From Bayit Liturgical Artists: For Earth’s Sake

New from our Liturgical Arts Working Group comes this offering of poetry, prayer, artwork, and contemplative cards for the #DaysOfAwe! 

For Earth’s Sake

Crafted with a focus on the #climate crisis, through the lens of the story of R. Simcha Bunim. Read on:

 yourbayit.org/earthsake/

Featuring work from:

Liturgist Trisha Arlin

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat 

Illustrator Steve Silbert

Rabbi David Zaslow

Vidui: A Confession of Sins Against the Future

 

We confess and we forgive:

The times we bought leaded gasoline, inorganic beef and whole cow milk. 

We forgive the stray plastic bottle unrecycled. 

We forgive all the turned pages and unlistened-to reports

Or the phone calls we didn’t make

And the emails we didn’t send,

We even can forgive the times we didn’t vote

And the times we didn’t march.  

We forgive and we can be forgiven: 

We’re only humans after all and 

We didn’t want it to be real.  

But now we know. 

We confess but we cannot forgive:

We can’t forgive these other sins against the earth because 

They are sins against the Holy Wholeness. 

How do we forgive all the species that have disappeared ?

Or the burnt forests or the dried up lakes?

And how can it be for us to forgive the greed and the selfishness,

The times we chose to not notice the changes, 

And the times our lives were too personally pleasant to care?

We signed on to a covenant:

The earth will take care of us

If we will take care of it. 

And we reneged.

It is not for us to forgive.  

We confess and wonder:

Will our sins be remembered?

Our children,

And their children,

Will they resent our sins against them?

Will they forget the willful ignorance?

Will they forget the procrastination?

Will they forget the waste?

We will be long gone

So we don’t have to care

Which is disgusting

Because we are guilty. 

Will our children forgive our sins against the future?

Ashamnu. 

Amen

                   

911 and The High Holydays

Facing the truth of climate change

While greeting a sweet new year 

Or listing one’s petty sins

Is like getting ill 

When you thought you were well 

(but you weren’t). 

There I was,

I’d eaten my dinner, i was on the sofa

Watching TV

Some story streaming by 

And I realized

Oh, I don’t feel very good 

A little woozy 

And then, whoa, I was 

Trapped flat on the sofa by an

Unexpected attack of vertigo so fierce that

Up and Down became nostalgic jokes. 

Lifting my head plunged me into

Spatial displacement and feelings of peril so fierce

That I cried, and thought, 

Ah, this is what it’s like to have belief 

And then lose it,

Utter devastation as I contemplated the black hole

Where my naive faith in gravity used to live. 

So I dove back to the sofa to lay flat and steady,

Holding on to the comfort of the TV remote. 

It was two in the morning 

Before I allowed myself to wonder if I was dying,

Alone. 

Everyone I know who lives nearby has money and 

It’s August 

And they’re on vacation. 

Damn you, Maine. 

I was forced to admit that this was an emergency,

So embarrassing. 

I called 911.  

Existential vertigo

Is an apt and useful metaphor 

For the state of this planet. 

Out of whack and reeling,

Everything is new and wrong:

Disorientation, fear of death and nature gone awry.  

We had faith in our invulnerability and it’s gone. 

We used to be able to tell God we’re sorry once a year

And be comforted but

This is no longer possible,

This ain’t easily fixed with a penitent punch to the heart.  

Apples and honey won’t make this go away. 

So let us use this golden opportunity 

To ponder our mortality as a species

And then get to work. 

Admit that this is an emergency. 

So embarrassing.  

Call 911. 

Amen

Writing Workshops for the Days of Awe

 If you would like explore some of the prayers and rituals of the High Holydays and then write your own versions, I’m offering zoom workshops.  I need at least three students for each workshop, $50 dollars a session.  Individual tutoring for $75. 

We can work on all or some of the following depending on your interest:

Selichot (asking for or giving forgiveness)

Avinu Malkeinu (Our Father Our King, but we can use this to explore names and understandings of God)

Hineni (Here I am)

Ayekha (where are you?)

Shofar service

Kol Nidre (All our Vows)

Ashamnu (We are guilty)

Avodah Service (asking for forgiveness on behalf of others)

Al Cheit (Confession of Sins)

And more!

Let me know.  Trisha.arlin@gmail.com

How To Sing Avinu Malkeinu

 

Blessed Holy Wholeness, 

How can I sing Avinu Malkeinu?

How can I use this limited name for God?

I don’t do kings

Or queens,

No vertical hierarchies. 

Verticality creates the problems, it doesn’t fix them. 

I don’t do fathers

Or mothers,

No parental substitutes.

Parents love you but they really do mess you up. 

I don’t do tribal gods

Or protective angels

I like my myths to stay fictional. 

Supernatural intervention fantasies lead to passive magical thinking. 

I don’t do male eternal mysteries 

Or female avatars.

A gendered God is illogical. 

Besides, ineffable spirits may feel good but can they save the planet??

I respect random chance 

And don’t want to indulge in wishful thinking

But, rationality just isn’t much fun.  

(Nevertheless, I hold atheism in reserve so I don’t look stupid.)

It does feel good to consider God’s surrounding presence 

And everyone’s shared divinity. 

I pray to holy wholeness

With a knowingness that I cannot explain away. 

Hmmmm. 

HaShleimut,

When I sing with the congregation 

On the Holy Days

For redemption and second chances 

For me and the world,

I think I will sing,

Avinu Malkeinu,

Our Father Our King,

The way it’s written.

It’s a lovely tune and I’m used to it.  

Sue me. 

But,

Since every metaphor leads to One-ness, 

I think I will then pray 

To 

All Of The Above.  

Amen

                   

Prayer For The Young And The Old

It is our current inclination to despair:

  For the young

  It is maddening to be left with a future

  Of environmental degradation 

  And fascist cults.  

  And for the old

  It is grievous to see lifelong struggles 

  Take too many backwards steps

  From what were happy endings.

It is our current obligation to hope:

  For the young

  It is exciting to plan the fights ahead,

  The anger and the camaraderie 

  And the eventual celebrations. 

  And for the old 

  It is amusing how life comes in waves—

  Inevitably the bad guys will go too far

  And they will fall, some day. We know this. 

Blessed Holy Wholeness:

  It is true,

  Fear tramples freedom. 

  Rights are won then lost,

  There is oppression. 

  There will be more pain. 

And we give up on dreams. 

Or, young and old,

Don’t. 

Dream together. 

Amen

The Empty Chair

(Inspired by a painting by Mike Cockrill)

Look at this painting 

Of a simple chair,

The only object in a vast open space. 

The watercolor, 

Serene and soothing,

Shows an amber-colored director's chair

Surrounded by summer light. 

And it is something to hang

In your home,

Something to look at every day. 

It is beautiful. 

But this week we notice that

The chair is empty. 

And we are reminded of what we don’t have. 

Poor innocent chair,

Minding its own business

As we think of recent deaths

And anticipated losses,

Of sabotaged goodness

And sure things made uncertain. 

Look, the chair is alone,

In mourning. Like us. 

But look again and breathe. 

One mustn’t forget that, surrounded by light,

Any empty seat anticipates a sitter. 

 

Babes In Toyland (Father’s Day)

 

In the early sixties

My father and I used to go to to the movies 

On Sunday afternoons

To get away from my mother I think.  

Most of the films were his choice,

World War Two stories

And James Bond. 

I’ve seen them all,

Dr. No and The Longest Day, 

The Guns of Navarone and much more. 

For the most part

I had no idea what was going on 

And spent entire movies asking questions.  

My father was not an unusually patient man

And I’m sure it was annoying

But I think i remember  getting answers 

Unless there was gunfire. 

Nevertheless,

D Day remained a mystery to me

And I never quite got Ursula Andress’ raison d’etre

Though Sean Connery permanently implanted himself in my heart.  

Every once in a while we’d go to a kids movie. 

I remember, we went to see Babes In Toyland

with Annette Funicello and Tommy Sands. 

I’ve seen it since, it’s unbearable,

Excruciating even,

But I was seven and I loved it. 

(I aspired to Annette-hood. )

There were some teenage boys sitting in the row behind us. 

They were laughing at the movie and being disruptive. 

My father turned back to them a couple of times to glare at them

But they didn’t care. 

Finally he stood up and leaned over the back of his seat and said, sternly,

You may not like This 

But my daughter is having a good time 

So you need to shut up 

So she can enjoy the movie.  

My father was a physically big man for that era

And they got quiet.

“The Arlins,” he used to say, “Don’t take shit. “

But I became aware of my father’s potential for violence 

And for about five minutes before the movie reclaimed me, 

I got scared. 

Afterwards, outside of the theater, 

The teenagers went up to my father. 

I’m not sure what happened then.  

It’s funny,

I remember everything from that afternoon 

Up until that confrontation but then it’s gone. 

I think they threatened him

And he pushed one of them against a wall 

But sometimes I think they just talked. 

My father grew up in Brownsville, Brooklyn 

And fought in the Pacific during World War II. 

He was a sergeant of a crew that repaired radios

And he liked to tell about 

The young antisemitic lieutenant

Who used to harass him

Until one day, in front of witnesses, 

My father pointed a rifle at the lieutenant’s belly

And told him that if he said one more thing

He was going to stick him with the bayonet.

That was my father,

Stanley Arlin,

Who fought for my right to enjoy a movie in 1962.  

Daddy sang bass in the temple choir

And ran a business 

That installed and operated coin operated laundry machines in apartment buildings. 

The mafia tried to take over the company

(it was a cash business) 

And he went to the feds and fought back 

And it went to trial and everything. 

For two years I wasn’t allowed to get in the car 

Until after a parent had started it. 

He died in 1982 at the age of 61 

From mesothelioma 

From working with asbestos 

in the Brooklyn Navy Yard before the war. 

The Navy 

And the asbestos company, Johns Manville,

Murdered him.