“I love you” was not in the way you said it, but how you said it.
That’s why I gave you the purple roses. You meant every word you said. Straight from your heart. And you revealed a glimpse of the Creator through your loving kindness and compassion.
Oh, you don’t love me like a woman loves a man. You’re married. Happily. And, I wasn’t seeking romantic involvement. Just a friend to tell me face to face what the most beloved mothers would tell a son or a daughter. “I love you.” Unconditionally As a sister to a brother, a daughter to a father. One Kabbalist to another.
See, I chose to “buy a friend” in you several weeks ago. Don’t you remember? At the last Congress in Philadelphia I learned you studied Buddhism and was raised a Sufi, familiar with both my “Beloved” and the “Middle Path” to Enlightenment. How could some novice like me not fall in love with your Spirit, your Devotion, your Love for all Creation. (Including that male cat of yours peeing in inappropriate places since your son-in-law showed up and your house underwent renovations!)
I felt loved as soon as you spoke those words, unhesitatingly, with just the right amount of tenderness to convince me they were sincere. And they were . . . in the context of what we’re seeking together. Love for all humanity, starting with our community, all the men, women and children exposing themselves to a mystery kept hidden from you and me for 2,000 years. It’s now our’s for the asking.
And I’m asking. Tell me you love me. Just one more time. And, every time I need it. That could be everyday for the rest of my days with this Soul, or when 6,000 years toward final correction arrives, which ever comes first.
“Make for yourself a Rav, and buy for yourself a friend.”
— Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Perachya