As we come back from Thanksgiving break, I’m always reminded of how the light changes in the Northeast in this season. When the sun rises later and sets earlier it makes each moment of daylight precious. But when the sun is up it’s softer and less intense, the sun is often lower in the sky and hiding around the corner of a building. The sunset feels longer, and time feels more drawn-out until darkness comes and with it the desire for warmth and coziness. December often brings warm cups of tea and comfy blankets. The softer sunlight also reminds me of a longer sunset and one of my favorite poems in the back of my childhood siddur (prayerbook). My hope for you all is that you have time to feel like you are praying the sunset prayer and a little extra time for coziness and to exhale.
Praying the Sunset Prayer
By Jacob Glatstein, translated from the Yiddish by Ruth Whitman
I’ll let you in on a secret
about how one should pray the sunset prayer.
It’s a juicy bit of praying,
like strolling on grass,
nobody’s chasing you, nobody hurries you.
You walk toward your Creator
with gifts in pure, empty hands.
The words are golden,
their meaning is transparent,
it’s as though you’re saying them
for the first time.
If you don’t catch on
that you should feel a little elevated,
you’re not praying the sunset prayer.
The tune is sheer simplicity,
you’re just lending a helping hand
to the sinking day.
It’s a heavy responsibility.
You take a created day
and you slip it
into the archive of life,
where all our lived-out days are lying together.
The day is departing with a quiet kiss.
It lies open at your feet
while you stand saying the blessings.
You can’t create anything yourself, but you
can lead the day to its end and see
clearly the smile of its going down.
See how whole it all is,
not diminished for a second,
how you age with the days
that keep dawning,
how you bring your lived-out day
as a gift to eternity.