Tuesday, April 14, 2015

From Generation to Generation-For Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

There is a pipeline that runs 
not across the rugged terrain
Of Northern Canada or the wilds of Alaska
But across the tundra of tragic generations,
A pipeline gushing the energy of life,
Genes of fear seeping through placentas
Into innocent bundles of soon to be 
Bawling babies.
The source of this sticky fluid
That clogs the capillaries of clarity and courage 
Lies deep within ancient strata of 
Compressed hatred,
Hatred solidified into the shale of shame and terror
Trickling through seams of a grandmother’s uterus
Coursing through veins bulging with the  borscht of Russian steppes
And the “barakes”
 of the Balkans
These strings of  chromosomes stamping identities of  fear
To the forefront of children’s children
Reaching its evolutionary eruption through smoke stacks belching tender toxins
Of children’s flesh,

And those that live
Are “fracked”  into sources of continuity-
But life’s  liquid has been blackened by the soot of
Jewish skin trapped inside the chimneys
Of refineries wishing to purify Europe’s foul fuel
Of Jewish contaminants-
Yet  the oil of Hebrew babies  flows , emitting the energy 
of  breathing,  learning  and playing, and showing the world hope
But they tremble with the oil  of  terror’s transmission,
One that  stalks the pale and pretty face of my daughter.

I want to go home-for Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

Her new home
she's come a long way, baby
Laura Ashley-
goyish, but gorgeous,
delicate, refined
the smell of  “Waspy” freshness
in every corner-
“It's very clean” she mutters, an accent 
 of some far away location
far away from the shimmering shores of the Hudson river
and so long ago, before her world died,
when she could boast  of a father
with  modern machines who
could crush kernels into
and recite the  mantra of
lines of gentile farmers waiting for
the miracle of a wealthy Jew-

“I want to go home” she declared, eyes blankly looking ahead 
at some dim memory of 75 years ago-
“and where is home” she is asked, fear in the daughter's voice,
lest she reply
“the Queens!”
“Sosnovitch” came the barely audible 
a tiny shtetl
 of carefree days,
not a Jew in sight today, unless 
you dig underground.

Another home, another grey haired lady 
lost in the emptiness of time
upon hearing her plea-”I want to go home!”
a social worker asks, pity and professionalism mingled in a desperate mind,
 “Where is home?
And she answers with a certainty born of confusion


“Unetaneh Tokef”(High Holiday Prayer) For Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day)

What do angels do?
Each day they agree to praise
In tones gentle and pure, obedient, loyal…
Such calm and serenity
A daily  celestial celebration
Then the New Year arrives..
And angels change their course,
In the heavenly heights,  fidelity gives  way to frenzy
As Angels scurry about,
Chaos , not the chorus of sweet melody,
To praise , to protest, to stay silent?
A day of judgment!
Who shall live and who shall die, and how???

Below mortals in quiet calm of sacred space
Embraced by coziness of family and friends,
And competent clergy, 
God is our  Shepherd , we read,
counting  little lambs shepherded back to safety after a long  day of grassy grazing
Each one passing under His soothing staff, counting and recording each little lamb;
If  one is missing then, like Moses, He  crosses  mountains and valleys 
And  cradled in the arms of the Almighty, little lost ones come  home.

we pass under His rod-
 a crook of compassion.
He will care for us, see to it that tomorrow’s 
Surprises will be pleasant ones-

Another New Year, without synagogue, 
Without heavenly hopes
This time in hell-
The Teuton god carries a stick,  a crook of cruelty 
He too counts and records , but with  the precision of  German 
 Gemeindschaft, the heart of perverted power
Babies in wailing mothers arms pass under the gold tipped staff-
crazed , they arrive at  stone cold enclaves ,
In cars meant for cattle, not fleecy, cuddly lambs!

No rhetorical questions waiting for an answer-
 All will die, some immediately, others too soon-
How? By gas, by fire, by wild beasts who play the part of  kind shepherds
To fool and deceive –
“Arbeit Macht Frei” the sign reads-
the reward for work is freedom-
And if one little lamb is unaccounted for, 
no effort will be spared to find it and bring it back home, home to the wolf’s claws, 
 where it belongs, soon to ascend 
chimney stacks and join the  smoke filled skies-
Angels abound, angels of death,  scurrying  about, with clear minds and hearts-
Doing their duty with reverent obedience
Performing their tasks of terror and death
Joyfully and with melody and song.

Please God-don’t be so meticulous in your 
Accounting of us and your divine record keeping-
Turn away  for a moment , so that we can escape  and hide 

Until liberators arrive and take us back to pens of promise. 

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Passover-Eating Matzah

“ The world is the host-it must be chewed.”

Was Cheever at my Seder?
Did he see us munch away at the Matzah?
 Matzah, the Jewish host of life, the flesh
of every Jewish christ on earth?
Simple dough and water- dry land and seas,
the everything of this planet,
to be chewed with gusto 
 Satiated on matzah, do we transubstantiate?
Crunching the crispy furrows of cardboard tasting wafers 
into softened mush, the warmth of our tongues watering the dryness
of hearts into living places of feeling and life,
 into the living flesh of  divine beings?

Do we now know the answer to the four questions of life-
why is this night different? 
The Seder we chew on-
tell and retell stories, 
drink the bloody red wine, 
sample sprigs of green,
 ingest the bitterness of human suffering,
 burn the lining of our guts, 
 fill bellies with a banquet of smells and tastes-
so much chewing, our jaws weary and sore,
finally  reclining , satisfied smiles on our reddened faces, we spit out songs of praise and thanksgiving!
Next year in Jerusalem!
 But  for now we clean up and drag our tired bodies to bed,
 and  again, drift into the darkness of night,
but tonight we  know -nirzah, we have chewed the sacrificial meal and it is pleasing to the liberating spirits on high.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

A Personal Dayenu-Passover-2015


If I could only wiggle my toes
And know something that no one else knows,

If I could bend my knees,
And see what everyone else sees,

If I could raise my arm,
Holding back from doing harm,

If I could twiddle my thumb
And scratch my bum

If I could bend the  wrist
And my ankle twist,

If I could hear my belly growl
And wipe away a scowl

If I can slide off the bed
And not land on my head

If I can hear birds chirp
and my gut   give out a burp

If I have my teeth to brush
And get dressed in a rush

And let’s not forget,
Hands and face that get wet,

I cannot overlook,
How little effort it took
To open my eyes 
And for my belly to rise

Heart going pitter patter
It’s not some small matter

Breathing in,
Breathing out,
I can sing
I can shout

Roof over my head,
Simply alive and not dead.

I can do it  all  and so much more
To be grateful is the door
To  our joy , our longevity
Happiness and serenity.

Dayenu-we declare
We thank God for our share.