It's hard to know where to begin with Passover ending at sundown tomorrow and my co-op, my Jewish community, splintering at the same time. Z and L are both moving out because it's time for endings and beginnings. I'm in L's room and I've been reading Mazel and I don't know what to make of anything. Endings have never been easy for me, even when it is time, even when it happens every year, even when I acknowledge
The week of Passover also marked the beginning of counting the Omer, and this week is Chesed, love. Today is Yesod of Chesed, bonding in love. And despite the inevitable tension that comes at the end of anything, my community is attempting to bond tonight. One last time. It's not even conscious; I doubt anyone here knows this is Yesod of Chesed, or even that it's the counting of the Omer.
I am always counting. I count days, I count minutes, I count on the outrageous cycles of indescribable repairing and shattering. Tamei and Tahor. Transitions. Endings. Beginnings. For forty-nine days, starting at Passover and ending at Shavuot, I count and count. Seven attributes for seven weeks and seven days in each week, one attribute for each day.
Chesed, Gevurah, Tiferet, Netzach, Hod, Yesod, Malchut. April. May. June. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Shabbat. Sunday.
There are names for everything.
There must be a name for someone who is always counting.