As we enter a New Year without our loved one, our memories of them and the experiences we shared with them may begin to feel further away. This activity invites us into presence with our memories and creates a physical keepsake we can revisit. You may want to begin collecting memories during Rosh Hashanah, and continue adding to the jar throughout the year. 

To start, place a large jar, decorated box or vessel in a convenient location. Next, whenever you have a memory of your loved one, write it down on a slip of paper and place it in the jar. If a memory crosses your mind and you don’t have access to paper, record a voice memo or type it into your phone so you can transfer it to paper later. Your memories can be simple, such as a holiday tradition, your loved one’s favorite food, or of an adventure or experience you shared. 

Any time you wish to recall their lives, take a note from the jar. You can also revisit memories at the start of another New Year, when you say Yizkor or Kaddish, each time you visit their grave, or mark their birthday or yahrzeit. You can create a scrapbook with photos that correspond to the memories. You can read the notes together with other family members or friends and then share the story of the memory together. Or, invite several people to share stories at your Rosh Hashanah seder, Yom Kippur break fast or Sukkot gathering. 

— 

This ritual was adapted by Chloe Nassau, based on a creation from the Center for Loss & Renewal, Rabbi Benyamin Cirlin, LCSW

by Sheikha Ibtisam Mahameed and Rabba Tamar Elad-Appelbaum

This invocation, written by two mothers, one Muslim and one Jewish, invites us to take their plea for peace into our hearts and into the world. It has been shared widely by Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie and the Lab/Shul community.

Let us Light Candles for Peace

Two mothers, one plea:

Now, more than ever, during these days of so much crying,on the day that is sacred to both our religions, Friday, Sabbath Eve

Let us light a candle in every home – for peace:

A candle to illuminate our future, face to face,

A candle across borders, beyond fear.

From our family homes and houses of worship

Let us light each other up,

Let these candles be a lighthouse to our spirit

Until we all arrive at the sanctuary of peace.

Holy On My Own by Caroline Rothstein 
 

Self-love is sobbing fetal position on the
brown wooden paneled floor of my bedroom

in Bushwick the night before I move out;

my torso prostrating back in on myself;

my body, the only G-d in sight.

Self-love is waking up at 5:00 a.m.
at my mother's cousins' in New Jersey

on the coldest day of winter and carrying

three duffle bags, 10 boxes, my hula-hoop,

three garment bags, and half a dozen crates

up 8 feet of stairs at Manhattan Mini Storage

by myself, on a weekday, in leather boots.

Self-love is the ocean. Is folding my blue jeans
on a rock. Is leaving my cell phone in a pocket.

Is soaking my bare soles in the sun tucked

sand. Is placing my right foot on the inner flesh

of my left thigh and opening my arms to the sky.

In my underwear. And a tank top. And saying,

holy Hallelujah, look at what I've found.

Self-love is moving to New Jersey. And
back to Manhattan. And to Sarah's couch in

Brooklyn after three landlords in Queens say

no. Because I'm an artist. Because I'm a single

woman. Because I freelance. Because I am

too sturdy to be knocked to the ground.

Self-love is moving everything out of storage
in my black platform wedges and Forever 21

dress mere hours before the first night of Pesach

and here is me, my own Moses, parting the Red Sea.

Self-love is two years later. Is two more dances
around the sun. Is too many more months than

anticipated wandering in the desert. Still in

Canaan. Still waiting for the tablets from Sinai.

Still waiting for the spies to tell me what

I'm too afraid to find within myself.

Self-love is being 32 and single. Is being 32
and single. Is being 32 and single and four

weddings in a row. And signing five ketubahs

And standing up and standing up and standing

up. And getting my period. And getting my

period. And standing up. And dancing the

hora. And signing a ketubah. And dancing

the hora. And signing a ketubah. And dancing

the hora. And standing up. And watching my

News Feed. And watching my News Feed.

And still waking up alone.

Self-love is tucking myself to sleep in
the middle of my queen-sized bed and

still knowing I am strong. Is waking up

in Harlem. Is remembering Brooklyn. Is

prostrating to my torso. Is prostrating to

my womb. Is knowing that possibility may,

in fact, be one hell of a magnificent God, but

oh, how that golden calf creates idols. How

too that burning bush is but a metaphor. How

the only way out of this exodus desert dance

is feeling whole, holy on my own.

 

Caroline Rothstein (https://www.carolinerothstein.com/) is a New York City-based award-winning writer, poet, performer and educator. Her work has appeared in Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, BuzzFeed, NYLON, Narratively, The Forward, Kveller, and elsewhere. She was a member of the 2010 Nuyorican Poets Cafe slam team, which placed second at the 2010 National Poetry Slam, and is a Youth Mentor at Urban Word NYC.

Blessed Yah, Creator, Created, Creating...

We pray for peace,

For ourselves and the world,

Even if only for one day:

Instead of anger, we choose kindness.

Instead of revenge, we choose justice.

Instead of resentment, we choose empathy.

Instead of work, we choose rest.

Instead of ideology, we choose compromise.

Instead of destruction, we choose community.

Instead of fear, we choose endurance.

Instead of invective, we choose prayer.

Instead of violence, we choose peace.

Blessed Yah, Creator, Created, Creating...

We give thanks for this day of peace.

May it change us, may it change the world,

And let us say, Amen.

Like people, the Universe has a birthday and it falls on Rosh Hashanah. And like our birthdays, it’s a moment for us to dwell in a moment of renewal and recreation. We open ourselves up and rewrite our stories and our aspirations for the next year. 

As we close our Rosh Hashanah seder, we make a fourth and final toast to Recreation, adapted from Emily Stern:
“Each moment is a microcosm of who we are becoming. We bless each other and ourselves, celebrating our moments of gratitude. We bring presence and positivity into our hearts, and clarity about the truest, most authentic version of ourselves that, we pray, will find expression and aliveness in the coming year. We act as conscious co-creators with The Creator.”
 

Blessing of Creation 
Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, oseh maasei v’reishit. 
We praise You, Eternal God, Spirit of the universe, who makes the works of creation. 

Reflection Questions for HaYom Harat Olam - Day of Recreation 
What do I want to practice, seek or commit myself to for the year to come? 
What do I want to create for myself and the world?