tagged: community support • the Open Siddur Project ✍ פְּרוֺיֶקְט הַסִּדּוּר הַפָּתוּחַ

הקול קטן של אליהו הנביא | A reflection on despair and suicide awareness to be read upon opening the door for Elijah at the Passover seder

Oren Steinitz (translation) — Wed, 25 Mar 2015 18:00:56 +0000

Hebrew (translation)	Source (English)
לקריאה בשעת פתיחת הדלת לאליהו.	To be read upon opening the door for Elijah.
הלילה אנחנו מהרהרים באליהו הנביא. אנו חולמים על אליהו מבקר בשולחן הסדר שלנו, לא על מנת לסעוד, אלא על מנת לבשר על בואו של משיח בן דוד.	Tonight we reflect on Eliyahu HaNavi, Elijah the Prophet. Tonight we dream of Elijah visiting our Seder; not to eat — but to serve as the precursor to the Messiah.
בפסח, אנו מתפללים לימות המשיח – התקופה שבה כל האנושות תחיה בשלום; שלום גשמי ורוחני כאחד. אנו כמהים לשלום, כלפי חוץ וכלפי פנים.	On Pesaḥ, we pray for the Messianic Age — a time when humanity will live in shalom, peace, that is not only physical, but also spiritual. We seek peace that is not only external, but spiritual as well.
לפי אלפי שנים, אליהו חווה משבר. הוא התייסר מחלומות שלא התגשמו ומצפיות שהתנפצו. איזבל, אשת המלך אחאב, איימה עליו במיתה, ואליהו לא הצליח לדמיין עתיד בעבור עצמו. הוא חש בודד, גלמוד ומיואש. ביאושו, הוא זעק אל האלוהים “די! תן לי למות! לעולם לא אצליח להגשים את חלומותי ומטרותי. איזו סיבה יש לי לחיות?”	Thousands of years ago, Elijah was in crisis. He was tormented by unfulfilled dreams and dashed expectations. Jezebel, wife of King Ahab threatened him with death and Elijah saw no future for himself. He was alone and lonely. He was in despair. And, he cried to God, “I have had enough — let me die! I have dreams, goals and values that I will never achieve. What reason is there for me to live?”^[1] Cf. 1 Kings 19:4.
לרוב האל נגלה אל בני האדם ברעידות אדמה, סופות ברקים ורוחות חזקות. אבל אל אליהו הוא דיבר בקול חלש. ובכל זאת, אותו קול קטן היה זה שלא לאט העניק לאליהו אומץ וכח להציץ החוצה מהתהום אליו נקלע.	Although God often speaks to humanity in the rumble of earthquakes, the roaring of wind and the thunder of storms, God spoke to Elijah, instead, in a still small voice. And, it was the nurturing power of the still small voice that slowly gave Elijah the courage and strength to be able to peek out of his deep abyss.^[2] Cf. 1 Kings 19:11-13.
הלילה הזה, כשאנו מזמינים את אליהו להצטרף אלינו לשולחן החג, אנו נזכרים באלו שחשים כאב כה רב, עד שהשמחה חומקת מהם ואינם יכולים לחגוג בעצמם. למרות שאנו מסוגלים להבחין בקלות בפגיעות גופניות, עלינו למצוא את הדרך לשים לב גם לכאבי הנפש ושברון הלב. אלו פצעים שלעתים לא ניתן לראות, וזעקות שלעתים לא ניתן לשמוע, אבל הם שם ללא ספק. האתגר שעומד לפתחנו הינו לראות ולשמוע את כאבם של הסובלים מדכאון.	On this night when we welcome Elijah to join our celebration, we acknowledge those who are so pained that they cannot fully celebrate, for joy eludes them. Although we may witness their physical wound with our eyes, we must also find ways to become attuned to their spiritual hurt and their emotional despair. The blood from the wound in their heart may not be visible and the cry in the depth of their throat may not be audible unless we train ourselves to attend to them. But, they are there. Our challenge is see and hear the pain of those whose depression affects their lives.
התגובה שלנו לא חייבת להיות בולטת. קול קטן יכול להחזיר את החיוך לפנים. ללחוש “איכפת לי” יכול לרומם ראש שפוף. חיבוק חם יכול לספק נחמה גדולה לנשמה דואבת.	Our response does not have to be bold in order to make a difference. A still small voice can transform a frown into a smile. A caring whisper that says, “I care” can raise a stooped head. A tender embrace can provide salve to a soul racked with pain.
כיום בצפון אמריקה מספר מקרי המוות כתוצאה מהתאבדויות גדול ממספר מקרי המוות כתוצאה מתאונות דרכים. כל שנה מתים פי שניים יותר אנשים כתוצאה מהתאבדויות מאשר כתוצאה מרצח. זו אינה גיזרת גורל. כולנו יכולים לעזור. כולנו יכולים להיות הקול הקטן שאומר ”אני כאן כדי להקשיב“, ”אני כאן כדי לשבת איתך“, ”את חשובה לי“, ”איכפת לי ממך“.	Today the number of suicides in North America is larger than the number of deaths resulting from automobile accidents. There are twice as many deaths resulting from suicide than homicide. But, it doesn’t have to be that way. You can help by being the still small voice that says, “I’m here to listen.” “I’m here to sit with you.” “You are important to me.” “I care about you.”
קול קטן הציל את חייו של אליהו. הקול הקטן שלך עשוי להציל מישהו שאתה מכיר.	A still small voice may have saved Elijah’s life. Your still, small voice may save the life of someone you know.

Thank you to Efrem Epstein for contributing this supplement. An editorial committee collaborated on this composition which included Efrem Epstein, Rabbi Jerome Epstein, Rella Kaplowitz, Dana Kukin, Dr. Chaim Nissel, Tali Rainess, Josh Rivedal, Yael Roberts, Dr. Victor Schwartz, Gabriel Seed, Rabbi Levi Welton. The Hebrew translation was made by Rabbi Oren Steinitz in 2016.

If you or anyone you know is in need of help, call 911, or 1-800 273 8255.

Notes

Notes
1	Cf. 1 Kings 19:4.
2	Cf. 1 Kings 19:11-13.

שַׁוְעַת נָשִׁים: תפילה לשלומן של נשים קורבנות אלימות | Shav’at Nashim, a prayer for the safety of women who are victims of violence (Masorti Movement in Israel)

Knesset haRabanim b'Yisrael — Thu, 03 Dec 2020 03:28:39 +0000

Source (Hebrew)	Translation (English)
אֵלִי – הֲתִשְׁמַע קוֹלִי בַּאֲשֶׁר הִנְךָ? קוֹל קוֹרֵא בְּעֹז, קוֹל בּוֹכֶה בִּדְמִי׃ שְׁמַע קוֹלִי אֲשֶׁר יִשָּׁמַע בְּקוֹלוֹת, כִּי שְׂפָתַי נָעוֹת וְקוֹלִי לֹא יִשָּׁמַע. כָּלוּ בַדְּמָעוֹת עֵינַי (איכה ב:יא) וְנִטְלוּ הַמִּלִּים מִפִּי לִשְׁפֹּךְ לְפָנֶיךָ אֶת צָרָתִי. הַצֵּל אֶת אַחְיוֹתֵינוּ בְּכׇל מָקוֹם שֶׁהֵן מִיָּדָם הַקָּשָׁה, הָאַלִּימָה וְהָרוֹצַחַת נִשְׁמָתָן וְגוּפָן בִּידֵי מִיעוּט רָשָׁע שֶׁבַּגְּבָרִים, וְאַל תִּתֵּן בְּנוֹתֶיךָ לְחֶרְפָּה וּלְמַכְאוֹב. עֲשֵׂה בְּיָדְךָ הַחֲזָקָה וּבְכֹחֲךָ הַגָּדוֹל לְמַעַן לֹא יָרִים אִישׁ אֶת יָדוֹ עַל אִשָּׁה וְלֹא יַחֲבֹל בָּה.	My El – will you hear my voice, wherever you are? A voice cries with strength, a voice cries in my blood^[1] From Rachel Bluwstein’s poem, “Zemer Nugeh.” Hear my voice where it will be heard among the voices because my lips move but my voice cannot be heard;^[2] cf. 1 Samuel 1:13. my eyes are spent with tears (Eikhah 2:11). The words have been taken from my mouth, to pour out my sorrow in your Presence. Save our sisters, wherever they might be, from the oppressive, violent hand that murders the soul and their body, by an evil minority of men, Do not give your daughters over to the disgrace and pain. Make it so with your strong hand and with your great power so that no man may raise his hand against a woman and he will not hurt her.
שִׁמְעָה תְפִלָּתִי ה׳ וְשַוְעָתִי הַאֲזִינָה, אֶל־דִּמְעָתִי אַל־תֶּחֱרַשׁ (תהלים לט:יג). תָּבוֹאנָה דִּמְעוֹת הַעֲשׁוּקוֹת, הַכּוֹאֲבוֹת, הָרְצוּצוֹת וְהַנִּרְצָחוֹת לְפָנֶיךָ, וְתַעֲלֶה שַׁוְעָתָן לִפְנֵי כִסֵּא כְבוֹדֶךָ, לְבַל יִהְיוּ שְׁקֵטוֹת כְּאִילּוּ יֵשׁ בָּן דּוֹפִי, וְתֵן לָהֶן יְשׁוּעָה וּמַרְפֵּא. וְקַיֵּם בְּכׇל אִשָּׁה וְאִשָּׁה מִקְרָא שֶׁכָּתוּב: ”הִנְנִי מַעֲלֶה־לָּהּ אֲרֻכָה :וּמַרְפֵּא וּרְפָאתִים“ (ירמיהו לג:ו), ”וְזָרְחָה לָהֶן…שֶׁמֶשׁ צְדָקָה, וּמַרְפֵּא בִּכְנָפֶיהָ“ (מלאכי ג:כ).	Hear my prayer, Hashem; give ear to my cry; do not disregard my tears (Psalms 39:13) May the tears of the oppressed, the pained, the beaten and the murdered come before you, and raise up their voices before the Throne of your Kavod not to be silent as if they are the problem and grant them salvation and healing. May you fulfill for each and every woman as it is written in scripture: “I am going to bring her relief and healing” (Jeremiah 33:6). “But for you who revere…a sun of victory shall rise to bring healing” (Malachi 3:20).
וְתֵן לָנוּ אֹזֶן לִשְׁמֹעַ וְלֵב לָדַעַת וְאֹמֶץ לְהוֹשִׁיט יָד לְכׇל אִשָּׁה בְּצָרָתָהּ, לְחַלְּצָהּ וּלְהוֹשִׁיעָהּ מִבּוֹר תַּחְתִּיּוֹת, מֵאֶגְרוֹף זַעַם הַנִּתָּךְ מִיַּד זֵדִים, קְרוֹבִים וְזָרִים, וְשַׁקֵּם כְּבוֹדָהּ וְנַפְשָׁהּ כְּקֶדֶם. חֲגוֹר בְּעוֹז מָתְנֶיהָ וְאַמֵּץ זְרוֹעֹתֶיהָ, וְלֹא תִירָא עוֹד לְבֵיתָהּ. שְׁלַח רֵעוּת בֵּין בְּנֵי זוּג, טַע כָּבוֹד בֵּין אָב לְבִתּוֹ וּבֵין אַחִים לַאֲחוֹתָם, וְקַיֵּם בֵּין אִישׁ לְאִשְׁתּוֹ דִּבְרֵי נְבִיאֶךָ וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי לְעוֹלָם, וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי בְחֶסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים, וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי בְּאַהֲבָה.	Open our ears to hear and our heart to know and courage to stretch our hand out to a woman in distress, to rescue and save her from the deep pit, from the furious blows inflicted by wicked people. Relatives and strangers, restore her honor and spirit as previously. Gird her with strength, and strengthen her arms that she may not fear her home^[3] cf. Proverbs 31:17-18). May you cause goodwill to prevail between partners, honor between father and daughter, and between brothers and their sisters. And may the words of Your prophet be fulfill between husband and wife: and I will betroth you to myself for all space-time and I will betroth you to myself with kindness and with compassion and I will betroth you to myself with love.^[4] cf. Hosea 2:21-22.
וְכֵן יְהִי רָצוֹן, וְנֹאמַר אָמֵן׃	So may it be your will, And let us say Amen.

This prayer of solidarity with women victims of domestic violence was first published to the website of the Masorti Movement in Israel on 4 December 2018. The English translation was made by Aharon Varady, Shoshana Michael Zucker, and anonymous contributors from the Open Siddur Project discussion group on Facebook.

Recordings

היום יותר מתמיד. תפקדינו לזעוק זעקה!
רבות ורבני התנועה המסורתית מקריאים תפילה לשלומן של נשים קורבנות אלימות
לקריאת התפילה והדפסתה > https://t.co/54xFmxAFuc #אלימות_נגד_נשים pic.twitter.com/bXRjur12uf

— התנועה המסורתית // The Masorti Movement (@MasortiMovement) November 25, 2020

Source(s)

https://www.masorti.org.il/uploads/editor/files/1543905308.pdf

Notes

Notes
1	From Rachel Bluwstein’s poem, “Zemer Nugeh.”
2	cf. 1 Samuel 1:13.
3	cf. Proverbs 31:17-18).
4	cf. Hosea 2:21-22.

הֶן־עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן | “A People That Dwells Apart” — a ritual after withdrawing from those who left us alone, by Rabbi Dr. Andrea Zanardo

Andrea Zanardo — Sun, 12 Jul 2026 23:49:59 +0000

I wrote this ritual in 2026 for Jews who have felt compelled to withdraw from friendships, organisations, or social and religious environments in which antisemitism, hostility towards Israel, or the dismissal of Jewish grief had become tolerated or normalised. It is intended particularly for those who have already established a practical boundary—by leaving, blocking, unfollowing, or ending a relationship—and who need a Jewish ritual through which to acknowledge the resulting grief and affirm their dignity, solidarity, and continued connection to the Jewish people.

Contribute a translation	Source (English)
	Before the ritual begins, the practical boundary has already been made: evidence saved if necessary; the message reported if necessary; the person blocked, muted, unfollowed, deleted, or left behind. Objects, all optional: a Havdalah candle; spices; wine or grape juice; a small piece of paper. You may wish to write on the piece of paper the name of the person, the relationship, or the illusion you are releasing. Find a quiet space. Turn towards Jerusalem. You may wish to begin the ritual by placing your phone face down.
	Lighting the Candle — the first fire after loneliness
	One of these two paragraphs:
	“When the sun set at the end of the first Shabbat, darkness began to settle in. Adam was afraid. He asked himself: perhaps the serpent will now come to attack me? What did the Holy One do? God prepared two flints for him. Adam struck them against each other and light came forth. Then Adam blessed the light.” (Bereshit Rabbah 11.2)
	I light this flame before I sit with the loss. May this flame help me see who remained, who left, who minimised, who called contempt an opinion. This light marks the boundary between my tent and what can no longer enter it.
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם בּוֵֹרא מְאוֹרֵי הָאֵשׁ׃	Barukh Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, borei me’orei ha-esh. Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Sovereign of the universe, creator of the lights of fire.
	Light the candle.
קְרִיעָה	Qeri‘ah — the tear
	Like many Jews, I too have been betrayed. Like many Jews, I too have been left alone. Like many Jews, I too have endured selective compassion. Like many Jews, I too have heard hatred excused. Like many Jews, I too have found myself standing before closed doors. Like many Jews, my heart too is torn. Like many Jews, I too name the loss.
בָּרוּךְ דַּיַּן הָאֱמֶת׃	Barukh Dayan ha-Emet. Blessed is the True Judge.
	Tear the paper.
שִׁבְעָה	Shivah — sitting with the loss
	One may remove a shoe, sit on cushions if possible, or sit on a low chair. If none of this is possible, simply sit in stillness for a few moments.
הַבֵּיט יָמִין וּרְאֵה וְאֵין־לִי מַכִּיר אָבַד מָנוֹס מִמֶּנִּי אֵין דּוֵֹרשׁ לְנַפְשִׁי׃ (תהלים קמב:ה)	Habit yamin u-re’eh, ve-ein li makir; avad manos mimmeni, ein doresh le-nafshi. Look to the right and see: there is no one who knows me. Refuge has failed me; no one cares for my soul. (Psalms 142:5)
	You may want to add:
	I sit with this loss, not to mourn anyone else, but to mourn the part of myself that believed it was accompanied. I mourn the illusion that certain words would never be spoken. I mourn the illusion that, when hatred of Jews appeared, I would not be left alone. Like David in the cave, I look to the right and see that there are moments when no one seems to know me, no refuge remains, no one asks after my soul.
	Pause for a moment of silence. Then say:
	I will not sit for seven days. I will not give this wound that much power. But I acknowledge that there has been a loss. May God comfort the part of me that believed it was not alone.
	These passages from “Lekhah Dodi” (1529) by Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz of Safed may then be read or sung:
רַב לָךְ שֶׁבֶת בְּעֵמֶק הַבָּכָא הִתְנַעֲרִי מֵעָפָר קוּמִי׃	Rav lakh shevet be-emeq ha-bakha. Hitna’ari me-afar qumi. Long enough have you sat in the valley of tears. […] Shake yourself from the dust.
	Rising — strength and dignity
	May I rise with strength. May I rise with dignity.
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם זוֹקֵף כְּפוּפִים׃	Barukh Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, zoqef kefufim. Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Sovereign of the universe, who raises those who are bowed down.
	The wound is real. But it will not govern my house.
	Rise.
	The Curse Turns Into Blessing
הִנֵּה בָרֵךְ לָקַחְתִּי וּבֵרֵךְ וְלֹא אֲשִׁיבֶנָּה	Hinéh varékh lakaḥti; u-vérékh ve-lo ashivennah. I have received a command to bless: He has blessed, and I cannot reverse it.” (Numbers 23:20)
	One of the two following paragraphs:
	Even Balaam, who came to curse, became a witness. From a place of hostility came the words: this people is not absorbed into the nations’ account. I do not need the hostile gaze to bless me. And I remember: the curse does not have the final word.
	I did not want to be alone. I did not choose this solitude. Sometimes Israel dwells alone because others leave Israel alone. Sometimes a Jew discovers solitude not when enemies shout, but when friends grow quiet. But this solitude will not be my grave. It will become the boundary of my tent.
	A Litany of Enough
	One of the two following paragraphs:
	If I explained and you did not listen — dayenu. If I explained again and you asked me to justify myself — dayenu. If you saw Jewish grief and answered with suspicion — dayenu. If your friendship required my silence — dayenu.
	This is the moment of Hadar: not vanity, but dignity. I will not make myself smaller in order to be tolerated. My patience is not endless. My dignity is not negotiable. My tent is not a public square for contempt.
	The Modesty of Israel
מַה־טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל (במדבר כד:ה)	Mah tovu ohalekha Ya‘aqov, mishkenotekha Yisrael. How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel. (Numbers 24:5)
	The Talmud asks what Balaam saw. It answers: he saw that the entrances of Israel’s tents were not aligned with one another, so that one person did not look into the private space of another. From that restraint came the blessing: Mah tovu (Numbers 24:5) — “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob.” (Bava Batra 60a)
	The beauty of Israel’s tents was that every opening had restraint, protected from the gaze of another. My life, too, is a tent. My grief has a threshold. My Jewishness is not an open chamber into which others may enter to judge, minimise, or explain.
	My tent is smaller today. Some people no longer enter it. But it is more truthful, more guarded, more beautiful.
בְּשָׂמִים	Besamim — against the hostile eye
עַיִן הָרָע	‘Ayin hara names the hostile gaze: the gaze that stares at Jewish pain with suspicion; the gaze that turns Jewish vulnerability into an accusation; the gaze that demands endless explanation but refuses recognition. In many Jewish communities, especially among Sephardi and Mizraḥi Jews, the language of protection from ‘ayin hara — the evil or hostile eye — has been attached to Joseph.
	One of the following paragraphs:
בְּלִי עַיִן הָרַע בֵּן פֹּרָת יוֹסֵף	Bli ‘ayin hara. Bén porat Yosef. Without the evil eye. Joseph, fruitful beyond the eye.
יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶיךָ שֶׁלֹּא תִּשְׁלֹט בִּי עַיִן הָרָעָה וְשֶׁלֹּא תִּשְׁלֹט בְּאהֶֹל יִשְׂרָאֵל עַיִן שֶׁל שִׂנְאָה	Yehi ratson milfanekha she-lo tishlot bi ‘ayin hara‘ah, ve-she-lo tishlot be-ohel Yisrael ‘ayin shel sin’ah. May it be Your will that no evil eye have power over me, and that no eye of hatred have power over the tent of Israel.
	May I stand, like Joseph, beyond the hostile eye. May the eye that looks at Jewish grief with suspicion not define me. May the eye that turns Jewish fear into accusation not enter my tent. Let my breath return to me.
	Here you can smell the spices, or simply pause and breathe.
הַבְדָּלָה	Havdalah — extinguishing the candle
	Take the wine or grape juice. Extinguish the candle in it, or simply look at the flame and then cover it.
בָּרוּךְ הַמַּבְדִּיל בֵּין אוֹר לְחֹשֶׁךְ בֵּין אֱמֶת לְפַחַד בֵּין חֲבֵרוּת לִנְטִישָׁה בֵּין מַחֲלֹקֶת לְשִׂנְאָה בֵּין פֶּתַח לְפִרְצָה	Barukh ha-mavdil bein or le-ḥoshekh, bein emet le-faḥad, bein ḥaverut linetishah, bein maḥloket le-sin’ah, bein petaḥ le-firtsah. Blessed is the One who separates light from darkness, truth from fear, friendship from abandonment, disagreement from hatred, a doorway from a breach.
	The flame is extinguished. The boundary remains. The relationship ends. The blessing remains. The wound is real. But it will not govern my house.
מַה־טֹּבוּ	Mah Tovu — the tents still stand
מַה־טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל (במדבר כד:ה)	Mah tovu ohalekha Ya‘aqov, mishkenotekha Yisrael. How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel. (Numbers 24:5)
עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ הַתִּקְוָה בַּת שְׁנוֹת אַלְפַּיִם לִהְיוֹת עַם חָפְשִׁי בְּאַרְצֵנוּ אֶרֶץ צִיּוֹן וִירוּשָׁלַיִם	Od lo avdah tiqvaténu, ha-tiqvah bat shnot alpayim, lihiyot ‘am ḥofshi be-artseinu, erets Tsiyon vi-Yerushalayim. Our hope is not yet lost, the hope of two thousand years: to be a free people in our land, the land of Ẓíōn and Jerusalem.^[1] Lines from Hatiqvah (1878) by Naphtali Herz Imber, the national anthem of the State of Israel.
	Conclusion
	Where a Jew was left alone, let me add solidarity. Where trust was diminished, let me add tsedaqah. Where the heart was closed, let the hand be opened. The wound does not have the last word.
עַם יִשְׂרָאֵל חַי	Am Yisrael Ḥai. The people of Israel lives.
	After the ritual, consider a donation to Israel, communal security, victims of terror, or your synagogue.

Notes

Notes
1	Lines from Hatiqvah (1878) by Naphtali Herz Imber, the national anthem of the State of Israel.