The Sun Also Rises

Each morning the sun rises. In the Old Testament, it is written that on the fourth day of creation, God created the sun, planets, and stars. But, according to Talmudic* tradition, only once every twenty-eight years does the sun rise to the exact position it assumed during the first week of creation. This position coincides with the Vernal Equinox, with Spring.

On the anniversary of the Sun’s creation, Jews from all over the world, during the early morning hours participate in a ceremony known as Birchat Hachamah, or the “Blessing of the Sun.” The purpose isn’t to honor the sun, but rather to recognize our connection to nature and to thank God for the sun’s creation, our source of light, energy, and existence. Without the Sun, life as we know it would cease to exist.

This morning at 6 a.m., I decided to participate in this ancient custom. But, when I looked out my window prepared to haul my tired body out of bed, I noticed it was overcast. To honor the mitzvah (good deed), one must see the sun, or at the least, the perimeter of the sun peeking through the clouds. The forecast scheduled clouds, wind, and occasional sprinkles for much of the day. Yet, within a half hour, cloud coverage broke and the sun could be seen hovering just over the eastern horizon. It seemed an auspicious sign, so my husband and I bundled up the kids, loaded everyone into the car, and drove to Central Area to gather with other West Point cadets (Central Area is where West Point cadets live, eat, meet in formation, and study.) who also wished to honor the sun.

Standing under sunshine and a brilliant blue ski sandwiched between two cloud fronts, my eighteen-year-old son and I marveled and then compared notes. The next time we would say the Birchat Hachamah, he calculated he would be my age--forty seven. My youngest child would be thirty-one and probably wouldn’t remember that he stood next me or that he threw a temper tantrum at my husband’s feet. My six-year-old would probably remember that she stood with her mother and father watching the sun rise.

My husband last watched the sun rise with his oldest son in 1981 atop the Tower I of the World Trade Center. Twenty-eight years ago, I was nineteen, a college sophomore and completely unaware of the custom. Now, as a mother to a blended family of thirteen, and as an army wife, I felt comforted by such a small custom, at this moment of reflection. In another twenty-eight years, I figured I might not be alive.

My husband, an army chaplain, spoke briefly to the dozen or so cadets who gathered with us. Some of them are graduating this year and will begin their military careers. Some, just freshman are only just beginning their training and education. In another twenty-eight years, many of them will be finished with their military careers, will probably have grown children and will invested in a second career.

For me, standing on the grassy plain with these cadets was also bitter sweet. How warm and inviting the sun was, how remarkable it was watching it rise. But, it was a sign of transition. This will be the last Spring when I stand with cadets, the final chapter of living at the U.S. Military Academy. For nine years, I had a rare opportunity to live on this army base, to watch teenagers come in only to leave four years later as military officers. For nine years, the sun shone through my bedroom window as it rose over the mountains carved out by an ancient glacier, the basin of which makes up the Hudson River. In a few months, although my husband is still active military, I will assume a more civilian existence.

The “Blessing of the Sun” is one of those ceremonies when we take time to reflect--on our place on the time line  on the universe and our relationship to to it, and on nature and the passing of seasons. Birchat Hachamah is a perfect opportunity to pause, to understand that without the Sun, we would cease to exist. With each passing season, that we draw warmth from the sun, that we benefit from the fruits of our planet, we should give thanks for the beautiful simplicity of nature, our place in it, its natural harmony, and our responsibility to do what we can to preserve that balance.

If you’d like to learn more about the custom, BBC offers a comprehensive article.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7989548.stm