Hanukkah

O Zohar ensina que tudo é "novo" quando iluminado pela luz que existe para lá do Sol.

 Quando acendemos as velas, no Hanukkah, devemos olhar, não para o que as luzes iluminam, mas para a luz em si mesma.

 No entanto, para ver a luz, até podemos fechar os olhos. A luz que procuramos, não está nas velas do Hanukkah;está no nosso espírito, no nosso "eu", no nosso coração. 

A luz "para além da luz", a "luz que arde no centro do mundo" está ao nosso alcance, mas não podemos segurá-la com as mãos...

 Os Cabalistas ensinam que o Hanukkah é o símbolo da primeira parte do nosso trabalho: o "trilho da aprendizagem".

 Relembremos que, em cada dia, mais uma vela fica acesa, exactamente como a luz que procuramos: mais intensa, em cada dia que conseguirmos ver a luz das velas e não o que está em seu redor...

Hanukkah

There are many stories about Hanukkah.

One of them is " The Light in the Window" by Rabbi Eli Hecht.

"During World War II there was a group of fighting Polish partisans who had broken out of the Nazi war camps. These partisans consisted of a few Jews and former Polish officers. They organized a resistance force that used to harass the Germans.

On one of their missions, they found an old, starving rabbi who had been left for dead by the Nazi murderers. One of the Catholic partisans took mercy on the man and nursed him back to health. The rabbi was of no real use to the partisans and was given the job of cooking and praying for the safety of the fighting men. Strangely, this group of partisans suffered no casualties for the rest of the war.

When the war was over the group broke up. Some went back to Poland; others traveled to Latvia. Others became wandering people with no homeland. As the Russian government clamped down on the people, depriving them of their freedom, the group decided to flee.

A plan was made to leave the Russian territories by night. An informant helping these escaping partisans told them, "You must cross the river in the winter when it's frozen. When you reach the other side of the river you'll be entering no-man's land. There you will find a hut. This hut is used by a Russian soldier who is in charge of preventing border crossings by all unauthorized people. His job is to shoot anything that moves. However, at one o'clock in the morning he leaves his hut and walks a few miles to the next hut, where he meets another soldier. There the soldiers exchange reports and supplies. Then he returns to his watch. The complete trip takes him approximately two hours. During that time, you can warm yourselves in his hut but you must be out of there by the time he returns."

This group of brave men consisted only of the younger people. Most of the older people had given up hope, deciding to remain behind in the Russian territories. The only old man willing to travel with them was the rabbi. A heated argument broke out: "Let's leave him," said one. "After all, he can find food in one of the towns. We really do not need to be slowed down by a frail, old man. We have done our share."

A religious Christian partisan exclaimed, "If we leave him, we are all doomed. I will not leave without him." Reluctantly, they included the rabbi.

It was a cold and miserable night. A blizzard broke out. Sure enough, the leader was correct: the old man could not keep up with the rigorous climbing and running. The blizzard increased and more than once they had to stop to carry the old rabbi. As light as he was, he was now a big burden, slowing down the entire group. More than once, they argued if they should just leave him.

It was one o'clock in the morning when they arrived at the hut which, by now, was half buried in the snow. They could smell the fire and warmth coming from the hut. They waited and waited for the soldier to leave. It seemed like forever.

It wasn't a moment too soon that the soldier left. Almost frozen to death, the fleeing group fell into the hut, each one trying to get his icy hands and frostbitten feet closer and closer to the fire.

The old rabbi moved away from the group. He opened a small bag and took out an old and rusty menora. Then he took a small piece of string, rolled it into a wick and proceeded to fill the menora with some oil from a small tin bottle that he miraculously had with him.

The very act of which was taking place put everyone into a trance. Not a word was uttered nor could a sound be heard. Spellbound, everyone watched the rabbi.

In a barely audible voice, the rabbi recited the blessings for the lighting of the menora, picked up the menora, and placed it by the window of the hut. Then he lit the menora and began to sing an old Jewish song, "Maoz Tzur-Rock of Ages," which speaks of G-d's miracles for his people.

Like an erupting volcano, the leader was jolted out of his stupor and yelled, "Put out that light! You will bring the Russian soldier back here. We will all be caught and shot."

The rabbi tried to explain that it was the first night of Chanuka and that he had kindled the light in order to keep the commandment of remembering the miracle of Chanuka. "No, " said the rabbi. He would not extinguish the flame. "It must burn for half an hour. This is according to the ancient Hebrew law."

Suddenly the door of the hut flew open. A tall soldier holding a machine gun yelled at the startled group to put their hands up into the air.

The Russian soldier approached the old rabbi, looked at the menora, and said to him in Russian, "I, too, am a Jew. I have not seen a menora in six years." He kissed the rabbi's beard and broke out into tears.

The soldier proceeded to tell the group, "After I left the hut I suddenly remembered that I had left some reports in a drawer. As I was returning I saw a light coming from the hut. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"There it was, a menora in no-man's land, in the middle of a blizzard, right in my hut."

The soldier told the group that they were safe and proceeded to take out a large bottle of vodka, giving each one a drink. He said, "It's good that I was on guard. Another guard would have killed all of you! Come. I will show you how to cross the border. Remember me, Rabbi. Pray that I have a Chanuka miracle and will be able to leave the army safely and be with my family."

The very shaken but relieved little group followed the soldier out across the border. Somehow they made their way to freedom and then they all went their separate ways. The old rabbi went to Israel. He told this story to fellow survivors who, in turn, told it to me as a small boy."

Quoted  from   http://www.lchaimweekly.org

Hanukkah

 A festa do Hanukkah,celebra a demonstração do poder do Senhor, quando, na sequência da vitória da revolta contra os opressores, liderada pelos Macabeus,  apenas se encontrou uma ínfima quantidade de azeite sacralizado, para a lamparina que arde incessantemente no templo sagrado. Não deveria ser suficiente para um dia, mas ardeu, sem se apagar, durante todos os dias necessários para produzir novo azeite virgem e sacraliza-lo, por forma a manter a chama acesa. Essa a razão do Hanukkah, a festa das luzes, que, naturalmente, consigo arrasta muitas outras tradições, hábitos e costumes, que se foram enraizando, com o dobar dos séculos. 
Aqui recordaremos algumas, nos próximos dias.


Até lá: Feliz Hanukkah!!

Happy Thanksgiving

 

Over the river, and through the woods,
to Grandfather's house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

 

Over the river, and through the woods,
to Grandfather's house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,
for 'tis Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the woods
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose,
as over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the woods
with a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark and the children hark,
as we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the woods,
to have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring, "Ting a ling ding!"
Hurray for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the woods
no matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get the sleigh upset
into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the woods,
to see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all, and play snowball
and stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the woods,
trot fast my dapple gray!
Spring over the ground like a hunting-hound!
For 'tis Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the woods
and straight through the barnyard gate.
We seem to go extremely slow-
it is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the woods
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his paw with a loud bow-wow,
and thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the woods
when Grandmother sees us come,
She will say, "O, dear, the children are here,
bring pie for everyone."

Over the river, and through the woods
now Grandmothers cap I spy!
Hurray for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurray for the pumpkin pie!

Lydia Maria Child  1844 

                            

    

Aniversário

Poema à Mãe

No mais fundo de ti,
eu sei que traí, mãe

Tudo porque já não sou
o retrato adormecido
no fundo dos teus olhos.

Tudo porque tu ignoras
que há leitos onde o frio não se demora
e noites rumorosas de águas matinais.

Por isso, às vezes, as palavras que te digo
são duras, mãe,
e o nosso amor é infeliz.

Tudo porque perdi as rosas brancas
que apertava junto ao coração
no retrato da moldura.

Se soubesses como ainda amo as rosas,
talvez não enchesses as horas de pesadelos.

Mas tu esqueceste muita coisa;
esqueceste que as minhas pernas cresceram,
que todo o meu corpo cresceu,
e até o meu coração
ficou enorme, mãe!

Olha — queres ouvir-me? —
às vezes ainda sou o menino
que adormeceu nos teus olhos;

ainda aperto contra o coração
rosas tão brancas
como as que tens na moldura;

ainda oiço a tua voz:
          Era uma vez uma princesa
          no meio de um laranjal...

Mas — tu sabes — a noite é enorme,
e todo o meu corpo cresceu.
Eu saí da moldura,
dei às aves os meus olhos a beber,

Não me esqueci de nada, mãe.
Guardo a tua voz dentro de mim.
E deixo-te as rosas.

Boa noite. Eu vou com as aves.

Eugénio de Andrade

   Mãe


   Eu cresci.


   Cresci cedo (demasiado?) e rápido, como se o mundo fugisse à minha frente, como se o tempo escapasse tão rapidamente que não o conseguisse agarrar.


   Mãe


   Eu não sei escrever como os poetas, que tanto amavas, mas as palavras de outros, maiores do que eu, falam por mim.

  Mãe

  O meu coração cresceu e ficou tão grande que não consegui guardá-lo só para Ti, porque não entendia o amor de Mãe, porque não era capaz de perceber o quanto me querias proteger e quanto prezavas a vida que eu teimava em dar.

  E dei Mãe. Entreguei a minha vida, com ambas as mãos,até  o meu sangue regar a areia escaldante e deslizar para o vazio,satisfeito por o meu coração não ter medo.

  E corri mundo Mãe, com as Gaivotas no mar e com os Condores em terra;desci aos vales fundos, onde o Sol não chega,subi altas montanhas onde o Sol queima os olhos. Senti o frio vento Norte e a cálida brisa iluminada pelo Cruzeiro do Sul...

 
   Mas não me esqueci das rosas.

   Feliz Aniversário, Mãe.

 

"Austrálias"

Quem és tu velha carcaça

Que me apareces ao espelho?

Segues-me por pirraça,

Ou estou mesmo a ficar velho?



Lembro-me de mim,

Como um jovem a correr,

Pelas Austrálias (1) sem fim,

Onde tanto consegui aprender.



Por vezes com sal num saco,

Para um pepino temperar,

Depois de o lavar no regato,

Transforma-se em belo manjar.



Pelos campos que passava,

Só tinha de cuidar,

Que nada estragava,

Mas uma fruta podia tirar.



Depois vinha a perdição,

Ó paixão desvairada,

O futebol, minha maldição,

Que deixava minha mãe desesperada.



Por isso não reconheço

Esse que vejo ao espelho,

Será alguém com quem pareço?

Ou sou eu que estou a ficar velho?

(1) : Austrálias – Conjunto arborícola do tipo acácia da Austrália ou acácia negra que se localizava por trás de nossa casa em Gondomar (Nota do Autor)

Um jovem corre pelo bosque, com os olhos abertos pelas maravilhas que observa, atentamente, ou até, apenas, pelas imagens fugazes que correm perante si, entrevistas mas sempre misteriosas... Felizmente que jovens, como Alexandre Cardoso, crescem e se transformam em adultos que não perdem a capacidade de se maravilhar, seja perante a Hagia Sophia, na distante Istambul, seja perante as acácias em Gondomar, que "olham para trás" e conseguem - ainda - sentir a magia e vislumbrar um Fauno, correndo por entre as árvores...
De novo, no "Memórias" a presença de Alexandre Cardoso, poeta de corpo inteiro e que tenho a honra de considerar como irmão do coração.
Feliz Aniversário Alex. Que a felicidade te persiga por toda a tua vida!!!

Victória en San José

20 minutos y 700 metros una eternidad de espacio y tiempo.

Pero el coraje y la perseverancia gana todo!
La oscuridad de la mina no puede eliminar la luz brillante de la amistad iluminando la negrura bajo la tierra.
A 700 - setecientos - metros de profundidad, los hombres dijeron:"No nos damos por vencidos! La vida nos espera arriba,muy lejos de las manos y muy cerca del corazón y por ella lucharemos hasta la victoria!".


Y los dias se hacen semanas y las semanas se hacen meses pero el valor se mantuvo:

"No nos damos por vencidos!".





20 minutos y 700 metros una eternidad de espacio y tiempo.

Pero, cuando Florencio llegó arriba, el primero de los primeros,
miró a su alrededor y respiró el aire fresco del desierto, las lagrimas hace mucho tiempo atrapadas, todas las lloradas y todas las que hay para llorar,se liberaron de los ojos de todos y caieron nel suelo del Atacama, y donde las lagrimas caen los íris florecerán mas fuertes y más bellos, para siempre!

PS - Pido perdón à los lectores de idioma Castellano, por todos los errores ortográficos, pero esta es mi homenaje a los mineros de San José.