Pesach (Dayenu)

 בס״ד

Dayenu

Is a question really a question,

If the answer’s clearly shown?

Is an answer truly an answer,

If the question’s already known?

Real questions are important,

Because they show engagement,

Honest answers are essential,

For they avoid estrangement.

Curiosity should be something

Our seder naturally evokes,

With questions unrehearsed,

And unexpected answers spoke.

Perhaps de-emphasize the seudah

That might raise an eye

An empty table but for seder plate

They might just ask you why.

For plagues and open miracles

Are forgotten once revealed

Once our mundane life returns

Our eyes are then resealed.

So focus less upon the details 

Of the nissim we were shown

Than the fact that they were done at all

To start our way back home. Dayenu.

Tzav

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Tzav

I would not have chosen thus,

Ear and thumb and toe,

To anoint with blood the Kohen,

So kedushah to bestow.

Strong of arm, clear of eye,

Within whose heart love glows,

Legs and back and shoulders broad,

His graceful movements flow.

But that, I think, might be the point,

His avodah is a dance,

A choreography of harmonies,

That can’t be left to chance.

Essential to the symphony,

The Kohen must be nimble,

All his limbs must be in tune,

With harp and song and timbrel.

For this you need an ear to hear,

A thumb to grasp the rhyme,

A toe to tap the rhythm of

A psalm that sings through time.

Vayikra 1

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Vayikra

Is there really a need for fragrant smoke

Or the aroma of consecrated wine

To rise from the mizbeach?

Is He not here with us, in an unseeable realm

Not far or distant, occupying

Our same wisp of illusory space?

No reason for a re’ach ni’choach to ascend

Because there is no above and below

Only a gossamer curtain of perception.

Yet His nachas ruach swells as we

Tenderly offer those precious gifts

Allotted us in each ephemeral moment.

The aroma is rather for us to imbibe

Anointing each giving heart 

This is the re’ach He savors.

We inhabit His presence, and He ours

Search carefully, with closed eyes

And listen for Him, in the falling of a tear.

Vayikra 2

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Vayikra

What is this re’ach ni’choach?

We find it first mentioned by Noach,

When of every clean beast

And of every clean bird

He was makriv upon his mizbeach.

We see as Vayikra goes on,

That the essence of every korban,

Is this pleasing smell

That makes HaShem kvell,

And it’s this we’re relying upon.

Though that’s what He wants us to do,

Is the tachlis a good barbecue?

No! when done to perfection,

By the Torah’s direction,

Our hearts open up, thanks to You.

And of this I’m convinced, batuach,

As we will see later in Shlach,

That a re’ach so fine,

Also comes from the wine,

Producing a sweet nesech ru’ach.

So the re’ach is but an allusion,

To our sense of smell, there’s the confusion,

Since it’s not to His nose,

That the rich bouquet rose,

But to ours, let there be no illusion.

Vayakhel/Pekudei

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Vayakhel/Pekudei

Fear can unify,

so can love.

The one can lead to an eggel,

perhaps a tower of Bavel,

each creative soul lost

to the conformity of

the mob,

and thus doomed

 to crumble.

The other to an eternal mishkan

in which each thread of goat hair

is treasured,

unique,

spun by hand

from a woman’s giving heart,

inspired

with wisdom,

of more value than an entire

golden calf.

Ki Sisa

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Ki Sisa

“Erase me” said Moshe, defending the Am,

Forget that I ever existed.

G-d said in reply, 

“those that sinned I’ll erase”,

And none of their names have persisted.

But erasing leaves traces, there still will remain,

An impression of what was first written.

Erase, and erase, 

and erase once again,

And it still won’t completely be stricken.

For certain, HaShem himself never forgets,

Our Fathers he counts to our credit,

And from “avon avos”, 

he will cleanse us with love,

But the stain still remains as a debit.

This may explain why, vis-a-vis Amalek,

We must blot out their name altogether,

But still we recall,

 what they did, after all,

For the imprint of that lasts forever.

Tetzaveh

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Tetzaveh

It precedes our consecration,

Fresh-pressed oil for the light,

The olive’s glowing essence,

To illuminate our sight.

Our vestments made of woven cloth,

Of box-like knit and such,

A velvet texture we can feel,

Anoints our sense of touch.

Tiny shiny bells of gold,

Rimonim all around,

Ting-ting-ting with every move,

And cleanse our sense of sound.

Bulls and rams, unleavened loaves,

We do not eat in haste,

Savoring them in love and awe,

We refine our sense of taste.

And last of all the incense,

The ketores we grind well,

In whose aroma, like a mikvah,

We immerse our sense of smell.

At last we will be ready,

After all this has occurred,

To serve with all that’s gifted us,

In every sense of the word.