Why I Wrote This Book I am a humanist. I am a feminist. I am an environmentalist. I am a libertarian. I am a pacifist. I believe in democracy. I am an agnostic. Traditional Jewish prayer is not any of these “ists” or “ics”; it reflects the worldview of the rabbis 1500 years ago, who may have been quite sagacious but did not share many of my values. The minor and major edits, deletions, and additions to which liberal Jews of this day and age have treated their prayers have inserted some of these sentiments, but for the most part the macro structure of prayers has been preserved, making it difficult for people to engage with the prayer in a straightforward way. The composers of liberal prayer books understand this, and thus we find the phenomenon of alternative or additional English readings and/or very creative translations that bear little relationship to the original prayer. There is another way forward, though. We can compose new prayers and poetry in the original Hebrew that reflect our values and revitalize our canon. This is the way I chose. How to Use This Book This Kabbalat Shabbat service is the first in a series of humanist prayer books for specific occasions. It is not meant to offer a comprehensive substitute to traditional prayer; rather, it is meant as a supplement and catalyst. If some of these poems strike a chord, great! If none of the poems speaks to you, I still hope and pray that upon reading them you become mobilized to compose prayers that are as meaningful to you as these are to me. Candles Ability to manipulate fire is one of the first aptitudes that distinguished human beings from their apelike brethren. The transition in and out of Shabbat is marked by fire, for it is on this day that we are truly distinct from the beasts of the field, who never rest. The two candles usher in a time of mystery and love, as they do at fancy restaurants on Valentine’s day. A simple blessing commemorating the rabbinic command to light these candles is insufficient in my mind, and thus I composed this snippet: נרות נִירוּ לָכֶם נִיר בְּשַׁבָּת לְהָאִיר כִּי עֵד חָזוֹן לַמּוֹעֵד כָּלָה הַקָּצִיר Sabbath Candles A candelabra burns with waxy thorns The field is bare, the grain is shorn Study Notes The thorns represent the difficult week, which we slowly plow through. But in biblical Hebrew ניר can also signify a candle. So in a lovely image this candle burns away the thorns, and Sabbath the queen reigns. Can she reign in justice? Habakkuk waited for God to give him an answer to the eternal query -- why do evil people profit and the good suffer -- but knows that an answer is unlikely to come soon. עוד חזון למועד (there is still time to prophesize before it will happen), he says. I, however, think there is an answer, so I switch it around to עד חזון למועד (Shabbat is the witness). Shabbat, as a structure that imposes rest, is an answer because it requires people to enjoy themselves, whereas anarchists without this structure experience joy as fleeting and ephemeral. At least that’s the opinion of the most Reverend Yoreh. Blessing Children Blessing children is an ancient and deeply meaningful element of Jewish liturgy. Abraham blesses Isaac, Isaac blesses Jacob, and Jacob blesses all of his children. A permutation of Jacob’s blessings has been codified and is uttered by many families on Friday night before the meal. I find the sentiment behind these blessings to be deeply meaningful, and so do other members of my family. My mother calls me every Friday, even when we’re not eating together, and blesses me and my siblings. My problem with these blessings, however, is twofold: first of all, they are generic. The same blessing is uttered for each child, which takes away from the distinct relationship each individual has with his or her children. The second problem is one that is typical to most traditional liturgy: it invokes God as the blesser and the protector. I can appreciate that parents who are firm believers in a personal God would want this all-powerful being to protect their children. If, however, you are like many people and are occasionally agnostic, invoking God as the blesser and the protector takes something away from the blessing and makes it less personal. About a year ago, I was asked by someone if there was a humanist version of the blessing for children. He wanted to bless his baby daughter but did not believe in invoking God. To my deep chagrin, I knew of no one who had composed one, so I offered to write a personalized blessing for him. I won’t share that blessing with you, as it’s private, but I will share a blessing I am in the process of composing for baby boys. בְּרָכָה בראותיך אֲנִי נִבְרָא בִּזְכוּתְךָ רֺאשִׁי טַלְלֵי אורה בְּנִי כִּי אֵין כְּמוֹתְךָ Blessing When I gaze upon your face I am created anew You have filled me with light My incomparable son Study Notes: The first words of the poem can be read as either “When I gaze upon your face” or “When I create you,” I am created. Having children is the most important thing a person can do, and as a father gazes upon the son he had a hand in making, he sees in his son one of the reasons for his existence. Because of my son, my head is filled with light, for when I look at my son, I have found him, I have found the missing lover of the Song of Songs. (5: 6: “I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had turned and was gone. My soul failed me when he spoke. I sought him, but did not find him; I called him, but he gave no answer.”) I command my son to alight with a light, for if one changes but one letter,אורה (light) turns intoעורה (alight, arise), and my son awakens to his unique purpose in life. Covenants Striking a covenant or a pact with a God we cannot discern is a very troubling act, especially the covenant of circumcision (‘bris’ translates as covenant). Covenants are supposed to be reciprocal, but how can there be any reciprocity when one side, the infant, lacks the mental capacity or even physical independence to make a decision and the other side is not physically present? My suggestion is that if one would like to preserve the covenant struck at eight days, then the covenant should be between the parents and the child. The parents should promise to nurture the child to the best of their ability, and in turn the child will love his parents. There is no way to ascertain the child’s commitment to this type of covenant, but a baby’s love for his or her caregivers is something that is at the very core of an infant’s experience of the world. This type of covenant is expressed countless times in the Bible as God, the parent’s, commitment to preserve his children and his children’s commitment to love him. If we look at the sentiment behind this covenant, we are left with the very human commitment to nurture children, and the hope and desire that our children will love us in return. Study Notes: Our eldest son was an early flower, meaning he was born prematurely. The Hebrew smadar is a fruit or flower not fully ripened; he was like an unripe blackberry, which is red like his lips were from the moment of his birth. Biblically, smadar appears almost exclusively in the Song of Songs, a book so full of love that it contributed some to this poem. Our Boaz screamed soon after he left his mother’s well. For me that scream was like a shofar’s horn; it broke my heart into shvarim, shards, one of the three sounds a shofar makes on Rosh Hashanah. You are welcome to use this poem even if you don’t happen to have a son whose name is Boaz. Babies can’t speak, but they sure can drool, and that drool, full of mother’s milk as they smile their toothless smiles, is the surest indication of love in this world. Based on this baby’s love and trust, we as parents can make a commitment, signed in drool, to preserve our children until they are ready to make their own choices in life. Blessing Parents Adon Olam (Master of the Universe), written about 900 years ago, is a poem that frames traditional Sabbath prayer; it appears as part of the morning blessings and is sung by the youth choir at the end of service (the time when I generally arrive). It celebrates God, first as the creator of the universe and all that is in it and then as a personal deity who preserves the supplicant from all ill. Traditionally it is said together with the Shema just before you go to bed and then again in the early morning right after you get up. It is often one of the first prayers young children growing up in religious households are familiar with, since a parent will say it as the child goes to sleep. My father said it with me until I was an adolescent. It has also evolved as a prayer that children sing or perform right at the end of the morning prayers on the Sabbath in synagogue. As a humanist I also wish to celebrate creators, but I’d like to focus on creators I can see, rather than those who are invisible, and thus I celebrate human beings in their most vital role, parenthood, focusing first on peoplehood then on parenthood (from the general to the particular, just as in the original poem). מַלְכוּת הָאָדָם אֲדוֹנֵי עוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר מָלְכוּ - בְּצֶלֶם יְצִיר נִבְרָאוּ לְעֵת נַעֲשָה בְּחֶפְצָם כֹּל – אֲזַי מְלָכִים נִקְרָאוּ וְאַחֲרָאִים לִבְנוֹת הַכֹּל – לְבַדָּם יִמְלְכוּ יִרְאוּ וְהֵם יָצְרוּ וְהֵם הָווּ – וְהֵם יִחְיוּ וְיִהְיוּ וְהֵם אֶחָד וְגַם שֵׁנִי – וּבְיַחַד יִתְחַבְּרוּ בְּנֵי רֵאשִׁית בְּנֵי תַכְלִית – וְלָהֵם בָּנִים/וֹת לִפְאֵרָה וְהֵם אִמִּי וְהֵם אָבִי – וְהוֹרַי חֶבְלִי בְּעֵת צָרָה וְהֵם נִסִּי וּמָנוֹס לִי – וְהֵם חוֹסַי בְּיוֹם אֶקְרָא בְּיָדָם נִפְקַד רוּחִי - מִיַּלְדוּתִי וְעַד עַתָּה וְעִם רוּחִי גְוִיָּיתִי –הוֹרַי לִי וְלֹא אִירָא Mothers and Fathers Created as Masters Builders and planners You form and you fashion You are one but also two With industry and passion You create all that is new Mothers and Fathers Nurturers as no others Daughters Many liberal Jews do not announce the gender of their children until the actual naming ceremony, lest people decide not to attend the naming ceremony of a baby girl because it is not considered as important as a bris (the circumcision). If anything, I feel it is the bris that should be done in private, since no one should take pleasure in a baby’s pain. To begin to rectify this deep imbalance between ceremonies, which exists even in liberal communities, I’ve begun to compose liturgy specifically celebrating the birth of girls. This Amichai-like poem questions why girls are almost never birthed and named in the Bible: נשים נעלמות בֵּתּוֹרָה גְּבָרִים נוֹלָדִים אָךְ נָשִׁים צָצוֹת, כִּמוֹ אֱלוֹהִים מִשּׁוּם מָקוֹם לְיַעֲקֺב נוֹלְדָה בָּת אָבָל הִיא נֶאֱלְמָה יוֹם אֶחָד הַנָּשִׁים תַּעֲזוֹבְנָה וְהַתּוֹרָה, מַה תְּהֵא עָלֶיהָ? The Disappearance of Women In the Torah, men are born Women, ex machina, appear from nowhere Jacob had a daughter who disappeared, silently If one day all women leave What will happen to Torah? Study Notes: It is quite remarkable that you can count on one hand the number of girls’ births (after Eve) recorded in the Bible. The second girl is Dinah, Jacob’s daughter. Ironically this special girl is silent even after being raped by the ruler of Shechem. In an attempt at seeing a cup half-full (though in reality only a few drops glisten at the bottom of this metaphorical glass), I compare the women of the Bible to God. Just as God appears from nowhere to create the world, so do women appear from nowhere and create men (do note the tinge of irony here, considering my personal belief system). My mother, now a renowned Talmud scholar, once asked David Hartman about women studying Torah. He said to her, “Mammele, someone has to do the dishes.” As Rabbi Akiva said of his wife Rachel, who supported him throughout his studies, “My [Torah] and your [Torah] is hers.” For all but the last two generations women have been enablers, allowing their men to study Torah; if they had rebelled and refused to support this endeavor, what would men have done? This poem is dedicated to my spouse, who I am so very proud to have supported through rabbinic ordination. As she pursues her doctoral studies in Talmud and continues to teach Torah, I pray that for her and many other women, this poem becomes but a memory of past injustices. Kiddush and Welcoming Shabbat Shabbat without wine is like a Corona without its slice of lemon. Toasting is a universal practice spanning generations and cultures, and it signals the beginning of celebration -- in other words, transition. This transition is celebrated in the traditional Kiddush by referencing God’s transition from labor to rest on the seventh day and the adoption of this practice by Israel. The Israelites were, however, only the “early adopters” of this practice, and now the concept of the weekend has been accepted universally. Though the rationale for the observance of the Sabbath is theistic, the need for rest is deeply human, apparent in so much of the Hebrew poetry in honor of Shabbat written throughout the ages. If reciting the formulaic blessings upon wine are insufficient for you, may I suggest supplementing or replacing them with poems that evoke this liminal event for you? Here are some to start you off. The first, by Yehuda Halevi, is a piece that has inspired so much of my own poetry. עַל אַהֲבָתְךָ אֶשְׁתֶּה גְבִיעִי (מֵאֵת יְהוּדָה הַלֵּוִי) עַל אַהֲבָתְךָ אֶשְׁתֶּה גְבִיעִי שָׁלוֹם לְךָ שָׁלוֹם יוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי שֵׁשֶׁת יְמֵי מַעֲשֶׂה לָךְ כַּעֲבָדִים אִם אֶעֱבֹד בָּהֶם אֶשְׂבַּע נְדוֹדִים כֻּלָּם בְּעֵינַי הֵם כְּיָמִים אֲחָדִים מֵאַהֲבָתִי בְּךָ יוֹם שַׁעֲשׁוּעִים מַה נָעֲמָה לִי עֵת בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת לִרְאוֹת בְּיוֹם שַׁבָּת פָּנִים חֲדָשׁוֹת גִילוּ בְתַפּוּחִים הַרְבּוּ אֲשִׁישׁוֹת זֶה יוֹם מְנוּחָה זֶה דּוֹדִי וְרֵעִי אָשִׁיר לְךָ שַׁבָּת שִׁיר הַיְּדִידוֹת גַם יָאֲתָה לָךְ אַתְּ יוֹם הַחֲמוּדוֹת יוֹם תַּעֲנוּגִים יוֹם שָׁלֹשׁ סְעוּדוֹת תַּעֲנוּג לְשֻׁלְחָנִי תַּעֲנוּג יְצוּעִי Salut my love (by Yehudah Halevi) Salut my love Salut from below and salut from above The six days are your faithful slaves Though I work, it is you that I crave Only a few days away and then we will play How I yearn for the time between sun and moon Guests arriving so soon I will serve them apples and wine O Shabbes, come under my Tallis We’re about to have fun Three times my love, I did promise ערב שבת וַאֲכַל בַּיּוֹם הַשִּׁשִּׁי מְלַאכְתִּי לְצַוּוֹת וּבְלֵילוֹ אֲנוּ שְׁתֵּי לְהָבוֹת הַשָּׁבוּעַ הוּא אֵשׁ אָכְלָה וּבְשַׁבָּת הָאָדָם כּוֹחוֹ קַנָּא רֵעָי לַכְּרָמִים נַשְׁכִּימָה Friday Night On Friday I finished creating And upon Sabbath’s eve I and my lover ignite Burning the week away We are replenished At day break we go the vineyard once more מַעֲיַן הַמְּנוּחוֹת מַעֲיַן הַמְּנוּחוֹת יוֹם הַהוֹדָאוֹת שָׁלוֹם וְתַעֲנוּגוֹת קִדַּשְׁנוּ שַׁבָּת שְׁבוּעִי בְּכָל הַמְּקוֹמוֹת כִּמְלָכִים מְדֻשְּנֵי תַּעֲנוּגוֹת זֵכֶר לְמַעֲשֵׂי רֵאשִׁית הַדּוֹרוֹת חֶמְדַּת הַלְּבָבוֹת לְאֻמָּה שְׁבוּרָה זֵכֶר לְכָל יְקָר וְאוֹרָה Six days swept away On Sabbath salty troubles Rest in mythic deeps Study Notes: On Friday night I imagine myself in God's place, and like Him I stop commanding and creating. I have something God doesn’t have – a willing partner. We twinkle and intertwine ( בליל means both “night” and “something mixed”) like the two Sabbath candles. During the week the fire consumes us, but on Sabbath we are the fire, and we replenish ourselves. So if you knock on my door between 2 and 4 p.m., don’t expect an answer: I am either napping or doing something salacious. It is the only time of week I do either, because I am a scholar (or at least I pretend to be) and according to the Rabbis, scholars do these things once a week on Shabbat. After being replenished I can once again go to the vineyards to work or, more likely, to drink wine. The third piece (Six days swept away…), based on one of the final prayers before leaving synagogue on Sabbath eve, calls Shabbat a stream of silence or calm, which is an allusion to the famous Sambatyon river, beyond which the lost ten tribes dwelt. The Sambatyon raged all week, but on Sabbath it rested like we do. And by we, I mean most of the world; most people choose at least one day out of seven upon which they rest. Thus Shabbat the seventh turns to “a weekly Sabbath” in the Hebrew. On Sabbath we may celebrate like kings, but we also have the leisure to consider what was and what may be. A lot of it was bad (salty troubles), but who knows what mysteries lie in the “mythic deeps”? מעשיך אִם תָּשִׁיב רַגְלֶךָ בְּכָל שַׁבָּת מְאוֹדֶךָ תִּתְעַנָּג כִּי רָצִית מַעֲשֶׂיךָ Sabbath Existentialism If you refrain on the Sabbath from gain Celebrate for all your work is in vain ימי עולם זְכוֹר יְמֵי עוֹלָם בִּינוּ שְׁנוֹת גֺּעַל הַדָּם כִּי בְּבֺא הַשַּׁבָּת בָּשָׂר יְדַמְדַּם Days of Yore Remember the days of your week with refuse and with gore the six stink When the Sabbath comes I am, therefore I think Study Notes: The first piece is a play on the first line of the Shabbat morning Kiddush, according to certain Eastern communities, from Isaiah 55. According to the famous Shema prayer, you are supposed to love God with all your earthly possessions. But on Sabbath one cannot accrue more possessions, so a reprieve is given and we are free to celebrate. The second piece asks us to remember the days of our yore, as in Deuteronomy 32, but those days were filled with blood (blood unfortunately caused by God and his punishments, according to Deuteronomy). On the Sabbath, we appeal to the angels of peace in the Kiddush and take rest from all violence. But the blood still courses throughout our bodies, and ironically we cannot. יין מִבַּעַד לַכּוֹס רַעַל הַמִּיתוֹס יִקְרוֹץ מָתוֹק וְכָמוּס Wine Bubbling through a numinous veil Hinting sweetly Study Notes: The blessing over wine marks the beginning of celebration on every Sabbath and on many Jewish holidays. Wine is opaque, and thus mysterious, suggestive of myth, which inspired me to write this short piece. The fruit of the vine is free and bubbling like the deeps before God tamed them in the Genesis myth. Myth can both be sweet, as in the sweet fruit of forbidden knowledge, and bitter, as when God banishes Adam and Eve from the garden. The dangerous and mysterious (perhaps numinous) aspect of myth is best expressed in the double entendre of רעלת, which means both “poison” and “an opaque veil.” There are always consequences when you drink wine, for when you are free of inhibitions, you never know what is going to happen. Someone might give you a string of lush pearls, each an elixir for eternal life, as in the ditty below. ענבים אֶשְׁכּוֹל פְּנִינִים שִׁלְשַלְתִּי כִּפְצִירָה פִּים אֶדַּמֶּה לְשָׂר הַמַּשְׁקִים בָּרוּךְ מְחַיֵּי הַמֵּתִים A string of lush pearls Rejuvenating liquor After death comes life Challah For untold generations bread has been a staple of food in the Western world, so it is no coincidence that there is a special bread on Sabbath. On the Sabbath two loaves of bread are covered by a fancy cloth and, following Kiddush, are eaten. Bringing in the Sabbath with two loaves symbolizes abundance: we who are blessed can afford to place two loaves of bread at our table for each meal. The tradition also alludes to Israel’s desert journeys, when manna rained down from the sky every day except Sabbath; on Friday, however, a double portion was provided so that the Israelites would have enough to eat on the morrow. Our more modern traditions, however, have inserted a touch of salaciousnees into the Sabbath ritual. Challah is now braided like a woman’s hair and is accorded a white veil like a bride, reminding us once again that Sabbath is the time to celebrate relationships and love. When else? It’s when we have the most time. חלה בָּיוֹם זוֹעַ סִיפֵּי הָאַמּוֹת מִבַּעַד לְצַמָּתָן מַטְעַמֵּי צְבִיָּיה מְצִיצוֹת שֶלִּי שֶלְּךָ הֵן אוֹמְרוֹת Your golden braids peek Tantalizing through the gauze Come let us break bread Study Notes: The words challah and kallah sound similar, especially to the Ashkenazi ear. On Shabbat I eat my challah and wed my kallah. In Isaiah 6, the Lord God sits enthroned, and when He speaks the very foundations of his celestial palace shake. I've switched the order of the term used for the foundation pillars, אמות הסיפים, to the more suggestive סיפי האמות. In Hebrew סיף can also mean sword (I needn’t tell you what a man’s sword can represent) and אמה is a euphemism for penis. I also use a close synonym for the word shake - זוע instead of וינעו - that starts with the letter zayin. The seventh letter of the Hebrew alphabet, zayin alludes to the seventh day and also, surprise surprise, is another Hebrew word for penis. Employing these images in this ode to challah/kallah, I claim that the act of sex on Shabbat is divine. The edges of the challah peep out from the challah covering just like the lover who shines through the veil and peeks out from the lattice in the Song of Songs. After I say the blessing -- alluded to in the word צבייה, which is reminiscent of צוונו (who commanded us) in traditional blessings but means splendid and has little to do with being bound by God -- she gives herself over to me and I to her as in the rabbinic adage (yours is mine and mine is yours) that symbolizes selflessness and generosity. Shabbat and Love As I’ve already suggested above, Sabbath is the time in the week when love is celebrated. Traditionally, Sabbath is seen as Israel’s bride, which is intertwined with the other metaphysical relationship celebrated on Shabbat, the marriage between God and Israel. This is why the Song of Songs is read on Shabbat, since it is the piece of literature that purportedly celebrates this love. As you can tell, gender roles are a little confused here – in one relationship Israel is the groom, whereas in the other relationship Israel is the bride. Vive la Confusion, I say! Shabbat then can become a moment for third-wave feminists (such as myself) to celebrate ungendered or postgendered love. Consider the following poems! Love of My Life My brother my love, take me to run upon the sands of time to fly among the stars Let us tickle Venus and battle Mars Reveal yourself and sprinkle upon me honeyed droplets In vineyards we will celebrate O my godlover Come quickly Hold me once again, and evermore Study Notes: Yedid Nefesh, or “bosom friend,” imagines God as the male lover of the female Israel, a leitmotif in much of the Shabbat liturgy. Unfortunately in the relationship between male and female lovers as imagined by the Rabbis the female is subordinate, and God is described in hierarchical terms as the father. The reason this aspect of Shabbat liturgy is at all intriguing to me is because on Shabbat there is a mixed metaphor. In Lekhah Dodi, Shabbat herself is a bride and we are her male lover, but in Yedid Nefesh God is our male lover. I take this confusion as a catalyst to envision a more equal relationship. With a subtle switch from אב (father) to אח (brother), I envision Yedid Nefesh as a song between two male lovers. In this poem we are both godlike beings floating among the stars and in and out of time. Why should one of us be less and the other more? In the original it says, “Let your love be pleasant to him”; here our mutual love is pleasant to both of us. Together we go to the vineyards, as in the Song of Songs, to have fun on the day our tradition commands, drinking wine and holding each other today and all days. שִׁיר הָאַהֲבָה לַדּוֹד וְלָרַעְיָה שִׁיר הָאַהֲבָה לַדּוֹד וְלָרַעְיָה אַנְעִים זְמִירוֹת וְשִׁירִים אֶעֱרֹג כִּי אֵלַיִךְ נַפְשִׁי תַּעֲרֹג אַנְעִים זְמִירוֹת וְשִׁירִים אֶעֱרֹג כִּי אֵלֶיךָ נַפְשִׁי תַּעֲרֹג נַפְשִׁי חָמְדָה בְּצֵל יָדֵךְ לָדַעַת כָּל רָזֵי לִבֵּךְ נַפְשִׁי חָמְדָה בְּצֵל יָדֶךָ לָדַעַת כָּל רָזֵי לִבֶּךָ מִדֵּי דַּבְּרִי בְּיָפְיֵךְ הוֹמֶה לִבִּי אֶל דּוֹדַיִךְ מִדֵּי דַּבְּרִי בְּיָפְיְךָ הוֹמֶה לִבִּי אֶל דּוֹדֶיךָ עַל כֵּן אֲדַבֶּר בָּךְ בְּהֶמִיּוֹת וּשְׁמֵךְ אַזְכִּיר בְּשִׁירֵי יְדִידוֹת עַל כֵּן אֲדַבֶּר בְּךָ בְּהֶמִיּוֹת וְשִׁמְךָ אַזְכִּיר בְּשִׁירֵי יְדִידוֹת אֲסַפְּרָה שִׁבְחוֹתַיִךְ בְּכָל עֵת לְמִי אֲדַמֵּךְ נְטוּלַת כָּל מוּם וָחֵטְא אֲסַפְּרָה שִׁבְחוֹתֶיךָ בְּכָל עֵת לְמִי אֲדַמְּךָ נָטוּל כָּל מוּם וָחֵטְא בְּיַד רוֹאַיִךְ קֶסֶם וָסוֹד הִגָּלִי לִי מֵאֲחוֹרֵי הַפַּרְגּוֹד בְּיַד רוֹאֶיךָ קֶסֶם וָסוֹד הִגָּלֶה לִי מֵאֲחוֹרֵי הַפַּרְגּוֹד גְּבוּרָתֵךְ לֹא תֶּשִׁי מִפִּי בְּמַעֲשֵׂי יָדַיִךְ הִתְפָּאֲרִי גְּבוּרָתְךָ לֹא תֶּשִׁי מִפִּי בְּמַעֲשֵׂי יָדֶיךָ הִתְפָּאֵר דִּמִּיתִיךְ וְלֹא עַל פִּי יָפְיֵךְ וְאָשְׁוֵךְ לְפִי מַעֲשַׂיִךְ דִּמִּיתִיךָ וְלֹא עַל פִּי יָפְיְךָ וְאָשְׁוֵךָ לְפִי מַעֲשֶׂיךָ הוֹגָתִי דְּמוּתֵךְ בְּרֹב חֶזְיוֹנוֹת הִנָּךְ נָאוָה מִכָּל דִּמְיוֹנוֹת הוֹגָתִי דְּמוּתְךָ בְּרֹב חֶזְיוֹנוֹת הִנְּךָ נָאוֶה מִכָּל דִּמְיוֹנוֹת וְאֶחֱזֶה בָּךְ בַּחֲרוּת וְלֹא זִקְנָה מִמֵּךְ פִּרְיִי נִמְצָא וְאֶחֱזֶה בְּךָ בַּחֲרוּת וְלֹא זִקְנָה מִמְּךָ פִּרְיִי נִמְצָא זִכְרֵךְ כְּיֵין לְבָנוֹן יָצָא לִבִּי בִּרְאוֹתֵךְ בַּעַד הַחַלּוֹן זִכְרְךָ כְּיֵין לְבָנוֹן יָצָא לִבִּי בִּרְאוֹתְךָ בַּעַד הַחַלּוֹן חִבְשִׁי אוֹתִי כִּקְמֵעַ רֹאשׁ הוֹשִׁיבִינִי עַל יְמִין זְרוֹעֵךְ וְאַל אֲבוֹשׁ חְבֹשׁ אוֹתִי כִּקְמֵעַ רֹאשׁ הוֹשִׁיבָנִי עַל יְמִין זְרוֹעָךָ וְאַל אֲבוֹשׁ טַלְלֵי אוֹרוֹת רֹאשֵׁךְ נִמְלָא קְווּצֹתַיִךְ רְסִיסֵי לַיְלָה טַלְלֵי אוֹרוֹת רֹאשְׁךָ נִמְלָא קְווּצֹתֶיךָ רְסִיסֵי לַיְלָה יָרֹן לִבִּי וּבָךְ אֶתְפָּאֵר אֶחְפֹּץ בָּךְ מִכָּבוֹד וּמִכֶּתֶר יָרֹן לִבִּי וּבְךָ אֶתְפָּאֵר אֶחְפֹּץ בְּךָ מִכָּבוֹד וּמִכֶּתֶר כֶּתֶם טְהֹר פָּז דְּמוּת גּוּפֵךְ אָחֹק בְּחַדְרֵי- לֵב דִּיקוּנֵךְ כֶּתֶם טְהֹר פָּז דְּמוּת גּוּפְךָ אָחֹק בְּחַדְרֵי- לֵב דִּיקוּנְךָ לַחַשׁ שִׂפְתוֹתַיִךְ כַּעֲרִיגַת הַצְּבִי בֹּהַק שִׁינַּיִךְ עֲטֶרֶת פִּיךְ לַחַשׁ שִׂפְתוֹתֶיךָ כַּעֲרִיגַת הַצְּבִי בֹּהַק שִׁינֶּיךָ עֲטֶרֶת פִּיךָ מַחְלְפוֹת רֹאשֵׁךְ כְּבִימֵי בַּחוּרוֹת קְווּצֹתַיִךְ טַלְטָלִים שְׁחוֹרוֹת מַחְלְפוֹת רֹאשְׁךָ כְּבִימֵי בַּחוּרוֹת קְווּצֹתֶיךָ טַלְטָלִים שְׁחוֹרוֹת נָאווּ לְחַיַּיִךְ בַּתּוֹרִים אָמַרְתִּי אֶהֱגֵךְ בַּחֲרוּזִים נָאווּ לְחַיֶּיךָ בַּתּוֹרִים אָמַרְתִּי אֶהֱגְךָ בַּחֲרוּזִים סְגֻלַּת מְדִינוֹת אֶתֵּן בַּעֲדֵךְ וְתִפְאֶרֶת מְלָכִים אֲעַטְּרֵךְ סְגֻלַּת מְדִינוֹת אֶתֵּן בַּעֲדְךָ וְתִפְאֶרֶת מְלָכִים אֲעַטְּרְךָ עָמַד לִבִּי דֹּם בִּרְאוֹתֵךְ עֲטַרְתִּי מִפְּנִינִים יָקַרְתְּ יוֹנַת כְּבוֹדִי עָמַד לִבִּי דֹּם בִּרְאוֹתְךָ עֲטַרְתִּי מִפְּנִינִים יָקַרְתָּ יוֹנַת כְּבוֹדִי פְּאֵרֵךְ עָלַי וּפְאֵרִי אֵלַיִךְ בִּקְרוֹב אֵלַי בְּקָרְאִי אֵלַיִךְ פְּאֵרְךָ עָלַי וּפְאֵרִי אֵלֶיךָ בִּקְרוֹב אֵלַי בְּקָרְאִי אֵלֶיךָ צַחְצָחוֹת שָׂבַעְתִּי אֶהֱמֶה אֶהֱגֶה תֶּאֱדַמְנָה עֵינַי וּפוּרָה אֶבְכֶּה צַחְצָחוֹת שָׂבַעְתִּי אֶהֱמֶה אֶהֱגֶה תֶּאֱדַמְנָה עֵינַי וּפוּרָה אֶבְכֶּה קִשְׁרֵי שְׁאוֹל אַהֲבָה נִכְזְבָה הוֹשִׁיעָה! לְזֹאת הָעֲנִיָּה קִשְׁרֵי שְׁאוֹל אַהֲבַת אַכְזָב הוֹשִׁיעָה! לְזֶה הֶעָנָו רַעֲיַת יוֹנָה רְצוּיַת בַּת-עַמִּי יוֹשֶׁבֶת בַּכְּרָמִים קוֹלֵךְ הַשְׁמִיעִינִי רֵעַ יוֹנָה רְצוּי בֶּן-עַמִּי יוֹשֵׁב בַּכְּרָמִים קוֹלְךָ הַשְׁמִיעֵנִי שִׁירֵי-הָמוֹן שִׁירִי נָא עָלַיְךְ וְרִנָּתִי תִּקְרַב אֵלַיְךְ שִׁירֵי-הָמוֹן שִׁירִי נָא עָלֶיךָ וְרִנָּתִי תִּקְרַב אֵלֶיךָ תְּהִלָּתִי תְּהִי לְרֹאשֵׁךְ עֲטֶרֶת וֶהֱיִי לִי לְמַלְכַּת צְבִי וְתִפְאֶרֶת תְּהִלָּתִי תְּהִי לְרֹאשְׁךָ עֲטֶרֶת וֶהֱיֶה לִי מֶלֶךְ צְבִי וְתִפְאֶרֶת תִּיקַר שִׁירַת רָשָׁ/ה בְּעֵינַיִךְ לַחַן גְּרוֹנִי בְּקֶרֶב אָזְנַיִךְ תִּיקַר שִׁירַת רָשָׁ/ה בְּעֵינֶיךָ לַחַן גְּרוֹנִי בְּקֶרֶב אָזְנֶיךָ בִּרְכַּת-עֲרוּגִים תְּעַנֵּג כָּל בָּשָׂר תְּחוֹלֵל וְתוֹלִיד אַהֲבָה בְּלֵב קַר בִּרְכַּת-עֲרוּגִים תְּעַנֵּג כָּל בָּשָׂר תְּחוֹלֵל וְתוֹלִיד אַהֲבָה בְּלֵב קַר יֶעֱרַב נָא שִׂיחִי אֵלַיְךְ כִּי נַפְשִׁי תַּעֲרֹג אֵלַיְךְ יֶעֱרַב נָא שִׂיחִי אֵלֶיךָ כִּי נַפְשִׁי תַּעֲרֹג אֵלֶיךָ An Ungendered Love Song Pleasing songs and poems I hope to craft My soul longs for you My soul desires the shelter of your caresses to know all your secrets Each time I sing your beauty my heart longs for you my love I speak about you in wonder. Your name I shall honor in song I’ll tell of your glory but to whom will I compare thee Utterly without blemish Mysterious in the eyes of your admirers, Reveal your glory, remove your veil I tried imagining you, but you defy imagination I can only recount your deeds I see you in a myriad visions More beautiful than all my ruminations I see you as a youth not aged First among ripe fruit The memory of you is like fine wine My heart leapt when I first beheld you Wear me like a familiar hat Let me sit by your side and not be shamed Your curls are as black as a torrent at night light reflects in the drops My heart rejoices. You are glorified through me I want you more than riches and crowns Study Notes: The song of honor, Shir haKavod, is sung with the ark open as the last part of Shabbat morning services. It is a beautiful piece of poetry, listing the various images with which God has been associated. This is quite racy, since one of God’s thirteen attributes, sung as the last part of the Shabbat evening services, is that God has no shape or form. The claim the piece makes is that since God is imagined in so many different ways, God can never be pinned down as one thing. What does that matter, I’d like to ask? The Ten Commandments speak of not constructing images in any shape or form, and here God is in many. This blasphemy is part of what appeals to me in this poem, and thus I have suborned it to function as a love poem between two adult lovers of indeterminate genders (thus the song is written out both in the masculine and the feminine). Blessing After Meals As an auditory learner in a religious home the first thing I knew by heart was Birkat Hamazon – the blessing after meals. When I was two, I didn’t know what I was saying, nor why, and I didn’t know to whom it was addressed. Unfortunately, this situation persisted for some twenty-five years. Why was I thanking God for food grown by farmers, packaged by factory workers, shipped by truckers, displayed by supermarket proprietors, sold by cashiers, purchased with money my boss paid me for my labors, and (sometimes) prepared by myself or my spouse? It seemed that there were many individuals to thank for the food, I could thank God, but others deserve thanks too! Not one of these many parties is acknowledged in the traditional blessing after meals. Yet the blessing after meals remains one of the most popular rituals at communal meals, at camp, at Kiddush in synagogues – as it should be, but different words need occasionally to be substituted to make it meaningful to the present day and age. If rubbing your belly and saying that hit the spot does not suffice in your mind and you want to say something more meaningful about the food you consumed, then I invite you to take a look at the blessings that follow. ברכת הזן מִי הַזָּנִים אֶת הָעוֹלָם בְּטוּבָם בְּחֶסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים וַאֲבָרֵךְ שְׁמָם? שָׂרָה אֲשֶר לָשָׁה וְעָשְׂתָה עוּגוֹת לַמַּלְאָכִים לוֹט אֲשֶר הִכְנִיס אוֹרְחִים וְהֵגֵן עַלֵיהֶם מִפְּנֵי הַנּוֹכְלִים רִבְקָה אֲשֶר הִשְׁקְתָה עֶבֶד וּגְמַלִּים יִתְרוֹ אֲשֶר הֵבִיא אִישׁ מִצְרִי לְבֵיתוֹ וְהֶאֱכִילוֹ מַעֲדָנִים רוּת אֲשֶר נָתְנָה לְנָעֳמִי מִן הַשְּׂעוֹרִים גִּדְעוֹן הָרָעֵב אֲשֶר עִישֵּׂר מִלַּחְמוֹ לְמַלאָךְ הַמְּלָכִים הָאִישָּׁה מִצָּרְפָת אֲשֶר נָתְנָה לְאֵלִיָּהוּ מִשְּׂרִידֶיהָ הָאַחֲרוֹנִים וְלִרְבָבוֹת וּלְאַלְפֵי הָאֲלָפִים אֲשֶר בְּכָל יוֹם מְקַיְּמִים "הֲלֹא פָּרוֹש לָרָעֵב לַחְמֶיךָ" הַאֲכִילִי עֲנִיּים מְרוּדִים! בְּרוּכוֹת הֱיֵינָה וּמְבוֹרָכִים מַכְרִיתֵי הָרָעָב מַרְווֹת הַצְּמֵאִים To Those Who Nourished Us The sweat drops from a farmer's brow On to my plate. If I forget thee o laborer, May I forget my right hand. Truly in thee I am blessed Study Notes: The Bible is full of examples of people who fed the hungry, without hope or thought of reward. Though the Bible may be the great justifier and one can pretty much skew the text to advocate for any value system, it is pretty consistent when it comes to feeding the hungry. Literally every narrative book in the Bible is filled with examples of this type of altruism, some of which are listed in the poem above. Sarah prepared cakes for three angels/men who came to visit Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 18, then his nephew invited two of these angels/men for matzah in Genesis 19. In Genesis 24 Rebecca gave Abraham’s servant water to drink. In Exodus 3 Jethro invited Moses, a man he had never encountered before, for a meal -- the same Moses who in Exodus 17 and Numbers 20 spoke to a rock from which water gushed, quenching the thirst of the entire nation. Ruth fed her mother-in-law in the Book of Ruth, and then married her benefactor. In Judges 6, Gideon gave an angel disguised as a man a prime rib roast though he himself was suffering from hunger. In I Kings 17, a widow fed Elijah with her final loaf of bread, the same Elijah who caused rain to fall on a tired dry earth. בִּרְכַּת הָרַחֲמִים אָבְדוּ נְפָשׁוֹת בְּכָפָן וְעַד אָנָה הָרָזוֹן אֵיךְ אָגֵל בִּרְאוֹתִי רָעָב הָאֶלֶף וְהַמִּילְיוֹן? בּוֹסַסְנוּ בְּדָמִים נִגְאַלְנוּ בְּקָלוֹן אֵיךְ אֶשְׂמַח וְכוּלִּי מָלֵא עָווֹן? גֶּשׁ הָלְאָה אָמַרְנוּ כִּקְצִינֵי סְדוֹם אֵיךְ אוּכָל לֹומָר שִׂימֵנִי כְּמָלוֹן? לֹא אֶשּׁוֹם וְלֹא אֶשְקוֹט עַד אֲשֶר אֲרָחֵם עַד כְּלוֹת חָרוֹן וְנֹאמַר כֵּן יְהִי רָצוֹן! דָבַק לְשׁוֹן יוֹנֵק לְחִיכּוֹ בְּצִימָּאוֹן וְאָנוֹכִי טָס כָּל שָׁנָה בִּמְטוֹסֵי סִילוֹן הָרַסְתִּי בַּיִת, בִּגְלָלִי גָּלָה מִשְׁכָּן וּמָעוֹן וְאָנוֹכִי קוֹרֵא סֶפֶר בַּסָּלוֹן וְנַטֶּה רֺאשׁ מִפְּנֵי זְעָקוֹת ושָׁאוֹן וְאָנוֹכִי בְשָׁמְעִי סָגַרְתִּי הֶחָלוֹן לֹא אֶשּׁוֹם וְלֹא אֶשְׁקוֹט עַד אֲשֶר אֲרָחֵם עַד כְּלוֹת חָרוֹן וְנֹאמַר כֵּן יְהִי רָצוֹן! זַלְעָפוֹת רָעָב כְּתַנּוּר בִּישְּׁלוּ הֶהָמוֹן אֵיכְכָה אָכַלְתִּי אוּמְצַת בְּקָרִים בְּתֵיאָבוֹן חָלָב מַצּוֹנוּ מֵעֲנִיֵּי אָרֶץ עַד אֲבַדּוֹן אָכֵן הַחַיִּים וְהַמָּוֶות בְּיָד הַלָּשׁוֹן טוֹבִים הָיוּ חַלְלֵי חֶרֶב מֵחַלְלֵי רְעָבוֹן אֵיכְכָה אוּכָל לוֹמָר זֹאת בְּלֹא זַעֲקַת שִׁיבָרוֹן לֹא אֶשּׁוֹם וְלֹא אֶשְׁקוֹט עַד אֲשֶר אֲרָחֵם עַד כְּלוֹת חָרוֹן וְנֹאמַר כֵּן יְהִי רָצוֹן! Mercy A soul starves and I salivate and carve my steak Apathetic to what I left in my wake Besmirched in blood, soiled in diarrhea and mud Blind to the sins that brought on the flood Couldn’t answer the knock when it came Catatonic to the cries of the sick and the lame There’s no one to blame but myself No need to dig deeply or to delve Dry and wracked distended and cracked Dying children and no one gives a frack Every scream I ignored, it rained and it poured Closing the window I did snore Foreclosing their clothes, a dime I then throw Futzing them over, pain no one knows There’s no one to blame but myself No need to dig deeply or to delve Therefore I scream To end hunger, I have a dream Study Notes: This poem takes a page from the Book of Lamentations, which focuses on the human tragedy of exile, concentrating on one tragedy, hunger, in particular (much of the imagery is taken from that book). As an addendum to a blessing after meals I try to remember those who are not blessed with food. Like the Book of Lamentations, my poem is an alphabetic acrostic; unlike the Biblical book, I don’t blame God for the problems. For many years now the world has been producing enough food to feed itself, yet millions continue to die of hunger.. Moral philosophers debate how much blame can be assigned to a person who knows about a problem and has the power to do something yet does nothing. It is a very difficult question, because there is so much suffering in the world, and through mass media we are exposed to it more than ever before. One of the common solutions to this dilemma is to rate problems by degree of proximity. The Rabbis put it this way: “The poor in your city have priority over the poor in another city.” Thus this poem deals specifically with hunger at our doorstep; through hyperbole it compares us to murderers if we don’t deal with it, to officers of Sodom, in fact. Sodom was famous according to the Rabbis for not offering hospitality to visitors. The Israelites are compared to officers of Sodom in Isaiah 1, when they opt to offer choice sacrifices to God instead of behaving morally. The poem constantly distinguishes between the unfortunate and the extraordinarily fortunate middle class of developed countries, i.e., me. For me it is highlighted by the contrast between my ability to fly anywhere I want at a moment’s notice, which squanders enormous resources, and the poor child in Yemen who doesn’t even have enough water to drink. As in many of my prayers, I emphasize that it is within our power to change this. No one can do it for us. Havdalah – Dichotomies One of the more prominent features of Jewish law is its dichotomies. You are either pure or impure; your food is either kosher or non-kosher; any action of yours is either permissible or forbidden; you’re either Jew or goy; you are either a believer or a heretic. This is most apparent in the traditional havdalah (end of Sabbath) ceremony, which concludes by blessing “He who distinguishes between holy and unholy, between light and darkness, between Israel and the nations, between the six days of the week and the Sabbath…”  As are many thinking people, I am disturbed by black-and-white dichotomies. As comforting as it is to know where you stand on any particular instance, most situations fall under the Rabbinic legal category of ספק (uncertainty). What should we do when we encounter a situation in which the law code we choose to follow is unclear or deficient? A famous Rabbinic maxim, which has sadly fallen into disuse in Israel’s polarized society, is דרך ארץ קדמה לתורה – “Moral conduct supercedes Torah” (or, more generally, law). Each of us should become a moral philosopher, judging our everyday conduct by our internal compass and charting our own courses. My own havdalah liturgy relates to the problems of dichotomous thinking. הַבְדָּלָה בֵּין הַבְּתָרִים וְשִׁבַּחְתִּי אֲנִי אֶת הַכְּאֵב אֲשֶׁר בִּלְעָדָיו אֵין שִׂמְחָה טוֹב אֲשֶׁר נֶאֱחֹז זֶה בְּזֶה וּבְזֶה תַּנִּיחִי אֶת יָדֵךְ עָלַי יָרֵאתִי מִן הַקְּטָבִים נִקְרַעְתִּי בֵּין גְּזֵירוֹת בִּתְרֵיהֶם הַאַחִים הֵם שֶׁהָאֶחָד מֵת וְרֵעוֹ מְיַבֵּם!? אַךְ הָאֶמְצַע, האין, בֵּין הַבְּתָרִים, הוּא אָבִי אֲבוֹת הַטֻּמְאָה הִיא אֵם כֹּל הַהֲבָלִים וְלָכֵן עוֹדֶנִּי פּוֹסֵחַ עַל שְׁנֵי הַסְּעִיפִּים מְקַוֶּה שֶׁתִּהְיִי אִתִּי לַמְרוֹת הַיִּסּוּרִים Distinctions A paean to pain for without it there is no joy Better to hold one another until it passes I fear being splayed betwixt imperatives The abyss between them Is uncertain, unclean I think Thus I continue to hop in agony Hoping you are with me Not letting go Study Notes: I love Ecclesiastes, the heretic, for so many reasons. Though I dearly wish there were a world to come where I would could wash the feet of the righteous (i.e. my spouse) -- I am more inclined to accept Ecclesiastes’ version. Most likely I meet no better fate than my neighbor’s cat or the pesky mosquito which just bit me. Ecclesiastes’ best idea is an echo of Epicurius’ middle path, as articulated in Ecclesiastes 7: “Do not be too righteous, and do not act too wise; why should you destroy yourself? Do not be too wicked, and do not be a fool; why should you die before your time? It is good that you should take hold of the one, without letting go of the other.” But as Ecclesiastes probably knew, it is really hard to tread the middle path: it lacks certainty, and people from both sides throw rocks at you. But it is worth it, for in the middle is also love, because when you partner up, you must compromise, reach a middle ground. The structure of the Book of Ecclesiastes reflects this: it is organized symmetrically, with the advice to be happy (with your partner) found smack in the middle of the book. As much as I disparage the dichotomous Jewish world, there is much certainty in it. Sometimes, my baby decides to teethe at 4:43 a.m. and I am too tired to think about whether the money I’d give the drug addict panhandling on the corner would be used for heroin, and if so, whether it’s wrong to give it to him. Sometimes I just want to help and not think about it, and that is legitimate. God said, “Let there be light,” but light would not have existed without darkness to define it. As I am wont to say, “I praise pain, for without it there is no joy.”