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I can’t remember why we went to the beach that day. They carried me to where the beach started. The salty sea seeing, seizing me; but I could not reach it.  A young Rabbi, I think it was a Rabbi, stayed with me, as the other kids splashed in the waves.

He dug a hole with my feet inside as my mother held me upright, helping me stand in the warm sand. He then dug from the sea to this pit, so that the rippling waves trickled down this stream he made and found my feet.

Perhaps the Rabbi used this to teach me something. Perhaps not. I can’t remember. But I can still remember the coolness of the sea as my toes dug down deep in the wet sand, in my own sea.