Beginning at sundown yesterday and running through tomorrow morning, it's Rosh Hashanah. I am always a bit in awe by a traditional practice by people of faith of many and various religions to not actually spell out or say God's name.
As a lapsed Roman Catholic, I envy those whose faith, especially today in the world we have created, allows them to move forward and carry on even if I no longer share in those beliefs (but would like to) because of my own sin of stiff-necked pride.
The existentialism of despair that I've adopted, I suppose, provides its own comfort, cold as it is, or at least I hope it does as I have little else and when I'm finally sure of my lines, no one is there. I'm thinking of Stu, Marcie, Larry, Susan, Ev, Bob, Dr. Bob and teacher because as liberal as I pretend to be, that's about all the members of the Jewish faith I knew, know or know of after six-plus decades on this sphere. Perhaps I should make it a point to get out more as I certainly can't get out less.
A religion perhaps no larger than the mustard seed about which a Teacher of another time spoke so eloquently-whose existence is, for many, proof of a Divine Providence's steadfast watchfulness in comparison to which, the birds of the sky and the lilies of the field can only dream while, sadly, in so many parts of the world, others who profess to revere a God of their making can only scheme.