Rain, but no Irises

It has since been a month from my return to the United States, and I feel empty and unresolved. Although I am finally coming to terms with my life here, I left my heart and part of my soul there. I spend much of my days at home thinking and watching countless hours of t.v. courtesy of Netflix.  I find a simple joy in spending time with my niece, Savannah, who happily takes over my bed at night.  I see an unabashed enthusiasm in her eyes for the new and undiscovered things in her life.  Sometimes I’m jealous, I wish had that energy and excitement.  The weather here has been dreadful, cold and rainy.  Despite the hours of rain, I find that the love and passion of my heart no longer blooms.  I left that with him, and now we are not speaking, the insides of me are drowning in my rainy sorrow.  I am a 31-year-old dependent with no car, no money, no job, no phone, no boy and no sex.  I fear that the only sunshine in my life comes from  Savannah, which is nice, but not enough to pull me out of my muddy terrain.  When will my irises bloom again?

The rain has ended yet my heart is blooming

It’s official.  Today marks 20 days left in this beautiful land.  It’s hard for me to believe that is this is end of an era.  Two months ago, the light at the end of the tunnel was murky and unclear.  Now that light shines so bright, I’m almost blinded by my fears.

The rain has stopped, although it never really started and the Irises have come and gone.  Last spring was full of rain waters that set my soul at ease but washed away my seedlings, so my heart never bloomed.   Yet this year,  more than ever I see myself like the Iris,  growing from impossible situations, constantly evolving and continuous in my pattern to survive.  And much like the Iris, my heart has been empty from the rain, and still I rise.     From the harsh reality of rich clay soil, lack of water and desert sun, this flower arises like a phoenix and rebirths itself every year.

The Irises within me filled my body with bursts of joy and love.  This spring, I find myself as a new person scared to return home and not only see their changes, but to see mine as well.  I have been living in extreme weather-thunderstorms and flash floods or long prolonged heat waves.  My garden has been so empty for so long, I forgot what is what like to have life within me and to feel alive.  I am amazed that at what I have had to overcome, and furhtermore amazed at what will be.  Deep within me, I have found a voice and its melodies keep my flowers growing.

The desert flower rests in my mind as a symbol of redemption.  The most precious flowers, including the Iris, bloom for a few short weeks around Passover.   They are a wonderful reminder to us that the desert we traveled in for 40 years was and is filled with life and beauty.  Now we have returned to the land, ourselves being redeemed.  The Iris lasts just a few weeks, before its roots itself again and begins new preparations for the next years spring.  And no matter what, you can count on the Iris to succeed and blossom, rain or shine.  The Iris holds a strong sense of faith that I admire.

This spring, I have found flowers growing in my heart and I feel assured that they lie side by side with my own redemption and faith.

Mimuna!

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At the end of Passover,  a wonderful and special holiday called Mimuna occurs.  Mimnua comes from Morocco with the Moroccan Jewish community.  The holiday and the name serve a few purposes.

The first is to commemorate the end of Passover.  During Passover Jews are forbidden to eat chametz, things with levaning, so this festival marks the end of that commandment and people join together to once again eat chametz.  Traditionally, a delicious fried oily dough is made called Mufflettas, and is served with butter and honey.  Trust me, these are worth the calories and in my opinion the best way to end Passover.   Part of the idea is for members of the community to open up their houses and allow people to come by.  This stems from the fact that many Jews who keep Kosher on Passover don’t eat out or at each other’s places for fear of the cleanliness or level of Kashrut.  By opening up one’s house after the holiday, it suggests a friendly relationship and maintains that ones eating habits during Passover are not personal and assures that close connection.

Secondly, many people believe that the source of the name comes from Maimon, as in the father of the Rambam, Rabbi Moshe Ben Maimon.  This date is his Yartzit, the day of his death.  He played an incredibly important role to the continuation and establishment of the Moroccan Jewish community.   Jewish communities across Northern Africa wrote to him for advice and followed his teachings.   He was instrumental in the development of this vibrant Jewish community for the last 1000 years or so and really laid down the foundation to what would be one of the largest Jewish communities in the world.  Today, a large majority of Israeli Jews can trace their roots back to Morocco.

The last possible explanation for this holiday stems from the source, Mimon, the name of a Genie in Moroccan folklore.  The idea was that the Genie would come and steal the good things from people so the holiday would create a celebration to please the Genie where people could giving offerings to him and appease him for the year.

Either way you cut it, Mimuna is one of the funnest celebrations I have experienced.  I am fortunate enough to be able to check that off of my bucket list.  And after this years celebration, it has become clear to me, that some part of Yeruham and Moroccan Jewry has rubbed off on me and I may be a little Mizrahit in my heart.