This is a custom that I only learned when I met Zalman. Then we began counting together. At times when we were on opposite sides of the country, we would count together at the end of the day by telephone. And tonight I taught a class about it, and about the layers of meaning added later by the kabbalists. Yes, this one feels like something that I did make my own.
(So much does not. So strange.)
Spring is really beginning here, though only a few days ago there was still snow in shady places.
The first blossom has emerged on the little peach tree in front of the house. We have been warned that the bears are out, and to take down our bird-feeders, the birds can now forage for themselves.
I will take that seriously, since the visit of the bear on a past summer day resulted in a bent iron feeder-hanger, a partly torn-up mini-trampoline, a dismantled compost bin,
on the window
right next to where I eat breakfast.
It is almost shabbos, a friend is visiting Boulder from out of town, and the Conference on World Affairs is almost over, without my having attended a thing. I hope to catch something tomorrow.
Food for shabbos is no issue; leftovers from the seder will be perfect.
This year's holiday has been wildly strange for me.
I will see what this period of counting the Omer will bring.