The Moon of Tamuz (June-July)

You stand now, the experiences of life etched into your being.
Needing rest from all the places you've traveled.

So you call upon the name of God, 
El Shaddai, One of Tending.


You Who like a mother nurtures life,
gently, lovingly guide Tamuz into being.

Tamuz heralds the entry of summer.
Heavy with heat drying the fields,
she shepherds human and beast inside
to seek shelter from the sun.


So You teach me
to join into this ancient dance.
To enter my home and rest and be still awhile.

Tamuz, month where grapes sweeten, pomegranates ripen,
dates darken, where apples turn to red and gold.

You teach me to trust the earth's wisdom,
to let go of my powers,
to respect and step with her ancient movements.

You remind me that I too at times need just be still
in order to ripen,
to become sweet in my own season.

In this Moon of Tamuz, You, like an aged woman,
lay Your hand on my fevered brow
and bid me take respite.

With the slow movements of one who's wizened,
with the sage eyes of one who possesses knowledge,
You smile at my impatience.

And I, cuddled in Your arms,
dream dreams

of sun-soaked fruits,
of lush vines singing,
of the golden harvest dancing,
swaying in the breeze.


And in this month after the moon is full,  
just as she slowly wanes,
I too slowly slide into the night.

And hear the voices of my ancestors calling to me.
To remember them.
And to savor the gifts of my life.

They subtly enter
my days of sun,
into my starry summer evenings.

El Shaddai, You Who nursemaid all life,
in this Moon of Tamuz, with gentle kindness,
with loving hands guide my steps.

You Who fosters life,
You Who loves me deeply,

protect the door posts of my house
and my gates.

In this Moon of
descent and ripening,
travel by my side.


And aid me,
El Shaddai



Photography Credits

First and second photograph: Alon Kvashny
Third photograph: Frank Dobrushken