"Knit one, purl two" begins the self -talk for many crafts, such as embroidery, crochet, or in my case, wire crochet. We keep a count to know where we came from and where we are going. Here is a poem I wrote about the period called "the Omer", or "Sefirat ha Omer", the counting of the days between leaving Mitzrayim until the receiving of the Torah on Shavuot , between planting and harvest..
The Counting by Yael Fischman
What does it mean for us, Children of Diaspora, hands more accustomed to the click and whir of the computer than to the rhythm of plow and scythe,
to talk of sheaves and barley harvests as if they were our measure of time?
What does it mean to count up, a hopeful expectation of fulfillment to come,
to count down to the certain cynicism of another day,
week following week of mundane offerings which lack all hint sublime?
Children count up, saying, “I’m almost seven!” Some of us long to be forever 29…
Abraham was told to count the stars in the heavens
We number in sevens the weeks: Forty-nine plus one day, but a moment in time.
Counting from conception to birth, wondering will the harvest be brought?
This time will Abel’s offering and Cain’s be judged the same and what, exactly, will it be worth?
Upward motion, we wave our humble grain, saying “See here! See here!”
Here we are again