Roofs (for Sukkot)

 

What does a roof do?

It keeps out the rain

It keeps in the warmth

It keeps us safe from lions and robbers

It protects the TVs and the computers

It protects our beds while we sleep 

It protects our futures from the future. 

Roofs are good. 

So why on Sukkot 

Do we eat dinner outside 

In a temporary hut

With holes in the roof?

It doesn’t make sense!

What do holes in a roof do?

They let in the weather 

They let us breathe fresh air

They let us hear our neighbors and friends

They remind us of when we slept in the fields

They remind us how to be without our phones

They remind us that our history is long and complicated.  

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

We honor the rituals 

That don’t make sense 

Because sometimes they do

Like holes in the roof

And breathing fresh air. 

Amen

Seen (for Elul)

Blessed Wholeness,

What do we see when we look?

Do we see it even if we’re not looking?

Where should we look?

What if we don’t know we’re seeing it?

Is it in the forest? The neighborhood?  A pew?

What about dogs?

When is it easy to spot?

Is it just a projection?

Does it know when we’re sorry?

What looks at us? 

Where is it watching from?

Does it form an opinion?

Does it see us even if no one else does?

Does it see us when we’re wrong? 

Does it ever apologize?

Does it make jokes?

Is it everywhere?

Are we alone?

What do we see when we see ourselves?

Is self-delusion sometimes appropriate?

If we see something, should we say?

Or if we see it, is it better to be nice?

What if it’s none of our business ?

But what if it’s the truth?

Who gets to say what is true?

What if the truth is annoying?

Can being seen be more important than being loved?

I see. 

I don’t see. 

I am seen. 

I am not seen. 

I need truth. 

I need delusion. 

I miss my old dog. 

I apologize. 

I accept your apology. 

Amen

LEARN ABOUT THE SHABBAT LITURGY WITH ME

To me, the service is a story which makes the congregant the protagonist. And the protagonist should be at least a little transformed at the end of a story, which is hard to do when you don’t know what’s going on.  So if you’re re interested in learning about what you’re saying and singing on Shabbat mornings, let me help you make it your story. 

In my opinion, the two words that sum up my kind of Judaism are Obligation (to community, ethics, tikkun olam, teshuvah, learning, etc. ) and Doubt (we love questions!)  No faith or belief necessary although welcome if you’ve got it.  Personally, I hold at least two contradictory ideas in my head about God-ness at the same time most of the time. 

We can design a learning agenda that’s specific for you but what I usually do is go through the entire Shabbat morning service from the first Modeh Ani (I give thanks) to the kiddish and V’shamru  we can go fast or slow, and, if you want, stopping during holidays to study rhe holiday liturgy and, at any point, writing your own versions of the prayers.  

There’s reading material for learning detailed history and tradition (which you can read or not as you desire ) but the heart of it is you and I going through the service and talking about what each component means personally, spiritually, politically, theologically, all of it.  

We can do this via zoom or in person. 

Email me at Trisha.arlin@gmail.com if you’re interested  

Trisha

Freedom And Deep Rest

Art by Carolyn Hall

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.” Viktor Frankl

In this holy space that is Shabbat day

We can pause our pain

And look for compassion 

And then for truth

Before we decide upon

Our response. 

In this holy space that is Shabbat day

We can pray to observe others’ anger

With tenderness 

And understanding 

Before we choose 

Our reaction. 

In this holy space that is Shabbat day

We can stop and note 

All ambient sounds and feelings

And then, with honest respect,

Decide for freedom and 

A deep rest. 

Amen

Voice and Picture Muted On Shabbat

 

Those of us who are old, sick, lazy or far away,

My people,

Still do Shabbat on Zoom,

Some are on screen with their tallitot but 

I’m in my bed, voice and picture muted. 

The story of the service demands company,

Does it work if I’m alone?

Does the standing prayer count

If I’m under an electric blanket?

Sometimes I doze off during the drash.  

The camera pans around the sanctuary

When they take out the Torah and 

Parade around the room. 

We can see our friends 

But do they see us?

While the Torah is out we absorb its mojo 

And listen to a blessing for healing.  

I text the names of my sick friends 

(And myself)

Into the chat. 

Then Aleinu, 

It is upon us to change the world!

But today there’s nothing up on me

But banal thoughts of

Coffee and a morning pee. 

They get to the Mourners Kaddish,

One mustn’t grieve alone.  

(Maybe I’ll go in person next week for Daddy?)

The service ends with a song,  Adon Olam.

Feh, that tune is so annoying. 

Then, at last, we unmute

And for a moment 

The old and sick and lazy and the far away, 

My people,

Make noise in the room with each other. 

We wave and call out,

“Shabbat Shalom!!”

Blessed One-ness,

We give thanks for this holy day

Of love and pleasure. 

Amen.

Words For Those We Remember

To the soldiers who died bravely for their country

And the soldiers who died in the fog of war 

To the civilians who died as collateral damage

And the civilians who died resisting cruelty 

To the helpers who died feeding the hungry 

And the helpers who died tending to wounds

To the young who died to fight old men’s wars

And the young who died while protesting 

To the women who died from weaponized rape

And the women who raised children alone

To the exploiters who profited from fear and ignorance 

And the exploiters who profited from the sale of weapons  and  death

To those who used war to enslave

And those who used war to liberate 

To all of these

We say

We remember you.  

We remember you.  

We remember you.  

Amen

Endurance: counting the Omer (Netzach)

 

Counting On The Long Haul

Blessed Mystery,

In it for the long haul, 

We begin the count. 

We count centuries from Joseph to Moses,

Count years from the burning bush to the Song of the Sea. 

Count weeks from manna to Sinai ,

Count days from the blare of the horn to the Golden calf. 

Count the five books of Moses,

Count the 24 books of the Tanakh. 

Count the 49 days of the Omer 

Count the seven sefirot,

Count and take us to Shavuot and

Count the cheese blintzes. 

Maybe it’s a myth,

Maybe it’s current events. 

But Torah is only the beginning,

We’re in it for the long haul. 

And everyone has a Sea of Reeds to cross,

Everyone has a story 

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

Everyone counts. 

Amen 

This is Holy Ground

 

What makes a space holy?

Perhaps history creates holiness. 

Maybe it’s in a glade surrounded by trees where centuries of wise woman spoke words of connection and mystery. 

Perhaps it’s accidental.  

Maybe it’s in lower Manhattan where thousands died and buildings fell and we all still go to cry and remember. 

But what if the holiness is intentional,

Created on purpose by us,

As a holy separation?

Imagine that I have a table with nothing on it,

Empty of content and meaning.

But then I take a glass and turn it upside down 

And declare,

“Everything inside that glass is kadosh, holy and

Everything outside that glass is khol, mundane”

And you agree with me, 

Then is that so?

And if I pick up the glass, does the holy air inside become everyday odorless gas?

So perhaps today we  can place a glass over ourselves,

Right here in this room where history and accident have us sitting around a  table at this unholy moment in time.  

So together, let us declare, 

‘We are part of a holy ancient story that is happening right now!

We are asking ancient and brand new holy questions, and

The air we breathe is holy air and 

This is holy ground. ‘

Amen

 

Before We Eat

Blessed Holy Wholeness,

As we sit here at our Seder table

At this lovely gathering, waiting

For the wonderful meal to come,

We mourn the cruelty 

Of the current Pharaoh and his followers. 

We grieve the indifference to

The hunger and need of millions,

The murder of innocents,

The threats of deprivation,

The abandonment of democracy

And the fear of tomorrow. 

May our personal joy not be lost

In our awareness of all this pain

Even as we eat and drink and pray.

And may we tell our stories

And remember our true selves

And never let anyone shut us up.

Amen