If you’re someone who reads anything in the jblogosphere, you already know about Birkat Hachamah-the blessing we say every 28 years when sun returns, according the Talmud’s goofball math, to the place in the sky where it was at the moment of its creation. You can read about it at Jewschool, Wikipedia, Mah Rabu, Dov Bear, and just about everywhere else these days.
It was my plan to drive down to the Jersey Shore at 4:30 am this morning with my friend Joey. We were gonna bring sidurim, do shacharit, and make the brachah for the creation of the sun. It was gonna be great.
Then I got sick. I was so feverish last night that my lips turned blue off and on. I’d had a headache for three days. Things weren’t looking good. But, ritual trooper that I am, I was determined not to miss this twice in a lifetime event! Then I puked.
I was about to ask someone to go out and get me some saltines or something. Then I remembered that I had boxes of matzah in my room! So I had some matzah, took some nyquil, went to bed, and woke up 9. Halachically, it is still permissable to say the brachah at this point, but it seems so much more lame.
I’m still not well, so I had to call my host for tonight and tell her I can’t lead her seder–sadness.
I guess I still have second seder and the omer to look forward to. And I just have to wait till I’m 48 to Birkat Hachamah again. Shit.