Ah, Summer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grave Custom

When I was at Wildacres last month, I made a thank-you visit to the grave of I. D. Blumenthal whose vision made the retreat what it is today.  And I brought a little stone from home to add to those already there. 

I'd noticed little rocks on headstones in cemeteries before but not till last year did I learn that it's a Jewish custom -- a way of paying respect to the deceased. 

It makes sense -- a stone is far more permanent than flowers -- and, according to some of my research, some Jewish traditions feel that money would be better given to charity in honor of the departed rather than buying flowers.

Some authorities believe that the custom is ancient and traces back to when stones would be put on a grave to keep wild animals from digging in it -- or to keep the spirits of the dead safely underground.

The website Ask the Rabbi has a great story about the custom, supposedly dating back to the Turkish occupation of Israel. According to this tale, an Arab was killed in Jerusalem on the Sabbath and the rumor spread that a Jew was the murderer. The Turkish authorities proclaimed that all Jews must leave the city at once. 

A well known elderly Jewish mystic and Kabbalist came upon the scene of the crime where many Arabs were crowded around the dead man. Even though it was the Sabbath, a time when he was forbidden to write, the mystic wrote one of the names of God on a piece of paper and laid it on the dead man's chest. at once the corpse sat up and pointed to his murderer -- another Arab.

The Jews were saved. But the mystic had broken the Law by writing on the Sabbath. Even though the dire nature of the emergency allowed the act, feeling that some atonement should be made, the mystic asked that his fellow Jews stone his grave when he died.

They agreed but in order not to bring shame to the man who had saved them, they began the custom of placing small stones on every Jewish grave.  

This endeth the lesson for the day.

 

Cleaning Out the Camera

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stories To Be Told

Visiting cousins brought with them some of their latest artistic creations: marbleized tiles. I love these little four and a half inch square beauties. Each is so evocative -- just on the edge of telling a story. The first one (above) is either an ocean of fire or the frills of some exotic lizard while this dark scene below is surely the setting for dark revels in Fairyland.

I don't have a story for this one below -- a curtain of some sort?

This next reminds me of sunlight in the ocean shallows.

While the one below instantly made me think of some enchanted underground chamber with an  opening through which one can see the star-filled night sky.

And the last? A firebird flying into the sun?  

What do you see? (Of course, rotate any of these and the story could change. . . )

 

Cow Talk . . .Second Try

 

 

 

Cow Talk

 

 

 

Early Morning Rain

In the dim first light comes

A staccato rattle of drops on the metal roof . . .

A waft of cool air at the window . . .

And the grateful fragrance of dry earth welcoming  water . . .

I wake to morning rain.