בס״ד
Shabbos Chol HaMoed Sukkos
First comes an earthquake,
Then Gog and Magog,
Next Moshiach is coming,
Before we’re too old.
So recline in your Sukkah,
Be joyful and sing,
We’ll rely on HaShem,
As we wield David’s Sling.
As Yechezkel predicted,
Perhaps for our dor,
We will use those who hate us,
to mop up the floor.
בס״ד
Sukkos
the wings within which I am sheltered,
this bamboo roof, these fabric walls,
sunlight peeking though reed feathers,
shimmering, speckled, as it falls.
the encircling cloth veils and refines,
sun and starlight, smoothing,
what wings are these that envelope me,
whose quiet voice whispering, soothing?
by human hand erected, but a fluttering presence
alights within it, pinions unfolding,
a je ne sais quoi, an essence,
that the sukkah's dearly holding.
these wings are not for flying,
they are for embracing
the ones we love.
בס״ד
Yom Kippur/Shabbos
I used to be critical of Yonah
He flees from his mission
and his K’el
Avoids tshuva ’til he’s in the belly
of a whale
Completes his assignment in a
half-hearted way
Pouts and sulks when he doesn’t
have a say
I used to be critical of Yonah
But he sounds just like me
בס״ד
Haazinu/Shabbos Shuva
They aren’t a nation, a kingdom, or state,
They aren’t a people, with tales to relate,
They are a non-people, as Moshe’s song spoke,
They’re living for nothing, except to provoke.
They insist they are victims, which isn’t untrue,
They prey on each other, and blame it on you,
The nations support them, they fan up the coals,
And yet this non-people builds nothing but holes.
They’d rather be tools of a nation that lies,
Than give up their tunnels, and look to the skies,
Make homes for their families, see to their health,
They choose to do nothing but squander their wealth.
Is this the non-people, of which Moshe warned,
Who’ll be sent to attack us, if Torah we scorned,
Return… return… HaShem calls to us now,
The secret is tshuva, I just don’t know how.
בס״ד
Rosh HaShanah
I feel less like the rosh,
And more like the zanav,
Tied to the earth,
And remote from above.
This year full of klalah,
Has left me bereft,
My energy’s fading,
I have little left.
As I look at the world,
Where the evil take charge,
Their real numbers are few,
But their impact’s so large.
So here is the lesson,
I discern through the fog,
Even if I’m the tail,
I can still wag the dog.
בס״ד
Netzavim-Vayeilech
“adding the watered to the thirsty”
what an obscure turn of phrase
to describe willful sinning with
the expectation of forgiveness
thus losing His compassion
for even the unintentional
a malignant merger
like combining wool with linen, or
sowing with mixed seed, or
hitching an ox with a donkey
unlike salt
sodium and chlorine both toxic
until combined
or a minyan, in which
all of our prayers are elevated
by the righteous among us
the watered making a tikkun
for the thirsty
בס״ד
Ki Savo
Sometimes it may take 40 years
to understand what we’ve had
all along.
Like an esrog, forever ripening,
sun, rain, and earth, nurturing slowly
with each passing day.
Fraught with struggle, and joy,
bitter lessons, and stunning victories,
setbacks bringing not despair,
but wisdom.
Looking back as we look forward
we no longer await perfection
nor do we fear our flaws,
blemish indistinguishable from beauty,
like love and loss, they are one.
This precious seed, rooting and sprouting,
but never decaying, ever fresh,
always delving deeper into
the moist, warm, living soil,
which is the human heart.
