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The
Kites We Fly
by
Rabbi David Zaslow
November, 2003
I
was eight years old in 1955 when Huricane Diane struck the
East Coast . I lived in in a litle beach community called
Sea Gate, in Coney Island, Brooklyn. The day of the storm
was dark, and the rain soared downward and even sideways across
our front window. I was sick that week and was home with little
to do but watch the wind on the beach as the sand was tossed
high into the air like hair wildly brushed. I saw the turbulent
tides of the Atlantic form high swells that jumped onto the
beach as if trying to reach my house.
That
day I built my first box-kite. I concentrated with all my
might as I meticulously glued each piece of long, thin popsicle-stick
wood and plastic skin together. I neatly wound the string
and knotted the end to a stick that was to be my spool. The
spool was a kind of steering devise that I could tug and turn,
commanding my kite to perform all sorts of amazing aerial
acrobatics. I was so proud of my checkerboard blue and red
masterpiece. On August 19th, the rains were over, sun was
bright and reborn after the storm, and the air itself felt
alive. The winds calmed down to a gusty 25 m.p.h., and I figured
it was perfect weather to fly my box kite on the beach even
though I was still a little feverish. I swaggered in the wind
to the beach, holding my kite close to my chest.
Normally
a child has to run to get his kite aloft, but that day when
I let go of the kite the wind took hold. A gust snatched my
kite and unwound hundreds of feet of string from the stick
in mere seconds. Up and up, it was like a rocket on a straight
line toward heaven. And then...the unthinkable. The kite,
my first box kite, the kite I had made by hand, snapped from
the stick and continued out across the Atlantic. I felt insulted,
shocked, and angry. The wind seemed to know what it was doing,
and how it would affect an eight-year old boy who was flying
his first box-kite.
Hurricane,
rain, beach, kite, string, spool, and child. We have all faced
hurricanes - moments of grief, loss, rebirth, change, and
transformation. We have all built kites - our jobs, hobbies,
and relationships, and we tie our kites to a very thin string
and knot them to the spool of our hearts. King Soloman chanted
a poem that we read each Autumn on Sukkot that says "To
everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under
heaven." If we try to fly a kite when the winds are too
strong...snap, it will likely break away from us. Everything
has its own time.
In
a way all of our personal spiritual practices, prayer, and
meditation are as delicate as a box kite. We protect ourselves
by practicing in communal gatherings, in the privacy of our
homes, or surrounded by the beauty of nature. But like a kite
on a string we are all so vulnerable. Take away the beauty
of nature and replace it with the fury of nature-- and snap,
the kite will break loose. Take away the elegance of a synagogue
service and we find ourselves struggling to do the inner work
that each holiday calls forth.
The
festival of Sukkot that just passed is a reminder of the how
delicate our dwelling places really are, and how subject we
all are to the winds and rains of life. Yet, it's those very
rains that make spring possible. So, may the Holy One bless
us all to make our kites well, but to know when to fly them...but
never in strong winds the day after a hurricane on a beach
in Brooklyn.
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