Prayer, Poetry & Midrash

My friends have been writing about GodOne gets divine communications via text messageOne is still waiting for any sign at allFor me, it’s a Tap on the shoulderA Whisper in my earThe Still Small Voice Nu? (She says with a tap tap tap)Why are these days any different?The world is a messI left you instructionsGo out […]

My Uber driver  was a woman in a hijab  I climbed in, conscious of my Magen David  Did she clock it? She didn’t say  I didn’t move to hide it We chatted pleasantly and when  Sara Bareilles came on the radio We both sang along  Somewhere else our two people  Are killing one another  But

In a park in Jerusalem I sit on a bench Stone at my back It is cool spring Light jacket No socks and the grass is so green Patches of sunlight, warm Purple dripping from the trees Beneath the canopy of green I smell them The scent heavy beneath from what hangs above from what

You think you know me but you don’t. I am Miriam. The famous Prophetess. The leader of women singing and dancing on the shores of the Reed Sea. I am Miriam. Famous sister of the arguably more famous Moses and Aaron. Miriam, whose name is sometimes used – always in relation to them, never standing

(a response to Merle Feld’s “Let my people go that we may serve You”) I don’t remember girdles but I remember the anger we’re not supposed to show. I’ve always been counted and I’ve also been dismissed too often and too easily I’ve positioned myself so as to be impossible to be seen as invisible,

“We are breathed in-to” she says, and tears spring to my softly closed eyelids We are breathed in-to. God breathes into me Enters me And I breathe back Out Into God We are One We are breathed in-to I am safe and I am loved and I can be whole Sitting between two beloved dear