By David A.M. Wilensky
I was born on the third day of the month of March in 1989. Much to the eternal dismay of my mother, I celebrated the nineteenth anniversary of that occasion on the twenty-seventh day of the month Adar of this year, 5768. This decision was one of several that I made over the last year that have led me to know always exactly when I am.

I'll explain.

At the end of August of last year I left my home of Austin, Texas to go to college at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey. Aside from the usual freedoms you might think of when you think of going off to college, I discovered a particular ritual freedom I hadn't quite thought of before. Of course at home no one stopped me from shuckling in synagogue, though it often garnered a few rather conspicuous glances from other congregants. No one stopped me from standing through the entire Amidah. I even met little resistance at home to the idea of wearing a talit katan every day. But, now, in college, not only could rituals be what wanted, they could be when I wanted.

Two examples come to mind. Hillel at Drew is a small affair. Because of that, there are no weekly erev Shabbat services to attend. Back home, we always lit candles and sat down for a Shabbat dinner by whatever time we needed to to get to services on time. In college, for the first time, could light candles whenever I wanted. I opted for weekly e-mail reminders from hebcal.com of what the official candle-lighting time was in Madison, New Jersey. Mostly, I managed to stick to those times both semesters. I also continued to avoid doing any homework on Shabbat.

When Rosh Hashanah rolled around, I hadn't yet found a congregation that I wanted to commit to in the area, so I was faced with a choice. Back home, we always went to the same synagogue for all the holidays and that synagogue never observed a second day of Rosh Hashanah. I could, for the first time, observe two days of Rosh Hashanah if I wanted to. In the end, I didn't, but at least the conscious decision had been made.

All of this culminates in forty-odd days of counting. I decided to count the Omer this year, the forty-nine days that serve as connective tissue between Pesach and Shavuot, between Redemption and Revelation. Knowing that this essentially amounted to building a new habit and knowing also that I am hopeless at building new habits without pressure, I turned to my blog.

I've been blogging about liturgy and ritual and occasionally my life at The Reform Shuckle for some time now and I saw the blog as the perfect place to do my counting. I made a pledge on the second night of Pesach, the first day of the Omer, to post something intelligible on The Reform Shuckle for forty-nine days. The theory was that after pledging to do such a thing on my blog, the fear of disappointed readers would keep me posting for the whole Omer. And I've done it.

The end result is a hyper-awareness of Jewish time. Brighter Jewish thinkers than I have remarked that Jews don't really build their sacred places in space, but in time. Over the last year, as I've lived my life increasingly according to the Jewish calendar, I've become keenly aware of these sacred times and the gaps between them.

I stand now more ready than I have ever been before to receive the law, as we do every year, standing at Har Sinai on Shavuot.

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