The Morning  After

Sky-

 blue and clear

nothing to fear

I run along rippling waves

the heart craves

 for gentle lapping near

beyond water’s shimmer

darkness seems to simmer

giants in the distance tall

untouched by mankind’s fall

the sky grows ever dimmer

Ahead a man alone

against his ear a phone

in other hand a gun

glittering in the sun

I stop at border’s twilight zone

will  stranger shoot

not give a hoot

if I live or die

out of the blue,not of sky

 but shadows of the brute

“Good morning,” smiling, with a nod

I return the greeting as I plod

along  walkway on water’s edge

between mother and child wedge

life has returned, I thank,  I laud

Some Master plan away ,afar

a moment’s madness, a bloody bar

mind invaded

reality jaded

on world’s soul,a wound,a scar

Why?

Tashlich-casting away

Rosh Hashana-

water lapping jagged  rocks

wiping them clean

of dust and dirt

like a dog’s tongue 

licking with love

leaving  behind wonderful wetness

we empty pockets of leftovers

perhaps long forgotten

moments of coldness,

fear and untouchability

crumbs of callous forgetting

that she too hurts when ignored;

cast them away 

and fill the emptiness with human empathy

Yom Kippur-

Casting casts a frightening net of contrasting consequences

“Al Taslichaynu”-pleas of “Cast us not away”

pierce vaulted sanctuary ceilings

 I feel my “koiach”  seeping out,

of hardening arteries, wrinkled skin,

eyes filmed with fog

ears snatching  muffled 

 waves of sound

is it time to be cast away?

has the moment arrived for God to do some 

housecleaning , to clear away the clutter?

allow us our crumbs, all we have now

is the Rebbe’s ‘sherayim’

the Master’s remaining morsels

rendered holy by divine devotion

like shattered fragments in Your Holy Ark-

 we ask not for more.

not ready to submit 

to  tides that will cast us back into ocean’s depths

swallowed up by the beast of inevitability

a place of eternal darkness

not yet, not yet,

“Al taschlichaynu!”

Alongside a butterfly

a butterfly followed me today

weaving an invisible wreath of lightness

with his wispy wings

around my heaving body

he floated, shining blackness in

a late afternoon’s

fading sun

and I plodded along a country road

heavy legs of flesh and bone

barely bearing me along the way

She wings by

brushing my sweaty arm

with a silken kiss

my winged companion

flutters ahead

a silent counterpoint

to my gasping breath

oh to be a butterfly, I thought,

recreated,  rewired with willowy wings

From  caterpillar , invisibly  inching along a gravel path

laden with a heaviness of being

to a fluttering flash

in that same waning sun

to feel the fling  of freedom for one fleeting moment,

the lightness of being, the summer air my home.

A New Prayer for the New Year

God gives and God takes

i’ve prayed all my life for God to give

bicycles, beauty, brains-

Can’t ignore

some modest gains

a bicycle waiting for me after school

prayer answered but 

never enough

don’t want stuff-

adoration, love

from those I love.

We pray “please give”-

this year, soul gears in reverse-

please take

O great Receiver,

Weighed down with waste

agonizing anger

jealousies that gyp me out of joy

fear,handmaiden of guilt

grinding  the heart into ground’s dust

in your Omnipotence, accept as gift 

all ruin and refuse of shattered hearts

for you but a trifle, for me, mud-laden  mortal, crushing,

 I totter in drunken stupor  squashing sadness into oblivion

Purify the pollution of my soul

In Your Compassion cast  it into the vastness of the universe,

claim the  compost of my torment 

recycle it as a medley of  joyful melody 

You are the Great Taker

I surrender all toYou

Pain, fear, guilt, hopeless view of tomorrow

let me be without 

the baggage of so much rubbish

I pray I not litter my life in the New Year 

Accept my refuse with ‘rachamim,”

May it be Your will.

Amen

Grateful for the Threefold Blessing of Teshuvah, Tefilah and Zedakah

  

We all suffer; life is hard , even for those who are blessed with much. Suffering is beyond objective measurement since it is so deeply  a subjective experience as well. Indeed, only the very fortunate few suffer little- sadly, overwhelmingly vast numbers of sentient beings suffer much too much.

Suffering can be alleviated in many ways-multiple resources that help healing, feed the hungry, provide shelter, educate and entertain, make life more just, secure and livable, are available but sorrowfully inadequate to eliminate suffering entirely. Moreover, sources of suffering happen beyond human control-natural disasters, happenstance occurrences, accidents, and a wide array of circumstances that are haphazard and  random.  Suffering’s end seems to be reserved for some distant, eschatological moment in the far away future.

And yet, what most of us pray for, in traditional ways or unconventionally, is the removal of suffering from our lives. We wish to be comfortable, secure, happy. These are the things we desire most, for ourselves and our loved ones.

On the High Holidays, we pronounce a brief statement of instructive prayer.

“U teshuvah”-Repentence

“U tefilah “-Prayer

“U’zedakah”-Deeds of kindness

“Can remove the severity of the decree.”

In earlier translations, the wording was different-”Can avert the evil decree!”

If we pay attention to the wording of this threefold response  to “evil” in this world, the traditional reading-”Can avert the evil decree”- suggesting that the performance of these actions will prevent evil from befalling us, is incorrect.  The text does not read: ‘gezeirah raah’-an evil decree; rather it reads ‘ roah ha’gzeira,’ namely, the severity or negativity of the decree. Therefore, the traditional translation is inaccurate and holds out what I believe to be a false promise. This earlier translation conveys a  literal understanding  of reward and punishment, one that is  is no longer feasible in our contemporary world. To the best of our observations  as rational beings who subscribe to science as a meaningful way by which to deal with painful problems, the quid pro quo relationship between wrongdoing and punishment or doing good and being rewarded by God as a prize for goodness, simply does not work for most of us.  Not only doesn’t it correspond with the our rational observations  of life, it also leads many to suffer unnecessary disappointment and resentment.

 The above triad of responses to the  inevitability of suffering cannot protect us against the decree but it can help lessen its severity and remove those features of life’s many unkindnesses that have the potential for crushing our lives into paralysis or dejection. The threefold spiritual path proclaimed above points  to  ways by which we can come to terms with the inescapable reality of evil over which we often have no control. Further, they guide us to discover a way by which to extract life’s  joy and meaning that can be contained in the  human experience  in spite of its many miseries and atrocities.

Let us examine each approach.

1.Teshuvah-literally, the Hebrew definition of this term is “return.” What do we return to as a means of dealing with life’s unfairness? Traditionally, it represents  a beckoning  to return from ways that have lead us astray back to the right path, back to God’s ways, if you will. 

 ‘Return’ can be understood as a “getting back to basics,” as discerning those dimensions and qualities of life that are essentially simple things, fundamentals of human existence. When we can achieve such awareness of life’s myriad gifts available to all, then this journey of return  to the center of our lives can uphold us and anchor us in our encounter with “evil” and suffering. Even those who suffer most for no apparent rhyme or reason, can discover the tiniest crack through which the smallest glimmer of light can shine through and cast its precious life-enhancing light on the darkness enshrouding  the victim of life’s cruelty. This return to life’s most elementary components-a flower, a blue sky, a gentle breeze, a warming sun, human love- while challenging and seemingly  out of reach in the midst of despair, nevertheless,  contain the seeds of  hope and  relief, well-being and a feeling of gratitude that is self-nourishing and opens the heart to receive the eternal light of the universe’s goodness.

2.Tefilah- Prayer. For me prayer does not mean asking for things .Perhaps for others, in a state of helpless suffering, the possibility or the faith that God will respond in a direct way and alleviate our pain in some miraculous way does provide strength and a potent way by which to soften the blows of life.

I  believe that the prayer of greatest potency is that of praise and thanksgiving, words rooted in gratitude. If one reviews  the  basic prayers of Judaism ie. Amidah, one discovers requests for the fundamentals of life in general and Jewish life in particular. Such gifts as wisdom, healing , justice, prosperity direct our prayerful attention. If we could translate these requests into statements of gratitude for these basic gifts of life both in their reality and potentiality, I feel convinced that prayer can serve as another powerful prong in the triadic path  toward easing the severity of dreadful decrees.The Hassidic  tradition maintains that God showers us with unlimited gifts; the purpose of prayer is to open our hearts to receive them.

Tefilah guides us in a direction that takes us beyond ourselves to God, a transcendent reality, the universe.

3. Zedakah-compassion.

One of the impediments to gratitude is the feeling that it carries with it  an unending obligation  to someone or something. Many dislike the  feeling that they owe something to others; it interferes with our desire for autonomy and self-determination and is seen as onerous, an obstacle in our path to greater ease and joy. Yet, gratitude itself requires only two things-to simply say thank you, and show that what you receive is deeply appreciated and needed, acknowledging the other’s goodness and kindness, which is, in itself, an  act of compassion toward the other. Acting  gratefully is a form of compassionate behavior allowing  one  to recognize that now and after you are gone others will  think of you and your life out of a sense of the very same gratefulness and praise that is expected of you toward others. Gratitude generates love and kindness; awareness that all of life is a gift-even your own hard-working accomplishments-enhances your clarity  and sensitivity to the giftedness and value of other peoples’ lives and our capacity to respond compassionately to all living beings. 

Zedakah’s focus is another human being,  the “ other “ in our relationship to life and the world.

One can say,  gratefulness  is the basic measurement of human morality and compassion. 

An ancient Eastern sage once said:  there are three essentials  of life:

simplicity, patience and compassion.

Judaism would declare:

Teshuvah-return to simplicity.

Tefilah-pray with praise, patiently.

Zedakah- Let gratitude be translated into compassion.

May the severity of any and all decrees be lessened and made  tolerable by the sweetness  of a brand New Year.

Grateful for the Shofar Process

Interpretations of the shofar abound. Saadiah Gaon, a Jewish luminary of the 10th century provided ten cogent and inspiring explanations referred to widely during this High Holiday season.The fascination with the shofar has elicited countless other associations and implications.

I would like to humbly add one more.

The sounding of the shofar represents to me a fundamental spiritual process of change. Each set of sounds, and the Hebrew words that are pronounced to evoke these sounds, point to a psycho-spiritual dimension of this process.

The first sound -Tekiah - is closely related to the condition of being immobile. The Hebrew root word “takoah,” is defined colloquially as ‘stuck.’ We cry out the sound -Tekiah- calling for help, hoping that somehow someone will  throw us a life line, a rope, a cable, and yank us out of the mire of our stuckedness.

How does this experience of pulling ourselves out of the place of feeling that we are trapped, that we can’t make any headway towards a new possibility in our lives, find some resolution internally so that we can begin to feel some looseness, some lightness, some emerging glimmers of freedom?

The shofar process invites us to recognize the next step. “Shevarim”-brokenness, the root word  “shavor,” to break,  contained in the instruction. When we allow ourselves to feel our brokenness, without fear, shame or a sense of inadequacy, then we discover that we can slowly  slip out of place of paralysis and move in the direction of greater openness and acceptance, one which lifts the onus of an intolerable weight from our souls. Moreover, the psychological function of “breaking apart,” of “partializing,” can ease the overwhelmingness of being stuck in a place of over-generalization, of experiencing a  particular life circumstance  as absolute, unchanging and unchangeable. The hardness of ‘Tekiah’, with its rigid and static brittleness can be softened and made nimble  with the permission to be broken, imperfect, incomplete.In the words of Ernest Hemingway,

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.”

The non-judgmental  awareness  of human imperfection and brokenness allows us to  understand and accept that so much of life is unstable, hanging on a thread, shaky and uncertain. The”Teruah “ comes along-its root-”ra- oah”- wobbly, flimsy, tottering- further instills in our hearts the wisdom of life’s impermanence and fleetingness.  The teruah’s definition of crushing and shattering  takes the three sounds of shevarim and lengthens them to a total  of nine, the parts of life’s puzzle being shattered into even  tinier fragments and components.The picture puzzle of our lives has been disassembled. We stand at the crossroads of a new opportunity to reassemble the broken, shattered fragments of our life.

At last we sound the final note of the shofar process-”Tekiah gedolah!” -the great tekiah ! This  is much more than a temporal length of sound; tekiah’s inherent definition contains the concept of connecting, of plugging into, something of greatness-‘gadol.‘ How do we put back together the pieces of our lives? How do we create a coherent picture of ourselves and life using the myriad components of mind, body and heart?

Tekiah gedolah-the process announces the crescendo instruction of -take heed, pay attention-”shema” -listen carefully to these notes of spiritual dynamic movement, to the greatness and largeness of the universe, and the  inner, infinite , authentic self, the  capacity of the human soul  to achieve greatness , even divinity. Essentially, the lens of this awareness of life’s greatness is linked to our ability to say thank you, to praise in the face of all things. Thus gratitude becomes the spiritual insight by which the disassembled pieces of life’s puzzle can be reassembled  as interlocking  components that  fit into a place of unity and clarity, completing a picture of beauty and security.

I say Kaddish for

I say kaddish for 

my mother -in -law,

her years four score

and eighteen

yet feelings fresh and  raw

life no longer safe,  routine

I say kaddish for

the ashes of an infant

on a crematorium floor

burned up in an instant

swept under the world’s torpor

I say Kaddish for

the ashes of a Jewish warrior

in the bowels  of a twisted tank

curls and smiles no more

sacrifice was his rank

I say Kaddish for

the girl who once hopped , danced and ran

tomorrow will never adore

comforting arms of a man,

rape her initiation, to the world, a whore. 

I say Kaddish for

bulging eyes of a child

overflowing with the  roar

of terror gone wild

wretched from pore to grimy  pore

I say Kaddish for

an empty carriage

without blanket, pillow or toy

the elusive grail of marriage

cuts down life’s branch of joy

I say kaddish for

a father’s dreams

to fill the world with song

instead my mind shatters with screams

at life’s unfairness, choices so wrong.

I say kaddish for

yearnings once so real

possibilities for sure to come true

 but hopes hopped away, like a rabbit on a wheel

or dashing to a thicket, disappearing from view.

I say Kaddish for

The Holy One, no where to be found

push open a  portal , every possible  door

I crawl along each inch of ground

my eyes to heaven soar

Is He shrinking, 

since the world began

What could He be thinking

in a creation of catch as catch can

I say Kaddish for

with praise to fill  the void, the space

each YitgadaL an open door

at the head table, please  take Your Place.

I say kaddish for 

the gush of ire

seeping out of every pore

If only I could fling it on a funeral pyre

so it rises to heaven’s door

it clogs my heart

like plaque in body’s vein

will prayer my soul jump start

to flow like gentle rain 

but prayer is paper thin

as long as hurt chokes every swallow

heart so hard, where to begin

every effort, empty and hollow  

And so the kaddish I recite

attune my ears to every sound

Each day, morning noon and night

some feeling to be found

the same words holy and ancient

say over and over again

counsel to be calm and patient

I cant help but beg Lord tell me when

amidst inner doubt and storm

if to Kaddish  I hold on

no single foe or those who swarm

though they’re encountered hither and yon

can fully rid my belief

in what’s beyond and yet so near

to bring a breaking heart relief

and for one blessed  moment,

 banish hopelessness and fear

Yitgadal-glory-majesty

Yitkadash-reality of sanctity

B’almah-gift of creativity

V’Yamlich-purpose not living chaotically

B’agalah-possibility

Bezman kariv-let it come quickly

Amen-we’ve been waiting oh so patiently

Yehay shemay -we need the Name to live, to be

Mevorach-blessing ,life’s discovery

Leolam-flutters of eternity

Leaylah-all we know is mystery

Shelamah-and finally 

Shalom-all fragments now a unity.

I say kaddish for 

me.

From Generation to Generation-For Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

There is a pipeline that runs 

not across the rugged terrain

Of Northern Canada or the wilds of Alaska

But across the tundra of tragic generations,

A pipeline gushing the energy of life,

Genes of fear seeping through placentas

Into innocent bundles of soon to be 

Bawling babies.

The source of this sticky fluid

That clogs the capillaries of clarity and courage 

Lies deep within ancient strata of 

Compressed hatred,

Hatred solidified into the shale of shame and terror

Trickling through seams of a grandmother’s uterus

Coursing through veins bulging with the  borscht of Russian steppes

And the “barakes”

 of the Balkans

These strings of  chromosomes stamping identities of  fear

To the forefront of children’s children

Reaching its evolutionary eruption through smoke stacks belching tender toxins

Of children’s flesh,

And those that live

Are “fracked”  into sources of continuity-

But life’s  liquid has been blackened by the soot of

Jewish skin trapped inside the chimneys

Of refineries wishing to purify Europe’s foul fuel

Of Jewish contaminants-

Yet  the oil of Hebrew babies  flows , emitting the energy 

of  breathing,  learning  and playing, and showing the world hope

But they tremble with the oil  of  terror’s transmission,

One that  stalks the pale and pretty face of my daughter.

I want to go home-for Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

Her new home

she's come a long way, baby

Laura Ashley-

goyish, but gorgeous,

delicate, refined

the smell of  “Waspy” freshness

in every corner-

“It's very clean” she mutters, an accent 

 of some far away location

far away from the shimmering shores of the Hudson river

and so long ago, before her world died,

when she could boast  of a father

with  modern machines who

could crush kernels into

bread,

and recite the  mantra of

lines of gentile farmers waiting for

the miracle of a wealthy Jew-

“I want to go home” she declared, eyes blankly looking ahead 

at some dim memory of 75 years ago-

“and where is home” she is asked, fear in the daughter's voice,

lest she reply

“the Queens!”

“Sosnovitch” came the barely audible 

reply,

a tiny shtetl

 of carefree days,

not a Jew in sight today, unless 

you dig underground.

Another home, another grey haired lady 

lost in the emptiness of time

upon hearing her plea-”I want to go home!”

a social worker asks, pity and professionalism mingled in a desperate mind,

 “Where is home?

And she answers with a certainty born of confusion

“Auschwitz!”

“Unetaneh Tokef”(High Holiday Prayer) For Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

What do angels do?

Each day they agree to praise

In tones gentle and pure, obedient, loyal…

Such calm and serenity

A daily  celestial celebration

Then the New Year arrives..

And angels change their course,

In the heavenly heights,  fidelity gives  way to frenzy

As Angels scurry about,

Chaos , not the chorus of sweet melody,

To praise , to protest, to stay silent?

A day of judgment!

Who shall live and who shall die, and how???

Below mortals in quiet calm of sacred space

Embraced by coziness of family and friends,

And competent clergy, 

God is our  Shepherd , we read,

counting  little lambs shepherded back to safety after a long  day of grassy grazing

Each one passing under His soothing staff, counting and recording each little lamb;

If  one is missing then, like Moses, He  crosses  mountains and valleys 

And  cradled in the arms of the Almighty, little lost ones come  home.

we pass under His rod-

 a crook of compassion.

He will care for us, see to it that tomorrow’s 

Surprises will be pleasant ones-

Another New Year, without synagogue, 

Without heavenly hopes

This time in hell-

The Teuton god carries a stick,  a crook of cruelty 

He too counts and records , but with  the precision of  German 

 Gemeindschaft, the heart of perverted power

Babies in wailing mothers arms pass under the gold tipped staff-

crazed , they arrive at  stone cold enclaves ,

In cars meant for cattle, not fleecy, cuddly lambs!

No rhetorical questions waiting for an answer-

 All will die, some immediately, others too soon-

How? By gas, by fire, by wild beasts who play the part of  kind shepherds

To fool and deceive –

“Arbeit Macht Frei” the sign reads-

the reward for work is freedom-

And if one little lamb is unaccounted for, 

no effort will be spared to find it and bring it back home, home to the wolf’s claws, 

 where it belongs, soon to ascend 

chimney stacks and join the  smoke filled skies-

Angels abound, angels of death,  scurrying  about, with clear minds and hearts-

Doing their duty with reverent obedience

Performing their tasks of terror and death

Joyfully and with melody and song.

Please God-don’t be so meticulous in your 

Accounting of us and your divine record keeping-

Turn away  for a moment , so that we can escape  and hide 

Until liberators arrive and take us back to pens of promise. 

Passover-Eating Matzah

“ The world is the host-it must be chewed.”

Was Cheever at my Seder?

Did he see us munch away at the Matzah?

 Matzah, the Jewish host of life, the flesh

of every Jewish christ on earth?

Simple dough and water- dry land and seas,

the everything of this planet,

to be chewed with gusto 

 Satiated on matzah, do we transubstantiate?

Crunching the crispy furrows of cardboard tasting wafers 

into softened mush, the warmth of our tongues watering the dryness

of hearts into living places of feeling and life,

 into the living flesh of  divine beings?

Do we now know the answer to the four questions of life-

why is this night different? 

The Seder we chew on-

tell and retell stories, 

drink the bloody red wine, 

sample sprigs of green,

 ingest the bitterness of human suffering,

 burn the lining of our guts, 

 fill bellies with a banquet of smells and tastes-

so much chewing, our jaws weary and sore,

finally  reclining , satisfied smiles on our reddened faces, we spit out songs of praise and thanksgiving!

Next year in Jerusalem!

 But  for now we clean up and drag our tired bodies to bed,

 and  again, drift into the darkness of night,

but tonight we  know -nirzah, we have chewed the sacrificial meal and it is pleasing to the liberating spirits on high.

A Personal Dayenu-Passover-2015

 Dayenu-

If I could only wiggle my toes

And know something that no one else knows,

Dayenu-enough!

If I could bend my knees,

And see what everyone else sees,

Dayenu-enough!

If I could raise my arm,

Holding back from doing harm,

Dayenu-enough!

If I could twiddle my thumb

And scratch my bum

Dayenu-Enough!

If I could bend the  wrist

And my ankle twist,

Dayenu-Enough!

If I could hear my belly growl

And wipe away a scowl

Dayenu-Enough!

If I can slide off the bed

And not land on my head

Dayenu-Enough!

If I can hear birds chirp

and my gut   give out a burp

Dayenu-Enough!

If I have my teeth to brush

And get dressed in a rush

Dayenu-Enough!

And let’s not forget,

Hands and face that get wet,

Dayenu-Enough!

I cannot overlook,

How little effort it took

To open my eyes 

And for my belly to rise

Dayenu-Enough!

Heart going pitter patter

It’s not some small matter

Dayenu-Enough!

Breathing in,

Breathing out,

I can sing

I can shout

Dayenu-Enough!

Roof over my head,

Simply alive and not dead.

Dayenu-Enough!

I can do it  all  and so much more

To be grateful is the door

To  our joy , our longevity

Happiness and serenity.

Dayenu-we declare

We thank God for our share.

Angel cards

Finger tips slide along

the glossiness

of two tiny cards

Tucked inside so many others, hiding in a 

 black velvet pouch, waiting to be seen in the light

of someone’s hopes,

Not a game of poker, not a game at all

But a guide , words that rouse the  Sabbath soul 

after weekdays heavy toll

Angels walk you home

From synagogue at night

So that you wont get hurt

By muggers on the way

By those who steal  the holiness of time

Wishing  to rob for unknown  reason or rhyme

By the light of a dinner table,

Home at last,

Two little cards,

Like sacred  tablets with one word

To show the way,  lighten up the path

Of treks through wilderness of worry , ways winding  with

wrath.

With  closed eyes , 

magnifying  mystery , chance,

What word  will arise,

What answer, adventure or romance,

Not prophecies that need come true,

Words of choice,  not happenstance,

But do what  angels do

Climbing ladders,

They take your heart and lead you to what matters

“Shalom aleichem “

we sing

Our guests,  angels coming home

some magic, and some peace they bring

Then off they go to roam

Searching for  the sacred spark

In places cold and dark

For wine that warms

And spongy bread that forms

A family that loves.

Letters  bouncing in my view

The font of faith-PURPOSE,

a sign of Sabbath, a simple clue

A question beyond the surface

life’s essence  is on trial,

where can I find  my soul’s holy smile

I pause  to take the second card, 

A word to forge my fate

What will the next  word have me guard

My life’s goal indicate

Letters carved deep

penetrating, through and through

a font to savor and keep

 my heart makes a lilting  leap

I know its message to be  true

COMPASSION :

 the word its dictionary  divine

Presents itself  in mysterious fashion

 A way of life yet  to be mine.

 when feeling tired, sad and down

And searching for some solace

In city or in some small  town

Compassion is my talis

It girds me tight,

In measures always  fit

It shines on me the gentle light

Of  precious holy writ.

Beyond all praise

Back from morning prayer

God  praised, again and again

looking everywhere 

to find His hint in the company of men

Again  words declaring

Magnified and Sanctified be your name

Kaddish- worshipers daring

To assure Him of His fame

honored, adored

exalted, acclaimed

toward heaven sounds soared

lofty thoughts  inadequately framed

in a flash, image biting

piercing message, an alarm

father blessing reciting

choking words at life’s harm

wooden boxes in sight

seven in number

angels now taking flight

bodies buried in slumber

children’s smiles and laughter

 now cinder and smoke

infinite pain that comes after

can God’s name one invoke?

“Above all praise”

can these words that follow

drown out dread and the daze

lifting heart, hard  and  hollow

Beyond love and fear

way out of mind’s reach

nothing far, nothing near

can life’s sorrow slightly breach

For a story book ending

we pray God would show

but life  keeps on sending

tiny coffins in a row.

Imagine the day after....

Every now and then

 words pop into my head

words of women and men

to be said after I am dead

my life rolls on before me

I halt it here and there

taking stock of my life’s journey

did I cruise or did I care

I hear them all articulate

pretty much the same

a  fairly decent friend and mate 

heeding  all the rules of the game

good father, and  a husband true,

as rabbi, teacher  grew

to be more honest , test things new

trying hard to be a little more  loving too

an effort made, with poetry,

and many words of  prose

to touch a depth of integrity

its goodness only God knows

to see life as a gift,

 lesson learned a little late

and not make  short shrift

of every open gate

will it matter what they say

I’ll hear them not I’m sure

but to imagine  being ever away

some sadness now can cure

what’s left behind 

is now my focus

so others will find

something genuine, not hocus- pocus

a passing smile

a kindness here and there

without shrewdness and guile

just doing what’s considered fair

A Patch of Snow

Like an island in a pond of green

a little patch of white thumbs its dirty 

nose and face at the forces of disappearance

by some miracle, 

the sun’s rays, the warming winds,

scraping shovels have missed their objective-

the snow stays, not pure white,

blackened by time’s onslaught

yet still glittering under a clear blue sky

awaiting the clouds.

The dead squirrel

middle of the road

lifeless

run over scampering for safety 

unaware

of giant monster that 

squashes helpless things into nothingness

no longer darting as if driven by ions

or 

racing up tree trunks 

or skipping along branches in search of an acorn,

 a darting flash-gone-

inert, snuffed out, instant death

a photograph;  a far away land,  dirt road, car-less,

a child lifeless, lying alone, distant bystanders, no wailing by his side

 terror has vanished from cherubic face

eyes closed, asleep , feeling nothing,  in the world of darkness,

like the  squirrel

a monster, unseen and sudden,

squeezed  flesh and bones into oblivion

Morning, father and daughter off to school- holding hands,

care-free  eyes, exuberant, laughing, skipping along  not to keep pace

but to keep alive the joy of being alive

The Squirrel

I saw a squirrel this morning

under shopping carts, at the A& P,

without  any warning

scurrying everywhere, seemingly carefree,

for the stray nut

or morsel of food

they do nothing but

they brighten one’s mood

with their speed so jerky

impossible to caress

their movements so quirky

telephone wire homes’ address

not long before,

with a friend at prayer,

not God to implore

but together to share

doubts and dismay

about life and its use

early feelings falling prey

to our minds on the loose

Left with a sigh

surrender to living

so frightened to die

we fall back to giggling

like kids in a classroom

carefree, immortal

a respite from doom

from life's final portal.

I wonder today,

so soon to Yom Kippur

is there something to say

that can rid me of the bitter

truth, clutching and rolling,

like the darting squirrel

we whirl and twirl

death's ringing bell tolling,

another year of closer to 

who shall live? who shall die?

where to find the clue

whether low or high?

in a parking lot

or up a tree

like a squirrel not yet caught

skittish  and free.

Wishful Thinking

“Look toward heaven and count the stars” (Genesis)

Twinkle twinkle little star-

Abraham's wish weighs his will into the dust of the earth,

a burden of expectations, promises and pledges

awaiting four millenia of worry

where wishes squeeze their presence into

crevices of consecrated prayer,

stars seem so far away, untouchable,

the dust is home-from dust you come and to dust you return

but the stars merely twinkle in cold, callous reaches of circling constellations

“I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth”(Genesis)

That's more like it! That rings true-

and so we worry on a particle of dust,

knowing that multitudes -beyond counting or measurement,

will enfold our  being buried below

and  the offspring of our lives-dreams, thoughts,  laughter and loves,

will  float through the void,

stardust- that's all that  remains,

“a haunting melody of love's refrain.” (Hoagy Carmichael)

Me and Abraham -In honor of my 75th birthday ( Nov.1,1939)

“Abram was seventy five years old when he left Haran”(Gen.12:4)

Sixty two years ago, tomorrow,

the Sabbath of Going Forth

 I wander from the warm comfort of nouveau Outremont along  cold yet sunshine drenched  sidewalks  

to winding  staircases of poor Pine Avenue,

arriving finally at a holy place , an altar from which I ascend into Jewish adulthood-

floors creak beneath my feet as I make my nervous way up the Bimah to bless,

bent backs and creaking bones , my choir of hallowed response

-And Abraham was ninety nine years old when he circumcised the flesh of his skin-

youthful chant filling wooden spaces echoing with sighs of yore,

crescendoing in a hail of holy sweets, candies consecrated to sweetening  the sourness of years yet to come,  released with shouts  of praise and hope  from the balcony of beckoning and tear- drenched prayers

Today I am a man-not an ordinary man but Abrahamic-one going forth

stepping into life with only a promise-”and you shall be a blessing.”

Five and seventy years , so many wanderings, alters built and broken,

tests passed and failed, so many questions, so few answers-pleas and arguments, stunned silences , celebrations of success-

Seventy five years later, still stuck in Haran,

A place of haron-of anger, of a closed heart hardened by disappointment 

and broken promises-

it is time to go forth again-from hardness to an open heart, from the altar of anger 

to the shrine of gentle softness-

will I reach ninety nine , a time of circumcision, of peeling away the foreskin of hurt and rage?

Perhaps not-I hear the ancient blessed bidding-Get you forth from Haran, - now, at this crossroads, between Haran and Canaan, the place of surrender,  my seventy fifth year of life - go forth to circumcise the scars of your soul, removing bloody bandages of broken dreams

so that the heart of flesh, bruised  but  able to embrace the blessings of one more day.

My 75th birthday

Three quarters of a century

Seven and one half decades

Nine hundred months

Thirty nine hundred weeks

Twenty seven thousand,three hundred and seventy five days-

six hundred and thirty seven thousand hours

thirty eight  million two hundred and twenty two thousand  minutes

two billion two hundred and ninety three million and two hundred thousand-seconds

If   physicist I would measure  nanos

If  physician, heartbeats,

If philosopher,  infinity

but merely a child of the universe

my only gradient is gratitude

Ode to the “I” phone

They walk down the street,

Heads lowered to the ground,

As if not a soul is 

Anywhere around

Cars may pass, 

people walking by,

On concrete or on grass,

world has shrunk -what remains is the “I”.

 No, the world 's an oyster,

 press a button and see,

a private space-my cloister,

Whatever I want I can be.

I can text, talk and skype,

any place any hour ,

whether to praise or to gripe,

its within everyone's power

no longer apart,

or terribly bored,

now instantly smart

entertained as a lord.

A mirror to look at 

and  indulgently preen,

the world’s again  flat,

its all on a screen.

Ere the I phone,

not  long ago

Feeling so alone

Without a place to go

But now, beyond space and time,

a gentle tap,

on the lap,

no need Mt. Everest to climb

The world at finger's tip

Like God feel divine

From app to app we flip,

our shrine , a click on line.

Life  is now a great joy,

so eat , drink and be merry,

As long as your toy

is a Noika or Blackberry.

I want to go home-A mother's plea

Her new home-

she's come a long way, baby

Laura Ashley-

goyish, but gorgeous,

delicate, refined

the smell of  “Waspy” freshness

in every corner-

“It's very clean” she mutters, an accent 

 of some far away spot

far away from the shimmering shores of the Hudson river

and so long ago, before her world died,

when she could boast  of a father

with  modern machines who

could crush kernels into

bread,

and recite the  mantra of

lines of gentile farmers waiting for

the miracle of a wealthy Jew-

“I want to go home” she declared, eyes blankly looking ahead 

at some dim memory of 75 years ago-

“and where is home” she is asked, fear in the daughter's voice,

lest she reply

“the Queens!”

“Sosnovitch” came the barely audible 

reply,

a tiny shtetl

 of carefree days,

not a Jew in sight today, unless 

you dig a bit underground.

Another home, another grey haired lady 

lost in the emptiness of time

upon hearing her plea-”I want to go home!”

a social worker asks, pity and professionalism mingled in a desperate mind,

 “Where is home?

And she answers with a certainty born of confusion

“Auschwitz!”

Hands-in memory of Betty Lederman, 1917-2015

Kneeling, not in church

but by mother’s bedside

not standing, superior, dominant,

not even equal in line of vision

but humbled in devotion 

to her source of life;

her cold, red hands 

caress the stretched out skin

of blue veined hands,

almost bloodless with age 

and severe anemia

“Azoi kalt!” she exclaims

eyes widening with surprise and concern

the supplicant still kneeling, rubs the skeletal bones 

of her personal supernal Imah,

and coldness thaws, redness turns pink

and the warmth of a mother’s heart 

flows beyond blood’s coagulation.

Modeh Ani-Thank You

Modeh ani,

Good morning God,

My thanks to Thee,

For the usual and the odd

I open my eyes,

Wriggle my toes,

What a surprise 

 and know what nobody knows

I can bend my knees

And do as I please

Jump out of my bed,

Or roll off instead

Hear my heart beating,

Either fast or slow

Up and down belly breathing

Like putting on a show

On a wintry morn

Shivering and cold

I snuggle  reborn

A life to unfold

My heels on the rug

Soft and sure

Toasty and snug

I feel so secure

Sounds all around me

Silence and snores

A morning melody

The opening of doors

Through the clear window

I am able to see

Lights coming on below

And   rising sun’s   mystery

My  nose  can smell

The toasting of bread

My ears can tell

Of a family  being fed

A mother’s smile,

A father’s hug,

Lying back a little while,

Relishing life’s tender tug 

my eyes still shut

 I open my heart,

getting out of the rut

A new day to start

 Im alive, with no effort

And nothing  must I do,

For Your gift and support

I sincerely thank You.

A WInter's Snow

On a rocking chair,

By a winter’s window,

From prayer book I stare

At the glistening snow.

The white beyond price

Disappears in the speck

Of a droplet  of ice

On the edge  of the deck

As if in trance,

All the colors in the sky,

A moment of chance

Nature’s miracle I espy.

Like a neon sign

Flashing off and on,

My heart could only pine 

For the rain after dawn

Not to advertise,

A car or  boat,

Nature’s wonder  to promote.

And open heart’s eyes.

Many minutes  go by

And all I could do

Was to fix my eye

On  God’s  tiny clue.

Green and red ,

Like traffic lights above,

Gentle guidance ahead,

Flickerings of love.

It’s Shabbes and  quietly I sit,

Looking in  the book and looking out,

To catch God’s presence if only a bit,

Within my soul a silent shout.

The Minyan

Driving through shadows,

The world asleep,

Some trudging to the  toilet,

Splashing  stored up urges

Into unknown paths of darkness

Flickering  amber

Dancing along charcoal coated streets

In the distance a red thread cuts 

Across the sky, a reminder of sun yet to rise.

I head toward the harsh light

Piercing the blackness around it

Blinking I step into a space awash with 

The white  glare of fluorescence ,

A blank page inscribed 

With black circles of leather straps

And black  boxes, holding tiny gems

Of holy letters.

Some stand, waiting silently,

Some sit, waiting with eyes shut

Relishing traces of tucked in warmth

Some peer at prayers, preparing,

Lips limbered up for the race to God.

Silence is broken-“I have Kaddish to say 

For my father”- almost tearfully,

Pleadingly, “will there be a minyan?”  

Amidst the chorus of assurances 

Footsteps are heard , the arrival of the morning messiah.

Chanting begins and curls along

The  white walls of  this miniature sanctuary,

A tiny chapel to fit the smallness  of the crowd

Its crannies cramped with the drone of ancient words

Words centuries old.

Some sway, some simply sit,

Frozen in a far away stare into

A distant past-

Some sing, 

Bringing a lilt to morning’s awakening.

One is wordless, his prayer-

 His presence, passing along alms plate,

And when aging , shaky hands, barely able to hold  hymnal

Are summoned to raise the weight of Torah scroll

He praises with powerful arms lifted on high-

And all can see the black on white, like waves of the sea

Flowing over beds of dry land, watering thirsty mouths

Parched  by time’s irreversible passage.

Yisgadal v’yiskadash-

Sons praise God, purging guilt

Preserving  memory

Sustaining the soul somewhere

Widows weep, sitting patiently,

Wondering what to do,

Now standing , the center of attention,

Whispering  sounds of loss and loneliness,

Letters mispronounced, love grammatically correct.

I step into the sunshine of a new day

And above, draping the world in hope

Is a canopy of blue, unfolding, outstretching, from 

The  single  thread of  a humble  prayer shawl.