When the shofar blasted, it rang loud and heavy, weighing down the ears of the living so that every moving eye was searching the skies and each pair of feet was balancing atop the trembling earth. Soil shifted, dirt and rock vibrating with vigorous reaction to sound. Sound long awaited. Prophesized and apotheosized. Fables to young children. Rays of hope to the old. Sound familiar to some and foreign and threatening to others. A sound that shook the earth, quaking ground that mixed and churned everything it swallowed whole for centuries: ashes, dust and bones, rotting flesh, skulls that once wore velvet caps. All of it pulsating, woke and waking.
Clouds, round and billowing, rolled across a blue sky that stared down on the confused faces of living beings so that it looked like the singular eye of God peering into the depths of their souls. Thunder clapped despite no rains, and the sky lit up despite no thunder. The branches of trees waved their limbs as if swaying in mighty prayer. Their laden branches were thick with leaves, an adorning robe fluttering in the strong winds that began to whirl as if an angel had swept down with its mighty warm breath to blow and blow. And from the skies continued the sound that many associated with repentance and hope. Renewal and faith. Even those who had long forgotten their heritage glowed with enlightenment. They tore their shirts, a shiva for a temporal life. DNA running deep through...
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