Approach - a poem for parashat Vayigash

This is God's doing:
I knew it all along:
Divine intervention on a biblical scale -
someone should contact DeMille,
te absolvo to the rest of you;

You clearly had no part
in the glory-bound trainwreck
that was the beginning
of this merry-go-round life,
all murderous contempt aside.
You have no power here,
nor your little dog
or your sparkly red shoes.

Clearly it was God all along

So you may approach, knees bent,
tail between your legs,
and make as your offering gift
the  blood - spattered remnants of cloth of gold
and red and orange and purple and black -
You get the picture -
I get the glory.

Blessed is God,
and deserving of blessing.
Amen

How Shall I Know You: a poem for parashat Vaera

How shall I know
that you are God,
my Lord and Master,
Judgment in your right hand
And mercy on your lips?

How shall I know
that I am home,
that I will be gathered,
be beloved,
be returned?

Will I know You by my enemies,
by their decimation and ruin?
Is that Your glory, Lord,
Your secret name?

Are You the eternal Lord of Hosts,
battle-ready, all iron and stone -
My Rock,
My Redeemer -
Is there yet no give in You?

How shall I know You, God?
What shall I call You?
How will I know I am home?


Based, with a twist, on Ezekiel 28:25 - 29:10, the haftara for parashat Vaera

The Texture of Shadows - for parashat Toldot

We danced,
my brother and I,
a twisted tango of love and hate.
He cast such shadows--
long and textured,
big enough to hide in.

Thief! You liar and thief!
You stole my parents
and I loved you,
would have given it all to you,
if you had only said the words
I longed to hear.
Instead, I hid in your shadow
that blazed and shimmered
and grew mighty--
long, and longer still.
It covered all the land:
my birthright, my heart.

Thief-- you stole everything from me!
You stole the light of heaven,
and my father's eyes,
that were so dim and faulty
he could see only your shadow:
Dark and luminous and richly royal,
A cloak that swallowed light.

An absence of color,
your shadow was,
a cloak of lies for him,
and a comfort for our mother,
who needed its comfort.
She loved you best. And I,
I loved you all.

You played on ladders
and tangled with angels;
you demanded the curse of
blessings and names.
You took my mother's love,
stole my father's touch
until there was nothing left for me
but the raw desperation of silence.

My brother--
all liquid cunning.
You took it all, you thief,
You liar and thief!
I begged, hungering for the
easy grace of their notice,
living a poor and pale echo
of your sheltering,
sweltering,
smothering life.

You turned hard rock into the kingdom of Heaven
and betrayal into a nation of sand and stars.
You knew God,
so you were blessed
and cursed
and loved.

Now we are here, at the river's edge
on the border of night and shadows.
You knew God,
but I learned forgiveness,
so I bless you,
and curse you,
and love you
more.

Eshet Chayil - A Woman of Valor (for the 21st century)

She doesn't feel brave,

except sometimes, when she does.

She feels the weight of rubies

and gold twist on her fingers;

she prefers a crown of flowers

in her hair to cold metal

and the straight-edged lines

of rocks.

She doesn't feel brave,

except when she does

in her heart -

   the heart of a wife

   and daughter

   mother, perhaps

   Or not - childless,

      by choice or

      unseen circumstance.

Weaver of tales, spinner of

fine linen that snags

sometimes, and she smooths it

with supple fingers -

slim fingers -

crooked and thick-with-age fingers.

She pulls the threads

that pulls the cloth. 
There is beauty in its folds.

She doesn't feel brave,

but she laughs,

and it sounds like water

and light; and she knows goodness

and sometimes pain, 

and the law of kindness

is on her tongue.

She doesn't feel strong,

but she rises when she falls,

because there are bills to pay

and dinner to fix

and papers to grade

and sometimes write.

There are knees to bandage

and meetings to endure

and the clock just keeps ticking.

And there are friends to love,

and family to love,

and self to love -

yes: self to love,

sometimes.

She rises, exhausted.

She rises, in joy.

She rises, trembling.

fearless.

bruised,

alone,

lonely.

She rises.

She knows nothing of valor

or the value of rubies.

She rises, and does not feel strong,

but sometimes she knows blessings

and a stumbling bit of grace.

Based on Proverbs 31:10-31, which is
also known as "Eshet Chayil" - A Woman of Valor

My Idle Feet Moved

There was no voice,

or perhaps a voiceless voice -

so soft, small,

it could only be heard

just beyond the edges

of hearing.

It sang anyway,

that voiceless voice.

It ran through my body

and burned my hands

that lay idle at my side.

It drummed a beat

that moved my heart,

that moved my feet

in surprising syncopation.

Not a waltz,

nor a tango,

but my idle feet,

idle as my hands -

my idle feet

Moved.

They danced with the

voice that was no voice

that had no sound,

but it sang in my heart

and burned my hands

and beat in steady rhythm

and so I danced.

and sang the song
of the voiceless,

and stumbled on broken bits

of shattered tablets.

For Isaiah 1:17

My Name Hides Me - a poem for parashat Shmot

My name hides me;
That's why there are so many.

I hear them, crying out
every one of my infinite names,

though some say there are only 72.
Perhaps; I've not bothered to count.

Still, names are binding,
and have power.

I spoke my name once;
not the ones you have given me.

You think them a benediction,
and do not see that they are merely parts,

adjectives of my glory.
They are not Me.

You call me justice, and sometimes mercy,
as if they are not inextricably twined,

as if they could be
made separate from me.

I hear their cries, and
all my names,

they hide me.
Still, I will answer.

I will make the ground holy
I will cause the bush to burn

I will be.
I am.

A Long Line of Dreamers

For Joseph, who dreamed of himself

I come from a long line of dreamers.

They dreamed of the desert,

that golden swath of dust

stretching unto forever

They dreamed of mountains casting

long shadows over growing grain

and battered hearts.

They dreamed of angels

and men, and, sometimes,

could even tell the two apart.

My father was a master of visions.

He dreamed of God and angels,

of men who rose on ladders

and waged fierce battles

in the dark.

The dreamers who came before me

claimed the power of names

and prophecy,

though they could not defeat

the sunrise.

Across the vault of heaven,

my father planted feet and flags

and built a nation scattered

by time and light.

I, too, have dreamed of stars

and wheat that bowed

in graceful supplication.

Even the sun, in its radiance,

and the moon—that silver disk

against a fold of night—

bowed to me in my dreams.

What need have I of nations and time,

of angels or men,

with all that the spheres of heaven

and the bounty of God's earth

have given me?

I, after all, am a dreamer of greatness. 

For Dinah, who did not speak: a poem for parashat Vayishlach

He says he loves me,
and his gaze
quickens my blood.

Hush, he said.
His hands moved, rough and calloused
against my perfume-dusted body

and my flesh rises to his touch,
and he loves me,
he says.

Wait, I want to say;
but he says hush
as he enters me,
takes my breath away;
and I have no words left.

My father waits to bind me
to that man who whispered love
seven blessings and I'm clean.

As if I'm broken, as if...
He says loves me.
My brothers too.
I think they hunger to avenge

the day my flesh rose to meet his touch,
when he said he loved me,
when I wanted to say wait.

When he took my breath
and my words
away.

Wait, I want to say;
he says he loves me.
Thhereis nothing left
for me to say.

They have taken my breath -
my words -
my love -
away.

For Esau - for parashat Vayishlach

Thief!

Liar and thief!
Despite all you stole,
I loved you still.
I would have given anything
if you’d asked.
Instead your shadow
smothered my birthright,
my heat.

Thief!
You stole the light of heaven,
the love of our mother,
even our father's faulty eyes.

You took it all and left me—
what does one call a shadow
of a shadow?

Of betrayal you made a nation
numberless as the sand and stars.

Because you knew God,
you were blessed and cursed
and beloved.
You knew God,
but I learned forgiveness.

And so I bless you and curse you

and love you more still.

Hagar's Song - a poem for parashat Vayeira

I hear the desert when you cry -
wide and open,
empty as Heaven.

I cannot hide from it,
neither the desert
nor your tears.

The angel bade me "Stay!"
with words of tarnished gold
and stolen silver.

What is greatness
laid against your pain?
What of glory
in a thousand years,
while you thirst and I despair?

I hear heaven when you cry -
absent and empty,
an echo of angels
and the glory of God.

Until You are Stars and Sand - a poem for parashat Lech L'cha

Go. until you are sand and stars,
until I am the only whisper
you hear,
the one of your heart,
the dreamer of you.

Leave behind all
that you know
and love
and believe.
Leave your father's gaze
and your mother's kiss.
Leave the feeling of home
and go.

Go until you are stars and sand,
until you are a blessing.

Jacob's Ladder

David's harp urges me
and the horns of Abraham's
dilemma push me,
and Jacob's ladder is crowded
with angels. They move aside,
not without some attitude,
so I may stumble up those
narrow rungs; still -
elevated though I am,
there is only dust
and a blaze of Glory
in the far distance.

I am meant to follow,
with open hands
and open heart,
to feel the quickening
of my blood
that moves in equal time
with my shame
and my joy, my fear and
love, my grief and my ecstasy,
So that I may claim them all,
as they have claimed me -
and once claimed,
I may again stand at the gates
and ask to enter.

I Know the Heart of a Stranger

I know the heart of the stranger.
It beats
And bleeds
And breaks.
I know this heart;
It is my own.

But this I do not know -
this hatred,
this tearing
and rending.
I do not know this
suffocation,
this strangled
heart of
darkness

The stench from
this sacrifice is not pleasing.
it is a desolation.
There is no delight in this,
only death and a heart of stone.

I do not know that heart.

Will you bring a rain
of scarlet hyssop petals
to flutter and fall
against the broken bodies
piled against altars
slick with blood?

I would know You, God!
I would know the heart of a stranger.
I would sing of Your glory
and teach Your ways with joy.

But this heart -
this heart of death
and desecration -
I cannot know this heart.
I will not know this heart.

If I knew that heart
I fear it would be mine.

Ark

I made a house of wood,
Of cubits and inches
and fashioned with tongues
and grooves, and
all the pieces fitted together,
just so.

It was beautiful to behold.

Inside, I placed soft feathers
and stones of quarry gray.
They rested in shadow
and were cold to the touch.

Just so, they burned
my hands



based on Deut. 10:3-5

And so I danced

There was no voice,

Or perhaps there was a

Voiceless voice -

So soft,

so small

it could only be heard

just beyond the borders

of my hearing.

It sang anyway,

that voiceless voice.

It ran through my body

and burned my hands

which lay idle at my side.

It drummed a beat

that moved my heart,

that moved my feet

in surprising syncopation.

Not a waltz

Nor a tango,

but my idle feet,

idle as my hands -

my idle feet

Moved.

They danced with the

voice that was no voice

that had no sound,

but it sang in my heart

And burned my hands

And beat in steady rhythm

And so I danced.

And sang the song
of the voiceless,

and stumbled on broken bits

of shattered tablets.

For Isaiah 1:17