In the Time of our Sorrow

By Rachel Kann

My tongue wants to un-gate the flood, it is

an urgent compulsion to spill knotted guts,

in these weeks of banned melody,

my lips wants to rebel,

to howl,

to sing

of my suffering,

of all my shortcomings,

every rejection,

every threat to our collective existence,

the abandonment unabated,

of how my heart is a bitter almond,

spilling with cyanide,

splitting its endocarp,

longing only for the orchard,

of how my heart is a heavy stone,

flack-jacketed,

sallow and sinking in my chest,

how a glut of shrapnel is stuck in my throat,

of how I am blindfolded in love’s minefield,

frozen, unable to navigate the danger

lurking beneath the surface,

hurtful blossoms

lying in night-wait

only to explode,

detonate the light of day,

of the world’s unending

re-dedication to the re-destruction

of temples.

My heart wants to take flight,

transcend the gravity

of this misbegotten planet.

Before the unkindness of ravens and

murder of crows can escape the open moan,

I am circle-dancing,

hand in hand with so many wondrous

warrior women,

with Magda and Miriam,

who came through the dark tunnel of the Shoah,

who are here with me,

present and spilling light.

This is beyond awe,

beyond gratitude.

We weave a grapevine

up the trunk of the almond tree,

we are strengthened by our suffering.

We are indestructible.

This world crushes us,

we refuse to turn poisonous,

dancing and rooting and branching

despite this.

In glorious defiance,

we pour ourselves forward

in honeyed amaretto flooding,

we sweeten the darkness,

light the bitterness.

We kasher every unholy implement

used against us.

We ready them for service

in the holy temple of our most

miraculous dance:

our continued existence.

At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.

At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.

At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.

At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them.

At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.

When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.

For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them.

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

Remember, God, the soul of ( my grandparents, my uncles and aunts, my siblings, my husband, my wife, my partner, another close relative ) ( the name of the departed, child of the name of their parent ), who went to his/her/their world, because I will - without making a vow - give charity for her/him/them. In recompense for this, let his/her/their soul be bound with the Binding of life (God), with the soul of Avraham, Yitzchak and Ya'akov, Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel and Leah, and with the other righteous ancestors in the Garden of Eden. And let us say, Amen.

On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we read the traditional confessional prayer, the Vidui, which has two parts: Ashamnu and Al Chet. Both are written in the first person plural. No matter who surrounds us, we share the responsibility for what we have done wrong and the obligation to do better in the future. Recently, positive versions of the Ashamnu have emerged, helping us appreciate where we have done well in the past year. 

These modern interpretations can help you to reflect on where you’ve made mistakes and where you’ve created good in the world. Some people have a custom of beating their fist against their heart as they confess each sin, and of massaging their hearts with an open hand for every appreciation. 

Confess/Thorns                                               Appreciate/Roses           

We have behaved arrogantly                             We have adored

We have betrayed ourselves and others           We have blessed ourselves and others  

We have acted out of contempt                         We have comforted 

We have been dishonest                                   We have directed our energies toward truth

We have erred out of ignorance                        We have been empathetic 

We have forgotten who we are                          We have forgiven past wrongs 

We have gossiped                                             We have grown 

We have been hypocritical                                We have helped even when we weren’t asked 

We have been insensitive                                 We have insisted on loving each other 

We have justified bad decisions                        We have been just 

We have killed our impulse to do good             We have been kind 

We have looked the other way                         We have learned 

We have been mean                                        We have been merciful    

We have been neglectful                                  We have nursed compassion from scorn

We have acted out of fear instead of love        We have been open-minded 

We have pushed too much                               We have spoken positively 

We have been quiet when we should have spoken up                   We have questioned in a healthy way 

We have refused to help when we had the ability                           We have respected our friends and family

We have slandered                                           We have supported strangers 

We have taken from others when we had enough for ourselves     We have cultivated truth

We have been untrue                                        We have unlearned falsehoods 

We have behaved violently                               We have validated each others’ feelings

We have withheld what could have been given freely                     We have been willing to change 

We have been xenophobic                               We have experienced pure joy 

We have yielded to our worst impulses            We have yearned for a better future

We have zealously protected evil-doers           We have zestily given our best  

Positive Vidui adapted from Rabbi Avi Weiss: https://opensiddur.org/prayers/lunisolar/high-holy-days/life-affirming-vidui-by-rabbi-avi-weiss/