Bowing from the waist in a full bend over and over again facing east, standing on one foot shifting body weight from side to side, the Kaddish is coming, the room is filling up, counting everyone as they enter the chapel, Torah inside the Ark beckoning from behind the Ark's cabinet doors, it cries from the inside asking to be removed, to be opened, a Torah is life and a Torah is alive.
Throwing a piece of wood into the River Nile to sweeten its bitter waters, being waters that become holy waters, a Torah is a piece of wood so sweet, a fruit tree, not to have its fruits picked until its third year.
Tossing a Torah quote into the dinner table conversation to sweeten the wine, hearing words of wisdom as the waters become sweet, and even sweeter knowing we have our prayers, to pray and to daven inside or outside a temple.
G-d is "macom," He is everywhere. He is our own words as we sweetly whisper a blessing, as we stand out on a seashore sandy shoreline singing the Shema as loud as our lungs can gasp! Again sweetening the waters as we sweeten our words.
To see each water wave come in one after the other, sweetened as the Nile with the words of The Torah as a winding branch of wood, a winding ram's horn shofar, a woodwind like an oboe playing in an orchestra of dune grass brushing against each other with castanets sounding from a cricket's legs clicking, as the sea is sweetened. Walking home with a sweet smile upon your face.
Sweet words, sweet waters, sweet singing, sweet golden raisins, sweetly smiling.
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