These poems are from a series on slicha (forgiveness) and geulah (redemption) by poet Julia Knobloch.
Click here for the companion pieces on slicha.
Geulah/Redemption I
They say that when we move in silence
from the blessing for redemption into the standing prayer
without pause, precise, at sunrise
we do as the pious would (although we’re not required to)
I was driven out into these copper sands
by restlessness and shame, not my intention to juxtapose
the blessing for redemption
with the plea for open lips and dew drops
Time was running out, I was not silent
Please, hear and understand me
I have no ancestors to bless, I will die without descendants
Spread your wing and hold me until the break of dawn
Geulah/Redemption II
Let me say again, lovers can be
vessels of redemption
Remember us
Let us
remember us
for good
for the sake of our names
for the sake of our hands
for the sake of making old days new and new days holy
Hold onto what is good
Even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold onto what you believe
Even if it is a tree that stands by itself.
Hold onto what you must do
Even if it is a long way from here.
Hold onto life
Even if it seems easier to let go.
Hold onto my hand
Even if I have gone away from you.
We Remember Them
by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
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.
Hello, couch. Hello, kitchen table. Hello, backyard.
I look around my house and I greet these ordinary objects.
We have spent more time together these past months than usual.
Thank you for being an oasis of comfort and safety.
You have worked so hard to hold me, day in and day out.
How can we allow you and me to rest and restore and return on this most sacred day?
I transform you with my desire for the change I wish to see in myself.
You, dear couch, table, backyard, you are now my sacred space—my mikdash m’at,
a sanctuary where I will allow myself to become present to my breath,
to turn down the noise of the world
and turn up the volume of my prayers.
Shanah tovah, dear couch, Good Yuntif, dear kitchen table, G’mar Tov, dear backyard!
In this holy space that is my home, I pursue my desire to become whole.
We Dance Around The Shul
By Trisha Arlin
Our Torah is old.
The blue velvet cover
And the silver plate that hangs over the velvet
Are both covered in names
Of donors long gone,
And their honored loved ones, gone even longer.
These names mean nothing to us:
We ignore them
On Shabbat
When we dance around the shul.
On Selichot we put aside the old velvet
And dressed our Torah in fresh white covers,
only a year old,
Donated by a beloved member,
Amina.
She died this year, four days before Rosh HaShanah.
Tonight it’s Simkhat Torah.
So we now take off Amina’s white cover
And put on the old one,
Blue, embroidered with strangers' names.
Then we will dance around the shul.
We will think of Amina every year at this time
From now on
Until none of us are around,
Until there is no one who remembers her,
Or us.
Then others will carry this scroll with the white cover
Donated by a Jew they never knew,
While they dance around the shul.
We give thanks for the ancient traditions,
Telling the story even when we can’t,
Keeping our loved ones’ memories
And giving us Torah from the beginning, every year.
There's something special about poetry. More than any other form of writing, it has the power to make us feel. Our Jewish tradition is full of evocative poems that express our gratitude, ask for help, communicate our love and mourn.
During this time of deep preparation and reflection for the High Holidays, poetry can provide a portal into introspection. This collection features contemporary poets and liturgists as well as classic texts. We hope it inspires you.
These poems are from a series on slicha (forgiveness) and geulah (redemption) by poet Julia Knobloch.
Click here for the companion pieces on slicha.
Geulah/Redemption I
They say that when we move in silence
from the blessing for redemption into the standing prayer
without pause, precise, at sunrise
we do as the pious would (although we’re not required to)
I was driven out into these copper sands
by restlessness and shame, not my intention to juxtapose
the blessing for redemption
with the plea for open lips and dew drops
Time was running out, I was not silent
Please, hear and understand me
I have no ancestors to bless, I will die without descendants
Spread your wing and hold me until the break of dawn
Geulah/Redemption II
Let me say again, lovers can be
vessels of redemption
Remember us
Let us
remember us
for good
for the sake of our names
for the sake of our hands
for the sake of making old days new and new days holy
Hold onto what is good
Even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold onto what you believe
Even if it is a tree that stands by itself.
Hold onto what you must do
Even if it is a long way from here.
Hold onto life
Even if it seems easier to let go.
Hold onto my hand
Even if I have gone away from you.
We Remember Them
by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
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.
Hello, couch. Hello, kitchen table. Hello, backyard.
I look around my house and I greet these ordinary objects.
We have spent more time together these past months than usual.
Thank you for being an oasis of comfort and safety.
You have worked so hard to hold me, day in and day out.
How can we allow you and me to rest and restore and return on this most sacred day?
I transform you with my desire for the change I wish to see in myself.
You, dear couch, table, backyard, you are now my sacred space—my mikdash m’at,
a sanctuary where I will allow myself to become present to my breath,
to turn down the noise of the world
and turn up the volume of my prayers.
Shanah tovah, dear couch, Good Yuntif, dear kitchen table, G’mar Tov, dear backyard!
In this holy space that is my home, I pursue my desire to become whole.
We Dance Around The Shul
By Trisha Arlin
Our Torah is old.
The blue velvet cover
And the silver plate that hangs over the velvet
Are both covered in names
Of donors long gone,
And their honored loved ones, gone even longer.
These names mean nothing to us:
We ignore them
On Shabbat
When we dance around the shul.
On Selichot we put aside the old velvet
And dressed our Torah in fresh white covers,
only a year old,
Donated by a beloved member,
Amina.
She died this year, four days before Rosh HaShanah.
Tonight it’s Simkhat Torah.
So we now take off Amina’s white cover
And put on the old one,
Blue, embroidered with strangers' names.
Then we will dance around the shul.
We will think of Amina every year at this time
From now on
Until none of us are around,
Until there is no one who remembers her,
Or us.
Then others will carry this scroll with the white cover
Donated by a Jew they never knew,
While they dance around the shul.
We give thanks for the ancient traditions,
Telling the story even when we can’t,
Keeping our loved ones’ memories
And giving us Torah from the beginning, every year.
There's something special about poetry. More than any other form of writing, it has the power to make us feel. Our Jewish tradition is full of evocative poems that express our gratitude, ask for help, communicate our love and mourn.
During this time of deep preparation and reflection for the High Holidays, poetry can provide a portal into introspection. This collection features contemporary poets and liturgists as well as classic texts. We hope it inspires you.
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