Poems for the Jewish Calendar

  We come each year to draw Our sins out of the sea. Some years we walk up and down scanning for trash, or sitting and sifting in the sun but this year there’s no need We can stand in one place where the tide rolls in and turns to crash back out and each

  Returning to You doesn’t have to be complicated It can be a moment A pause Noticing the sunbeam of light falling softly across my bed in the morning A miracle if I notice it A tragedy if I do not   (The power of the miracle and the tragedy lies within me as much

There were moments this year when I thought I would never be okay again when I was so broken and broken-down that I wasn’t sure I could go on I was truly in that Sheol place that dark pit of despair where I couldn’t find the light within where I couldn’t remember my own worth

And Abraham travelled with his days collected in a rucksack (an Ark?) that he carried from place to place as God directed him here and there Here and there I carry my days too as God directs me there and here There and Here Some of my days are quite heavy More and more these

If I confront you  about the ways in which you’ve  harmed me  I must also prepare to be confronted by the ways in which I’ve harmed you  And  I must be ready to confront and clear my own triggers and sensitivity  Somewhere between my hurt and yours  there is truth  Let us hold up a

  In the middle of The Bad Year you gave me a dead Apricot tree or so it seemed a flimsy empty branch in a fancy planter It seemed fitting we didn’t know if we were growing or dying together   When I left you, I had determined among many things that it was alive

Dear Sadness, Please meet Joy. She comes with her friends Awareness, Gratitude, Self-Acceptance and Love She comes with all of my friends too She comes with mountains and oceans and rivers and valleys And sunshine and flowers and dogs and yes, even cats She comes with farm animals and sea creatures She comes with a

Telling you that you’ve harmed me Isn’t easy You’d think it would be That I would want to rebuke you Shout out my pain and rage and name all the injustices   but telling you about my broken heart my fractured ego the ways in which I have lost confidence my shame my regret telling

This is a time of counting Not a holy day or a week-long festival, but a season – a season for counting Once it was about the grain; about the priests; about counting from one harvest to the next A season full of anxiety and hope anxiety because the prosperity of the year was at