We Are Not Alone: A Hanukkah Blessing

 I think of all the Jews lighting candles

All over the world.

And I am not alone.

Which brings me to

The plagues and the storms and the fires and the floods and the wars

When so so many people

Are lost in real darkness.

So for eight nights this year

As I light the candles on my hanukiah,

I will say the blessings

And pray for those who have been sickened or injured or killed or raped or exploited.

And pray for those who are worried and homeless and jobless and vulnerable and hungry.

And pray for those who are lost to themselves, 

Even the ones who are willfully ignorant and gleefully cruel (though I do wish they’d shut up). 

And thank God for all of us who are still here.

And thank God for our loved ones.

And thank God for the Maccabees,

Of all kinds,

Who, when times are hard,

Refuse to disappear,

Fighting so hard for their communities

With food and shelter and work and justice and science and love.

Not a miracle exactly,

It's what good people do and give, 

When giving and doing are needed. 

They are the best and

It is a blessing.

We are so grateful.

We are not alone.

Blessed is the Source of Light and Darkness,

We are holy with the obligation to do good.

And so tonight we kindle the Hanukah candles

And eat fried foods 

(it doesn’t have to make sense).

Enjoy.

Amen

We Give Thanks

We give thanks 

For those who pursue justice

And mourn 

The need for it.

Amen. 

Greatness Happened Here

 

I am not inclined, this year, 

To celebrate any miracle. 

All these

Political lies 

And

Unproven remedies 

Of late,

So much willful ignorance 

And I feel no need to harken back

To dubious claims

Of God’s intervention 

In order to buttress up

Autocrats

Be they Seleucids, Maccabees or Trumps.  

I don’t care if it’s fun for the kids. 

A great something did happen here though,

But no miracle. 

Behind it was years and years

Of research and

Money and human effort. 

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

I give thanks for  

Vaccines

And Science!

Amen.

In Praise of the Dark

Light candles, as one does, but consider this:

Over many millions of years

Organisms evolved

To thrive in the dark,

Eyes big and reflective,

Taking in the main chance. 

Mysterious only to those who slept 

While they flourished

Under the stars and the waning moon

Away from galumphing day hunters,

Safe in their night. 

For many thousands of years,

Humans slept during the dark

And rose in the light.

And if we didn’t feel safe at night

We sat together in circles under the stars

And told stories

Of god and miracles

Of warriors and kings

Of love and children. 

And that mastodon we had for dinner. 

But for the last hundred or so years,

If we were lucky,

We’ve lived in bright rooms,

Safe behind doors at night,

Unable to see past the streetlights to the stars.

Instead of circles we sit in bubbles

And the stories come from the outside,

Sometimes helping us laugh and cry. 

Sometimes provoking pain and shared resentment,

Each in our own well-lit isolation. 

Tonight, perhaps, 

Don’t be in such a rush

To set up your candles against the dark.  

Turn off that backyard lamp,

So you can see the constellations and

Let the night animals breathe.

Listen to the frightening ambient sounds

That don’t explain themselves to you. 

Then tell your own stories to each other,

Of miracles and myths and what you had for dinner.

And praise the darkness. 

Praise the light. 

Praise it all. 

Amen. 

Maybe: For Sukkot

 

“Oh let me behold your presence!”

Exodus 33:18

Maybe when you sit in the sukkah, 

And you look around at the flimsy walls 

That maybe you built yourself, 

Maybe you can imagine 

That they are there to remind you 

Of the need for humans to construct descriptions 

and meaning, 

Golden calves and theologies, 

To help them make it through their lives, 

Which is okay, maybe.  

Maybe, as you sit in the sukkah 

Within these tangible constructs, 

You look up 

And you can see through to the stars 

And you can’t help but be reminded 

Of how vast and incomprehensible this universe is

And how amusing are our explanations. 

And maybe this will scare you

Because it cannot be grasped. 

But maybe it doesn’t need to be understood 

Especially because  it never will be

Or because the answer is obvious 

Like death and creation.  

And maybe that’s what all the atonement 

And redemption was about last week. 

So maybe if you sit for a while

Surrounded by immense mystery 

It gets easier to forgive the forgivable 

And enjoy your day. 

Maybe, 

When you sit in this hut, 

Contemplating the universe 

Whilst eating a snack,

Safe within the see-through sukkah walls yet

Under the stars of the awesome whatever, 

You will let yourself imagine that

God is never begun, never over, always now.  

Maybe. 

And may it be that this God-ness passes over you. 

Amen

On The Birth Of Babies (And Grandbabies)

The future screams in our arms!

Maybe they know what’s coming for them,

I hope not.

For now they are pure joy,

Newness incarnate

Mindful without effort.

We laugh as they discover everything,

Literally everything:

Toes, poop, sugar, grief…

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

We welcome this child into the One-ness!

May they save the world 

And have lots of fun. 

Amen

(Written for Otto Rose, born August 23, 2021)

Aleinu for Yom Kippur

Bend the knee and leave the old damage behind. 

It is resolved

Or it is not.

It is forgiven

Or it is not. 

In any case

Those gates are shut. 

Walk into this next year

And acknowledge the new suffering.

The Earth begs for a rest

And it is up to us to help,

This is our covenant. 

And it’s not enough to live small,

This year we must act big. 

Aleinu.

Underneath (For Selichot)

 

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

During the month of Elul we ponder and remember,

An illusion of thoughtfulness,

Because underneath the meek apologies lie

Obsession

Resentment 

And embarrassments that do 

Whatever it is that

Hate

Lies 

And ignorance do 

To help us create the past. 

When the field lies fallow, there is

Only an illusion of rest,

Because underneath the lumpy dirt lie

Microbes 

And worms

And burrowing creatures that do

Whatever it is that

Tefillah 

Tzedukah 

And Teshuvah do

To help us create the future.  

We’re sorry, blessed One-ness, 

But

On Selichot,

After this time of fear and wild hope,

We may not be able to

Find room in our hearts 

For the haters and the liars and the idiots. 

But

On Erev Rosh Hashanah,

In honor of the coming year,

We might still find

There is room in our hearts

For microbes and worms and maybe a gopher or two. 

Amen

(Drawing ©  Mike Cockrill)

A Blessing For Buster on Rosh Hodesh Elul

This is a blessing for my old orange cat, Buster,

On the occasion of Rosh Hodesh Elul, 

Rosh Hashanah La Beheimot,

The New Year of the Domesticated Beasts.

  

Buster was an athlete in his youth. 

He’s named for Buster Keaton because

He was always leaping and levitating

And doing triple axels on the ceiling

And he never smiled.

 

Buster was also kind of a jerk. 

Standoffish and emotionally withholding,

He ruined two sets of venetian blinds and

Every screen in every window.

He broke all my small breakables

And

Sometimes I would catch him

Staring at his brother,

Sweet fuzzy cuddly Sammy,

With this look in his eyes

That said,

“I have no choice, I must bite Sammy on his ass.”

And then he would.

Intervention only delayed the inevitable.

 

Have you heard of family systems theory?

When Sammy died, Buster took his place:

He got cuddly and loving and slept on my face.

 

And now Buster is very old, 

He’s 22!

He misses the litter box more often than not.

He howls very loudly when he’s hungry

And howls very loudly after he has eaten.

He falls over when he sneezes!

Sometimes Buster walks down the hallway and then stops halfway

And you can see him thinking,

What was I doing?

Sometimes he remembers and continues on,

Sometimes he doesn’t and goes back to bed.

Man, I can so so so relate to this.

 

Buster is an inside apartment cat, 

My captive all his life.

He never got to serenade the neighborhood,

He never got to have sex,

He never got to fight for territory,

He never got to crouch in the tall grass stalking his prey.

Buster only murdered three mice, that I know of,

When the neighbors moved,

And it’s a shame because he was born to kill.

How do I dare to offer him a blessing 

When I have been at best a benevolent tyrant

Thwarting his every natural desire?

 

For fifteen months during COVID

Buster was the only living being

I could touch.  

Bless you, Buster. 

I love you. 

I’m sorry. 

Thank you, 

My old domesticated beast.

Please don’t die and

Happy New Year.

Amen.