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A Shabbes Love Story
We press against each others’ backs
to catch her passing glance.
Carried in another’s arms, she floats
like sunlight through the crowd
as we sink kisses in her velvet dress
or touch her hem then kiss the hand
that we extended. She won’t reveal
her secrets easily though she lies open
on the bima, quickly rolled and covered up.
But the chanting calls her back,
eight times in all till she is writhing,
almost giddy, from the trilling—
crisp black letters drained
from pools of pure white light.
The leyning done, no bare hand
having dared to touch her,
she is lifted in the air for all to see
and quickly dressed. She looks away—
such rapt attention makes her shy.
More than this, we are prepared
to fast for her should her foot touch
the ground, to die for her
if her good name is violated.
Again paraded, as we plant kisses,
to her place inside the ark,
she ascends the ramp of racing hearts.
Candy Man
for Rabbi Moshe Vorhand
A less kind look would make him cry.
Wide-eyed, he dares extend his hand
as the men have done, “Good Shabbes”
muttered to the Rav, who slips
a lollipop into his palm.
Triumphantly, he walks away,
then suddenly, absorbed, he stops,
becoming desperate to unwrap
his gift. When the sadness fills
his heart, he starts to cry.
The Rav, waving the child back,
peels sticky cellophane—
sweetness revealed and then attained.
The broken heart, desire calmed,
grows strong with every lick.
Tashlich
Where pebbles
tossed have struck
the creek and sunk,
the reeling circles
on the surface spread,
seeking the muddied banks.
