Tree Silhouette Against Starry Night Sky --- Image by © Robert Llewellyn/Corbis

Look up at the sky and count the stars . . .

And He took him outside and said, “Now look toward the heavens, and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” And He said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” Then he believed in the Lord. (Gen. 15:5)

What an extraordinary instruction from God, to look toward the heavens and count the stars! And such an extraordinary response from Abraham follows, related in this simple, matter-of-fact statement, “He believed in the Lord.” Look up, count, believe.

When I imagine myself into that moment when God spoke to Abraham, telling him to look toward the heavens and count the innumerable stars, I can almost touch that experience of wordless faith and certainty.

What if the blessings that surround us work the same way? If we only pause to notice, one by one, the innumerable moments and things that have the potential to inspire amazement, awe, wonder, and gratitude, will that fill us with faith and certainty as we take the next step in life?

To the human eye on earth, stars are tiny and distant. But somehow, looking up, whether looking at the vast display so far away or trying to count each one, we are aware that we are part of something so much greater than we. This is something we can’t experience when we spend our days without connecting to the rest of the universe, even disconnected from our own bodies. Extending a hand to another in friendship or to help, a colony of ants working in community, a world reflected in a drop of water, a seedling struggling to burst from the dirt . . . all these things and so much more inspire faith and certainty but only if we notice them.

The basic unit of Jewish prayer is a blessing. “Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Who…” With this formula, we bless different types of foods and beverages. We bless the moon and the sun. We bless an unusual sight, a beautiful sight, religious garments. We begin the Sabbath or a holiday with a blessing, and we end it with one. There is a blessing for surviving illness or danger. There are blessings when we get up, when we lie down and when we wash our hands. 

There is an extraordinary blessing to use after we go to the restroom, Asher Yatzar. This prayer thanks God for creating us completely, with all of our body parts in working order. It declares that if any part of our body were to work in the wrong way, life would be more difficult. The blessing ends with a statement that God “heals all flesh and does wonders.” 

Think about that for a moment. We don’t even notice when we’re healthy and everything is working well…but when the smallest thing goes wrong in this amazing system that is our body, it can cause a lot of debilitating problems. This blessing calls us to take notice even in the moment we’re not likely to, when everything is fine.

There is a teaching in Jewish blessings. Form and content work together to call us to attention, call us to notice, in the best and worst of places and moments. There is no phenomenon in all of creation that is too small or too great to merit a blessing, no situation without one. The specific content is important for bringing alive the innumerable multitudes of potentialities. The form is important for awakening us. Without us noticing, the potential remains unfulfilled.

Each time we recite a blessing, it fulfills a potential, the potential to believe, to feel faith and certainty as Abram did the night God took him outside to look at the sky. “Look toward the heavens, and count the stars.”

The Executive Walk

The Executive Walk

וַיִּקַּ֛ח יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֑ם וַיַּנִּחֵ֣הוּ בְגַן־עֵ֔דֶן לְעָבְדָ֖הּ וּלְשָׁמְרָֽהּ׃ 

The LORD God took the man and placed him in the garden of Eden, to till it and tend it. ~ Gen. 2:15

The older I get, the more ways I see I am like my Dad. The anniversary of his death is coming up soon, so I guess I’m thinking about him now. I wrote about him the day he died, a post I like to share each year on the anniversary of his death — or sometimes on his birthday, which that year was just two weeks before he died, the morning of the first day of Pesach.

My Dad had a deep sense of what I can only call spirituality, as amorphous as that word is. In his best moments, he knew he was part of the unity of all being, and there was inner peace in that. I described him like this as he approached death: “These last weeks my Dad was in a very Zen space. He was neither rushing toward death nor struggling to remain in life. He was exactly where he was and was content there.”

But he did have extended times of disconnect, as I do, times when busy days and complicated emotions get in the way of the experience of “interbeing” and simple truth. It was easy to see when he was in this space. His body language declared it. I called it his Executive Walk. When he moved like this, his shoulders were hunched, his eyes were down, and he drove forward with greater speed as though it would move him through his tasks and responsibilities more quickly.

I also do an Executive Walk, even when I’m in one of my favorite times of day, walking outdoors. Doing that Executive Walk decreases the simple pleasure of my walk. Rushing toward my steps goal so I can move on to my next tasks and responsibilities means I miss that opportunity to restore my sense of interbeing, to connect to the air on my face, the clouds drifting above, the buds on the trees, the wrens on the bushes around our homes singing their hearts out just because. I am disconnected from my little dog and the pleasure he gets from stopping to investigate and experience every tiniest aroma. I am even disconnected from myself, my sense experience and my body.

Blessings teach us to notice. Perhaps instead of counting steps, I should count blessings, strive to reach that elusive 100 blessings a day. Maybe in this way blessings are an antidote to “busy-ness,” those things that fill our days and distract us from our true purpose and meaning, tilling and tending the Garden that surrounds us, noticing what it truly needs, not what we, in our busy-ness, think it needs.