Never Man Made

March 18th, 2011

“If you get the chance, take a look at the moon tonight.” Is what my dad said right before we hung up. I’m here in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. My amazing daddy drove me here and I’m spending the weekend with my best friend in the entire world and my dad is in Memphis with his sister. (My aunt Judie.) Anyway, he told me to look at the moon.
It’s been on my mind… the moon. I heard it was huge and I had to see it for myself. After Gabi and I finished watching one of my favorite movies, Alice in Wonderland, we came upstairs and downloaded another movie. I turned to her and said,
“Dude. We have to go look at the moon. I really want to.” She reluctantly agreed and we walked slowly down the stairs. I was in my flip-flops and they made a sort of low clicking noise as we slowly descended down the stairwell. She told her mom what we’d be doing, and then carefully opened the large white door, which made a high screeching noise right as the alarm beeped three quick times. We stepped onto the threshold of the porch and closed the large door behind us. We turned to look at the moon and saw something amazing.
Of course, the moon was still there. Up in the sky, glowing bright like it always does. But as we looked closer, we noticed something more than just the moon. Around the moon was a gigantic ring of light, reflected from the moon. I couldn’t tell whether it was being reflected onto the clouds or not, but I’ve decided to think of it as sheer magic. Because I do believe in magic. It sounds cliché, but I believe magic comes in four forms: love, music, hope, and just sheer magic. This was sheer magic. I’ve seen many amazing things in my life. I’ve been around the world. Stood under Big Ben at twelve o’clock, climbed a mountain, prayed at the Western Wall, and run my feet through the sandy beaches of the Bahamas and much more. But this chalks up every magic moment in my life. This was equal to the awe I felt standing at the Western Wall next to a woman with concentration camp numbers tattooed on her arm.
That golden ring. Miles in diameter. Glowing bright among a few stars and a cloudy sky. Unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed in my fifteen years of age. (Granted that’s not that many years coming from the eyes of a person.) Gabi and I took a moment of silence, gawking at the wonder drawn by God’s compass. We clasped hands and exchanged a look of happiness when no words could come to mind. There are no words to describe what we saw tonight. The wind blew gently, rustling the brushes surrounding her house and softly caressing my hair. I turned to her and said,
“Let’s sing the sh’ma.” She looked at me and smiled… I let her begin and I quickly joined in. With our arms around each other, we sang sweetly to the sky as not to shatter the fragile ring above our heads. When we were done, I looked at her again,
“It’s a Shabbat miracle.” She looked at me and smiled.
“It is Shabbat, isn’t it?” I nodded, still looking up at the sky. We could hear frogs and crickets chirping and the empty winds whispering to the world around us. I suggested we sing the very last verse of the Havdalah, a celebration of the past week and the one to come. The last verse goes as follows: Baruch atah, adonai elohanu, melech haolam… hamav'dil bein kodesh l'chol. Which translates as, “Blessed are you, adonai our God, ruler of the universe who separates sacred between secular.” The last prayer in the Havdalah is recognizing the separation between Shabbat, one of the holiest holidays from the rest of the week. I see the symbolism in that. Separating the sacred and the secular. Witnessing something so different in such a plain world is by all means sacred.

Seeing something so… out of this world (literally) is not something many people see on a daily, or even yearly basis. Perhaps no one will ever witness something so amazing in his or her entire lives. Who do I thank for this moment? Myself? Not in the least. God? Maybe. But you never know in this world.

This, seeing something so fantastic and amazing, was one of the most defining points in my life. My love for my being, my friends, and my religion.





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