Today is the second day of the Omer.
It’s not the first time I tried to count, and it won’t be the last.
In years past I never managed to make it until the end,
although I’m pretty sure
I once got to Lag Ba’Omer.
33 ain’t too shabby.
But then I stopped, because
what was I counting for anyway?
I don’t have to count.
I’m a woman,
and this is the definition of a
Besides, I had so many other things that I
needed to be responsible for,
and counting up the days
to an anniversary of sorts
was definitely low on my list of priorities,
somewhere between scrubbing dirt from the grout of the bathroom tiles
and walking my non-existent dog.
But this year is different from all other years,
because this year I have something to count to.
In 7 times 7 days minus 2 I will be free
from my personal Mitzrayim of 12+ years,
my failed marriage an adult by religious standards,
which would be counted among the 600,000 souls
who walked out of ancient Egypt
with heads held high.
And I’m sure that just like the beginning of our temporary stay,
the beginning of my marriage was not as bad as it ended up becoming.
But nobody ever remembers the good times in Egypt
only the slavery, and the bloodshed,
and the murder of barely-born babies.
Only the retribution of 10 plagues
each one more harrowing than the last.
Only the mad dash to finally leave
once it was definitely positive that we would not stay
one moment longer.
Today is the second day until the end of one chapter
and the beginning of another.
And just like my ancestors
counting down their days
I count up
towards my own Exodus.
I hope that my desert wanderings do not last as long as theirs,
that I am able to step foot into my promised land
flowing with milk and honey
and promises of something better.
Today, there are 47 days to go.
Because today is the second day of the Omer.
And this time I will make it
to the end.