his compañeros, taking good-hearted delight in this gringo’s predicament, set to pounding out the sorry tire rims with mallets.  Everyone has damaged rims in Mexico, they said.  One pantomimed a giant boom to show how the cars fell into the ubiquitous potholes.

Then, my host in Jalpan, who I had texted earlier on Mitch’s cellphone in the car, rang.  I explained how close I was, and I was on my way, after I weathered this interruption.  “Huauchinago”?, he asked, “I don’t know this town.”  It seems, with help from Google, I had found another Jalpan in the opposite direction, and was now eight hours off course.  Now, hearing Mitch explain things, the compañeros were doubled over.  Then, Mitch set to getting this pilgrim to a hotel in town, while they set out to repairing my car.  The night was ablaze with the fireworks of the great feria, La Dia de Los Muertos.  When we arrived in town, skeletal apparitions appeared, all reveling in this festival, where the dead come out to party with the living.  Reflexively, I joined in the dance.

Next morning, Mitch brought me back to the car, and demonstratively showed me how bad all the tires of the car the rental agency had given me, so we set out to a roadside tire shop.  There, two cousins, named in Spanish “The Mosquito Bros”, changed out all my tires on my repaired to normal rims, and found new tires with enough tread to get me safely on my way.  Mitch wanted to take pics, and get ourselves set on Facebook as friends.  He told me about his four-month old daughter and four-year old son.  He said, as best I could understand him, my detour had led me to Huauchinago, so we could become friends.

Amigo
Amigo Mitch, fixing Steve’s tires.

There are no accidents in this life, and in anything that appears like an accident, like my fateful entry into Mexico to experience a humanity and hospitality that is sorely absent these days in my own homeland,  always grace is close at hand. I had wandered into one of those thin places and in that liminal space where the living meet the dead, I had encountered angels unaware.Blessings,

Steve

The Twin
https://www.amazon.com/Twin-Untold-Story-Jesus-Thomas/dp/1542894018/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1509972047&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Twin+Stephen+SMith

Spiritual Feminism and Family

 

Shira Mom Paul
Three Fabulous Feminists in my Family: Helen Redman, Shira Barchilon Frank and Paul Barchilon

Recently my mother Helen Redman and daughter were interviewed in the Washington Post. My comment to that article was too long for their comment section, so I’m posting what I want to say here and I encourage you to read the article: Unfinished Business; A feminist calls out her feminist grandmother. It’s part of their New Wave Feminism section. The piece was written by Dave Sheinin. You can read my comments first, but really they refer to the article a fair amount. Or if you read my thoughts first it will give you a unique perspective on the piece that was in the Post. It has great pictures of Shira and my mom as well! You have to click on Dave Sheinin’s name to get to the article he wrote. Or you can read all of them.
http://wapo.st/newwavefeminism

My Full Response:

Weighing in from my nine-month Sabbatical retreat in Ireland. I am the daughter of Helen and the mother of Shira, I’m the generation between, in the middle, a FEMINIST always, and proud to call myself one. My mother’s dedication to feminism, to her own artistic calling and to goodness made it possible for me to be who I am. I honor and am grateful to her, and all her sisters, in the work of making the world a better place for all. She and all the women and men who came before her are forever in my prayers of gratitude.

My perspective is different than both my mother’s and my daughter’s as stated in the Washington Post article. Since my personal take wasn’t mentioned in the piece and I rarely hear it talked about in the mainstream, I’m entering this discussion. I do so from my place of solitude and stillness which, I have taken as a Sabbath from my life of caring for my family and community. This is my Jubillee (50th year) and it is an extra special year of rest. I have been planning it for over twenty years. I am alone, completely, for the first time in my life in a small cabin in a remote area of Ireland. I am here as a woman in need of a “room of her own.” You can read all about that under the Jubilee category here.

My relationship to all things is based on and in my spiritual practice. I would even go so far as to call myself a Spiritual Feminist. I’m a writer and a Jewish Lay Leader, not yet a rabbi. My choice to parent, instead of having abortions when I was young (19 and 21) and single, resulted in my two oldest children, Shira (31) and my son Issac (29). Neither of the men in this picture were present for me or my children. I chose being present for my children, welfare as a single mother, and living in the woods with some crazy people (for work-exchange) so that I could be with my kids. The other choice would have been me working some menial job and putting my babies in day-care and still not being able to get by. A large percentage of the women I know have had abortions at one time in their lives and my choice not to have them was within the context of a world where I had that choice.

I made my Feminist decision to be with my kids, even though it meant not finishing college in a timely manner, not having a career and living in very challenging circumstances. My choice to not have abortions, when that was suggested and seemed feminist, was a radical departure from what most other young women in 1983 would have chosen. I have supported and will always support a woman’s right to choose about this issue.

Nicole & Ethan, 1997 At Boulder Creek
Mama Nicole and baby Ethan 1997

I was in relationship with my body, the earth, the Holy One, and my children from the moment their souls entered my body. I have three children by birth and many others by love, who I have either raised or helped raise, and who consider me one of their mothers. I chose mothering, and being physically present for my children and children in need. I made sacrifices or choices or willing offerings that meant my “career” never happened. If I now go to school to become a rabbi, I will be 60 by the time I’m done. No one will most likely be interested in hiring me. I have been happily married for 26 years to a phenomenal man, who adopted my first two children (Shira and Issac) and with whom I have a third child, Ethan. All of my children have a father who loves, supports and honors them in all their diversity of choices. He also does this for me. He is the more significant wage earner in our family, because his skills are valued by our culture and society financially over mine by several degrees of magnitude. He is a database designer.

Nicole Kevin framed
My Man and I, May 2015

My skills are extensive, but because I finished college at the age of 32 (attending here and there when my children were in school and I was able to), I was way behind in the career zone. Then, I was pregnant with my third child, Ethan (19). Consequently, I still do not have more than a BA. I have worked since I was fourteen years old as either a child-care provider, waitress, bus-person, cook, legal assistant, office administrator, therapeutic behavioral aide and many other small jobs, that have never paid more than a little over minimum wage.

My jobs have always been part-time so I could be available for my children, so I could cook dinner and we could sit around the table together as a family and talk and pray and share. I have poured myself into the lives of my children as they grew and created an environment for them that has allowed each of them to become the beautiful beings they are. I’ve made huge mistakes and choices that were not good for my children, but I’ve also always loved them and been present for them, I’m human.

Ethan Issac Shoulders 4
Issac and Ethan at Ethan’s graduation from Northcoast Preparatory Academy in May of 2015

I have a large circle of friends and many folks who consider my opinion to be of tremendous value, but no one is paying me for my wisdom yet in this world, other than my husband, who considers my input and efforts for our family to be of tremendous value. I also am in relationship with the Divine, who I trust for my sustenance in all things and down to the core. If I don’t earn much money this lifetime, I hope that my Chesed/Loving Kindness and my Avodah/Service will do me just fine in Olam Ha-Ba (the World to Come)

Feminism, for me, is about relationships, it is personal, political, and spiritual.

When I pray I use Hebrew, which is a gendered language. In Hebrew the Divine is referenced in the feminine when She is the Shechinah (In Dwelling Presence of Holiness), in the masculine when He is the Melech (King). But you won’t find that nuance, which isn’t even a nuance in the Hebrew, when you read the bible in English. So, in my prayers I call out to the vast energy of Holiness and there are an infinite variety of forms and qualities to Holiness.

The Divine is Ineffable. Gender is just a context we use that is familiar when trying to relate to our universe. We are all souls in bodies, on a very fluid spectrum in terms of our relationships to our genders and to our planet. Some folks feeling they are ONLY Male or Masculine, others ONLY Female or Feminine.

I truly believe most folks are in a much more flexible place on that particular scale, we are all Transitional Beings as far as I’m concerned. We are all moving through this world in one form now, but that is only one of our forms. We are not singularities or individuals as much as we think we are. We are all ONE. All of this is part of my Feminism and my Judaism. Without the Feminist movement the discussions about gender, and Holiness and choices being fuller than either or, or one size fits all, wouldn’t exist. The problem is that we are still NOT in relationships of value and meaning with the Earth, with our souls, with our beautiful and different bodies, and with each other in loving and kind ways.

My Feminism is about embracing a world where things are radically different than they are now. It’s a world where we are engaged with loving our bodies, our choices, our differences, our minds, our hearts and this amazing gift of a planet we are spinning on. It’s about having conversations with trees, birds, flowers and with those walking around in human form. It’s about not making more reasons to separate ourselves one from the other, but looking for where we are RELATED and similar and how we can build those connections so that we NEVER maim, harm, rape, kill or violate each other. That world isn’t here yet, but I am praying every day for it. I call out to the Shechinah and to HaMelech all the time in hopes that this dreamed and hoped-for world, Olam Ha-Ba will arrive in my lifetime, or if not mine, perhaps my children’s.

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The window-seat in my hermitage, where I pray for the world where we are all honored and treasured and loved.