בס״ד
Bamidbar
Each half shekel was not the same
worn edges and tarnished faces
unique to each
a history and personality of its own
Yet valued as if newly minted
each coin carrying the imprimatur
of its bearer
whom the Molder had fashioned by hand
By this we were counted
like the gifts of the Nesi’im
identical, but not
no two hearts beating just the same
And the One who knows recognizes
from every unseen trace of sweat
and each adhering speck of arid dust
the soul who bore it
בס״ד
Behar-Bechukosai
“Do what I tell you”, it reads not ungently,
You’ll be better off, both physc-ly and ment-ly,
Go as commanded in the path that I set,
(It’s not a suggestion, on that you can bet.)
About Noach it says that he walked with HaShem,
Avraham travelled before Him, but then,
The path that we follow is not quite so clear,
The trail that we tread, which we hope brings us near.
Nusachim, minhagim, they all play a part,
They grab at our kishkas, they pull at our heart,
Halacha is subject to: where, when, and how,
Sometimes its hard to know what to hold now.
Are we given more credit than our Fathers before us,
If we get it wrong, is there less of an onesh,
Like blind men we edge along, tapping our cane,
On a cliff masked with shadow, temptation, and pain.
We depend on Your brachos, the ones that You pick,
Please guide us with carrot, instead of the stick,
We cannot walk with or before as they did,
We have to seek after…’cause You’re so well hid.
בס״ד
Emor
Food for HaShem?
Served by an untainted Kohen,
Only the best is offered,
With a wave.
Is HaShem such a picky eater?
Did he not bestow every blotch
And blister which appears upon man or beast?
But HaShem only does what is good for us,
“The castaway shall not remain cast away”,
He declares.
So, it is not for Him that the
Blemished are banished, but for us,
So that we should not err as
Kayin did, in the beginning,
Saving the choicest for himself,
Thus diminished,
By his own hand.
בס״ד
Acharei Mos-Kedoshim
Horn-ed he-goat, picked by lot,
Not deserving what he got,
Not offered up, no pleasing smell,
Sent instead to Azazel?
Or assuming now a dubious stature,
All that’s bad in human nature,
Our barbarity, which we restrain,
Given now an angel’s name?
Or was Azazel a mountain high,
Sister peak of Har Sinai,
A ridge that Aaron knew back then,
The title now used once again?
Or demonic shade, in darkness bred,
The scapegoat, with its scarlet thread,
Cast down in order to appease,
Its insatiable voracities?
If Kohen Gadol chose today,
Where to banish our worst away,
Perhaps that realm where spectres dwell,
The tormented pits of Aza’s hell.
