For perhaps four or five years, starting in 2005, my friend Lynn led a writing class before the high holidays. Our writings were then made into a booklet, and we read many of them during the holiday services. I don't seem to have a complete set of booklets, but Lynn has sent me a number of my earlier writings, and I would like to share these with you here.
During the workshops we focused on different parts of the service. I wrote this poem about the Shofar service:
At Sinai, the
shofar's cry, the
thunder's crash, the
mountain's quaking blast ---
all herald the
silence of God's voice.
The devastation of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina happened while we were still meeting; all of us came in with writings about our feelings about Katrina and its aftermath. This is mine, which reflects the taut anger I felt. Neilah is the last set of prayers before sundown on Yom Kippur, which marks the "closing of the gates" which have been open to receive our repentance:
Before Neilah
At the closing of the gates,
this is my prayer:
that I will find a way
to clothe the naked
to shelter the homeless
to feed the hungry;
that when a kind word will comfort
I will take the time to say it;
that when a human touch is needed
I will put myself where I may give it;
that I will recognize God's image
in the faces of the desperate.
Let me end this fast
nourishing my resolve, as
I resume my life.
Amen.
Some years I play the Kol Nidrei prayer before the Kol Nidrei service, which starts Yom Kippur, begins. The prayer itself has to be completed before sundown, so there is no difficulty about this being work. I actually composed this haiku mentally on the way home from class. The words "playing Kol Nidre" were in my head and I realized the rhythm was from it having five syllables.
the violin speaks -
time is suspended - I am
playing Kol Nidrei
The Torah readings on the two days of Rosh Hashana are the stories of Abraham and his sons - on the first day the expulsion of Ishmael and Hagar, and on the second day, the Akeda, the binding of Isaac. I have not yet figured out why we read these particular stories, which are both painful. I have written a several midrashim about these readings. This is the first, a dialogue between Sarah and Hagar, some years after the expulsion. I read this with another woman, and it was a moving experience.
TESHUVA: A MIDRASH
Sarah fought tears. Hagar watched her warily across the low table. Ishmael’s wife had brought fruit and bread, then slipped out with her children.
“I came to ask your forgiveness.” Sarah looked at her hands.
Hagar remained silent.
“I told myself I was protecting Isaac’s future. But he has never stopped missing his brother, though he stopped speaking of it.”
“He has been here. More than once,” Hagar said.
“Has he? That is good,” Sarah paused. “You know, I was so happy when he was born; he brought me life. When I weaned him, I felt some of that life leave me…. What happened to you then? Tell me.”
“I thought we should die, but the God found us. It seems so long ago, another life. We were in Egypt for a while… why have you come here?”
“Nothing in my life has been as I thought it would be. My marriage began in a comfortable house in my city, near my family. And then…all these wanderings, this new God with his tricks, Isaac only in my old age… I have been sorry for a long time. I am tired and lonely.”
For a time there was silence.
Hagar said, “I was a slave, far from my people. I had nothing, then I had Ishmael. You had everything else.”
“We never knew each other.”
“No.”
They sat in silence, then they rose together.
“Will you come again?”
“If you will let me.”
“You will meet my daughter and the children. You will be welcome.”
As she was leaving, Sarah turned and embraced Hagar. For a moment they clung to each other, then Hagar watched until Sarah was out of sight.