winter's cloak

In preparation for this solstice shabbat, I have been ruminating over a story in the Talmud that tells the tale of the first human being, Adam HaRishon, who was said to have been created on Rosh Hashanah. One of the first things Adam HaRishon notices is that the days are gradually getting shorter. Because Adam had not yet witnessed the cycle of the year, he fears that the darkness will continue to overwhelm the light and the world would return to primordial chaos (B.T. Avodah Zarah 8a). Certainly many generations and many of us have wondered that same thing.

In response to the increasing darkness Adam HaRishon fasts for eight days. But before the days are complete, after the onset of the month of Tevet [which corresponds roughly to December], he noticed that the days are getting longer. The winter solstice had come. He is overjoyed and relieved, declaring, "This is the way of the world," and he celebrates for eight days. For this reason some tell this tale in relationship to Hanukkah, another story of miracles and light. But for me, this story is fundamentally about the solstice and the way our personal rhythms are linked to the natural word.

While I am no stranger to the impact of decreased light on the psyche, I also am grateful for the cozy quiet, early bedtimes, and contemplative space that winter carves out within and between us.

In the words of Joyce Rupp,

"This year I do not want
the dark to leave me.
I need its wrap
of silent stillness,
its cloak
of long lasting embrace.
Too much light
has pulled me away
from the chamber
of gestation.

Let the dawns
come late,
let the sunsets
arrive early,
let the evenings
extend themselves
while I lean into
the abyss of my being.

Let me lie in the cave
of my soul,
for too much light
blinds me,
steals the source
of revelation..."

Increasingly, we are not only impacted by the light of the sun, but by the light of our computers. I was recently reading about how the average person sleeps two hours less per night than 20 years ago. And how the light of our screens distorts our internal clock by at least 45 minutes. Perhaps now more than ever we need the darkness to remind us that there are rhythms in this world and in our bodies that are fundamentally at odds with the material world and capitalism.

This solstice Shabbat, may we feel the hopefulness of Adam HaRishon, knowing the days are officially getting longer. And the shelter of winter's cloak, as we seek the clarity that emerges from the quiet stillness.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Solstice,
​Rabbi Ari Lev