Laser Fusion (for Tu Bishvat)

 

It’s Tu Bishvat, the New Year of Trees. 

Do not give up!

The forests burn but

Electric vehicles;

The seas rise but

LED lightbulbs;

Species disappear but

Solar power;

Millions starve but

Wind turbines.

We’ll be long dead but

Laser fusion!

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

    Within which lives our ingenuity and hope 

    Alongside our stupidity and despair,

May the solutions scale up and arrive in time 

To save us all from our own greed and folly, Amen. 

Happy New Year, trees! And good luck. 

Our Tallis Trees

 

Our home shul in Brooklyn meets in a church.

We don’t have a yard or a roof or air conditioning 

So for many years during the summer we have met in Prospect Park

Under two large trees that overlook the ball fields. 

There used to be three trees but one fell down after Hurricane Sandy. 

 

These two big trees have trunks that have become our bimah. 

We place our camp chairs and blankets around them 

And we are shaded by their joined canopies

Which we have come to feel is like

Being covered by a giant green tallis. 

The many leaves are the fringes and

Everything inside is kodosh, holy, 

In Shabbat time and space,

And everything outside is khol, mundane, 

Prospect Park on a Saturday morning. 

Inside are study, prayers, songs, meditations, poems, potluck, community and words of Torah. 

Outside are ball games, the Dog Pond, bicycles and the guy who sells ice cream from a cart between the 9th Street entrance and the Long Meadow. 

It would be perfect if only there was a bathroom. 

 

That summer before Covid we planted a sapling in place of the lost third tree

In honor of our beloved retiring founding rabbi,

Bless her. 

That same day we acknowledged our summer Beit Knesset

When our Hazzan surreptitiously placed a wooden mezuzah in the crook of the biggest of the two trees. 

We sang and said a blessing. 

We didn’t have permission from the Park for this

But our cantor did check with an arborist who said it wouldn’t hurt the tree. 

This small outlaw act made us giggle and kvell and cry

For our founding rabbi

For the future

For our clever hidden mezuzah 

And for our sheltering Tallis Trees. 

 

Many of us liked to visit this sacred space when it wasn’t Shabbat 

To touch the mezuzah and say a private prayer. 

But last year the mezuzah disappeared. 

Our Hazzan asked a Park guy about it

(He knew her, because of the tree we planted).

He said he’d seen it almost immediately and decided to ignore it,

Bless him,

But that one day it had disappeared. 

What happened to the mezuzah?

Was it brought low by a bad storm?

Did a bird make a nest with it?

Was it taken down by a passing Jew with a strict interpretation of where a mezuzah should be?

Maybe it fell into the earth below

And our holy words were broken down into their smallest component parts,

Becoming Holy Mulch,

Feeding the Tallis Tree. 

 

HaShleimut, Blessed Totality,

We give thanks to the Tallis Trees 

For their shelter and their beauty.

We give thanks for having this special outside sanctuary 

During the years of Covid.

We give thanks to the deep rest

That comes when we are in Shabbat with nature. 

We give thanks to the staff of Prospect Park 

For their vigilant maintenance of the green spaces. 

And we ask for the clarity, endurance and skills needed

To keep our trees safe and flourishing. 

 

Because all trees are Tallis Trees. 

Bless them. 

Amen

 

Tree in a Rain Forest: A Guided Meditation

Breathing In 

Breathing out. 

Every breath a prayer. 

See yourself

In a forest,

A dark and deeply green

Rain forest.

The air is moist and thick but cool,

The leaves drip water. 

See the fungus attached to fallen trees, then

Look for the bugs

And small animals,

And the seedlings atop the

Rotting wet wood that’s 

Dead but vibrant with 

Bug homes 

And plant nurseries. 

The ground is real life mulch,

Squishy under your feet.

Walk. 

Look around and select a tree, 

This will be your tree. 

You know your tree

And it knows you.

Examine your tree

From top to bottom.

Is it taller than you?

Old or a sapling?

What do its leaves look like?

Stand next to your tree and 

Say hello. 

Breathe it in.  

Breathe in its respiration:

Creativity and oxygen,

Growth and carbon dioxide—

Every breath is a prayer. 

Sit down and lean against your tree.

The forest floor is moist and your ass gets wet

As you reach back to touch the tree with your hands,

Gently.

Feel the  bark.

Can you sense the movement inside?

The leaves and the roots 

Feeding and watering the entire structure. 

Isn’t it magnificent?

Now listen to your tree: 

Shema. 

What do you hear?

The drizzling rain 

Passes through the forest canopy and

Falls on your face, your lap, your hiking boots. 

It’s time to go home. 

Taste the wet air that gives your tree its life.

Breath of the Universe,

We see and smell and touch and taste and listen and feel

And pray with the trees,

And we give thanks. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out. 

Amen.  

Blessing For A Tree In The City

Illustration by Steve Silbert

In front of my window on the first floor 

Lives a tree

I think of as mine

Though of course it belongs to the City.

My favorite event of the year is that warm day in April 

When the dark red buds of my tree

And most of the trees on the block

Break open in small lime green leaves.  Whoosh!

Last fall the City put a fence around

My tree’s tiny plot of land

So maybe the dogs would stop pissing on it. 

I don’t think it worked.

Remember that summer

When a flock of green parrots

Flew over from Greenwood Cemetery 

And hung out in my green tree for days?

A couple of years ago some of the branches broke off in a storm. 

The City left them in the street

To rot for weeks

And then they came and sawed off more branches.

I’m worried about my tree.

I’m worried that my tree is too successful,

That the roots will start to break up the sidewalk 

And then the City will cut it down.

Holy Wholeness,

I give thanks for the way my tree cleans our air.

I give thanks for the way my tree shades my apartment.

I give thanks for the home my tree provides to the block’s squirrels and birds. 

I give thanks for my tree’s undressed beauty in the winter.

May my tenacious tree live its fullest life! 

May it never be lonely,

All the city trees reaching out with their roots, 

Chatting with friends.

And I bless the City for its imperfect caretaking. 

Amen​.

New Moon in January: Rosh Chodesh Shevat

Eternal One-ness, 

Living outside of time

Blessed HaMavdil,

The One Who Divides:

We imagine that long ago

We might have been afraid

When the moon disappeared.

It was so dark at night

Like the end of the world.

We howled at the empty sky

And then, like a miracle,

A sliver appeared.

The moon, it's back!

We gave thanks for the new moon.

This new month,

Rosh Chodesh Shevat,

The new month of winter,

Begins as the month of Tevet ends.

Tevet is the month of resting and darkness.

Shevat is the month of days growing longer

But somehow also colder,

January and February.

When the world seems the most devoid of life,

We give thanks for the future.

Yes,

This is the month when we tell the story

Of the escape from the narrow place.

This is the month of Shabbat Shirah,

When we sing the song of liberation

And Martin Luther King.  

We give thanks for the freedoms we have and we work for the ones we do not.   

This is the month when we talk of wine and nuts and fruit,

The New Year of the Trees,

We give thanks to the earth

This is the month of Tu Bishvat

When we eat the gifts of our planet.

And pray that we are doing enough to preserve it.  

Blessed One-ness 

Outside of Time, Eternal,

Blessed HaMavidil

Dividing time into years and days.

And every month,

Sharing the new moon with us, 
Sharing the future.

For that and so much more, we give thanks.

Amen