I think I've expunged the memory of last week's Torah chanting. Begone, nerves. This morning I read four verses, my voice shaking a little but otherwise without incident. I tried to imagine the cloud of God I sang about hovering over me at that very moment, making sure my eyes followed the yad. And they did.
As I stepped up to the bima, the rabbi whispered, "Do you like the print in this Torah?" Not a question I expected at that particular moment, but I was happy to answer. "I'm not used to it yet, " I whispered back. After a dozen more aliyot, maybe I'll make peace with its fuzzy little tagin that look like spiders, the unexpectedly pointy serifs on edges of letters that have flat tops, and the shiny new yad that's too fat for my fingers. Clearly I need to suppress the graphic designer part of myself during this endeavor, and just sing from within the benevolent cloud.