Considering how much fun school isn't, I live for vacations and weekends. I'd like to just sleep all day, escape into a world with no impossible demands...
But I can't. Because there's my mother at my bedroom door, calling for me to get up. I crawl out of bed and lounge around a bit longer, but she insists that it's time to daven, it will soon be too late. After I'm already thoroughly sick of her nagging, I slouch off to a chair, open my siddur, and promptly space out. I love the smell and feel of this siddur, a special gift from my favorite aunt. It's much too special to bring to school where it will get worn too quickly, so it waits at home for these days off. Its pages are brand new, smooth and clean. I run my fingers over them and inhale the scent of the leather cover, but I never even try to read any of its beautiful, rounded letters printed in pure black ink.
An unbearably long while later, I go on with my day, hoping everyone will assume I've done my duty. Of course, my mother doesn't -- she asks. There was a time when this would offend me terribly, but I've gotten used to the lie already.
Although the habit develops easily, it doesn't stop it from taking a small piece of my spirit every time...
2 comments:
And what about now? Do you still daven? Has it become more meaningful to you?
I will write about that soon, and then move on to other things. In short: yes and no.
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