Saturday, September 29, 2007

A Message from the PR Dept.

Dear Readers,

I put up a poll on my other blog, Half Baked, in the hope of discovering how to better please my readers and possibly attract more. For some reason, I was unable to put one up here (I deleted all my cookies and lost 5lb... in my dreams... but my layout page is still being crabby)

So, while waiting for my next "real" post to come up, please mosey over there and give your $0.02. Who knows, you may even find yourself enjoying my other blog, which I think I myself prefer. The poll is on the upper right in the sidebar.


A Guten Moed,

Friday, September 21, 2007

This year...

Every year
comes Yom Hakipurim
no matter what the year has been like,

of sin
of time
of worldliness
peel away
slowly at first
then uninhibited
I'm returning
I can see so clearly now.

As the light of dusk fades
the world is different.

Hear O Israel
Voices rise in a thunderous roar
G-d is One
Nothing else exists.

The truth fills the world
pushing out all else
I have vanished
to be but part of Him
The heavens are shattered
This must be the redemption
and I'm no longer scared.

The silence is absolute
it's almost over
my breath stops
this is it

As the blower raises the Shofar
I wait to hear the sound
I am certain is coming
The "Shofar Gadol"
will mingle with his
nothing else is possible
when the world is filled
with Truth.

The call sounds
it somehow adds to the silence

... and last year
once again
it ended.
And I left the synagogue
to find people
walking on the streets
as if nothing was wrong.

But this year
I know
just the same
that moment of revelation will come
and the Great Shofar will sound
and God will gather us in
because we're coming home at last
and the sound will be
like it was at Sinai:
Strong and growing
and not ending
too soon.

Sunday, September 09, 2007

9/11/01: Where were you?

There are some moments in life that divide time irreversibly into "before" and "after." For anyone in our generation, 9/11/01 is one of them.

I'm leaving out the details. Although the whole scene is a mosaic of memory fragments, I'd rather avoid the risk of boring you and sacrificing yet another bit of my anonymity. So I am posting only one shard of the mosaic, a particularly sharp one. You can add pieces by posting your own story in the comments.

I was away from home at the time of the attacks. "Home" at the time was not far at all from Ground Zero, so I wasn't able to return until the next day. I was relatively young at the time and felt quite far away from my family, despite having been reassured that everyone got out OK. It was the kind of time when you want your father and mother close by.

I returned home on September 12, 2001 to a whole different world. The air was thick and gray, and I couldn't identify the smell except that it made me think of crematoriums and gas chambers (though of course I had no frame of reference for that either.) Every time I absently touched the subway handrails, my hands came away white with ash.

Finally, I arrived at my home, an island of familiarity in a changed city. As I approached, I noticed something on the door that seemed strangely out of place. It was colorful and loving.

"Happy Birthday, BasMelech!"

I had completely forgotten.