Poetry

Remember.

Remember the blessings of those who no longer walk this earth.

Remember each name, each life-story.

Remember on behalf of those whose memory fails.

Remember with love the sweet and the bittersweet.

Remember with forgiveness the hurt and misunderstanding.

Remember with insight so you might experience deeper meaning.

Remember through the pain until you can touch the joy and find comfort.

Remember through dreams left unfulfilled and choose one to fulfill.

Remember through your heart.

Remember through your actions.

Remember through living with kindness, generosity and forgiveness.

Remember by planting memories and helping them take root in the living.

Remember by opening your heart even if you thought it was closed forever.

Remember to live your own life as a blessing.

Remember to do all this.

Remember and you will be remembered.

Remember.

-by Rabbi Nina Mizrahi

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Originally published by The Open Siddur Project

Clip source: The Shomer Collective

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.

Things that have no limit

in this world or any other:

how often I can think of you

and feel my sadness lessen

the comfort that I find in you

from eve to night to morning

how many times I turn to you

to see my best self reflected

the gratitude I feel for you

(how did I get so lucky?)

All of these are infinite --

my love for you is greater.

Hareinu m’kablim aleinu et mitzvat ha-borei

V’ahavta l’re’akha camokha, l’reakha camokha.

Here we take upon ourselves the mitzvah of our Creator

To love my neighbor as myself, my neighbor as myself.

If you can find stillness,

the jasmine will night-bloom in your direction

and the breeze

will carry its sacred exhalation of perfume

toward you.

Breathe,

the moon will cascade waves of radiance

downward,

drop her silver robes,

glow.

You will awaken,

overtaken by a love

that asks no permission,

golden particles rising

beneath your skin.

all of existence

longs to be an offering.

eternity is a constant whisper

wishing to be listened to.

This is the beginning.

This is only the beginning.

Let it in.

Soul Nidre 
By Rachel Kann 
 

I said I did my best, 
but I know there is better yet 
within this lonely bag of bones,
forgive me.

I tried, but not hard enough,
forgive me.

I gave up,
forgive me.

I disrespected my inner wisdom,
forgive me.

I lied when I said I was fine, 
I’m not fine,
forgive me.

I took your pure love for granted, 
mishandled your divinity,
forgive me.

I swept my indiscretions under the rug 
instead of addressing them,
forgive me.

I lusted and succumbed to my hunger,
forgive me.

I fell in love with my own woundedness,
forgive me.

I have transgressed in ways I am cannot even name, 
my shame so deep 
I am unable to awaken 
to the full brunt 
of my inner wickedness.
I gave up,
I tangoed with my death wish,
I let fear win,
I hid my brightness,
I dimmed my light,
I denied my own power,
I lurked in shadows,
acted like I didn’t matter,
shattered my own scattershot heart,
forgive me.

I lacked faith,
forgive me.

I/Me/Us/We did not trust,
forgive us.

Excerpt from Soul Nidre, originally published in Hevria

In memory of Roberta and Michael Laric z”l 

Aharon was silent in the face of death.

Sometimes there are no words

And sometimes words are all we have

To communicate

To commiserate

To comfort.

HaMakom yenachem etchem btoch sh’ar aveilei tzion v'yerushalayim

“May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion

And Jerusalem”

Falls so short

And yet the very formula

Grants grace

Giving us words to fill the silence

Linking our discomfort to the discomfort of ages

And ages of comforters

Standing at graveside

Sitting at shiva

Wishing we could do more.

Sometimes there are no words

And sometimes words are all we have

That and a hand on a shoulder

A tear in the throat

A heart overflowing

And the promise to come

When everyone else has left

So, though bereft,

The mourner is not abandoned. 

-by Rabbi Susan Grossman

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© Copyright. Rabbi Susan Grossman, 2022. Shared with author’s permission.