how much longer
until your arrival?
We wait in anticipation,
of redemption for our nation;
the news of your presence
will ripple out to the world.
All the trees will sing out
praise, for the time has come.
The entire earth will break forth in joy,
singing along with the blue jays.
Let us not fall asleep, L-rd,
as we wait for your Kingdom
to appear in its glory.
Offerings:
Laden with burdens
throughout the week,
weighted down with the cares
of olam haba (this world);
we look forward to sanctifying ourselves,
while basking in the light of Shabbat.
We bring ourselves, heavy-hearted,
casting our burdens upon Your mercy;
we offer up our only gifts to You –
our remembrance, and observance.
Zachor v’shamor, let us
remember and observe;
first to light the sparks within,
and learn to begin again,
after the Sabbath:
motzei Shabbos.
"Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee; hide thyself for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast." - Isaiah 26:20, JPS 1917 Tanach
The final dawn arrives to bring
a hopeful message tinged with joy,
compels the soul to lift on high
the weary eyes above the sky.
Until that day, I’ll hide away,
and bide my time, making rhyme,
behind the screen of inner space,
where no one sees my hidden face.
I’ll greet the dawn with praise and song,
without the slightest sound of alarm,
resting in my safest haven,
and in anticipation sing.
The veil will part in sky and heart,
revealing all to glorify the One,
Who in Heaven’s Highest Abode,
sends blessings from His treasure trove.
Look up,
for the hour draws near.
There is hope in the skies,
beyond what is imagined,
by the fear in our hearts.
There is a lasting generation
of humanity that will survive
the death and decay of the earth,
before the arrival of its revival.
The truth will transcend science,
and reason outlast the media’s
implicit portrayal of doomsday,
on the brink of tomorrow.
I shall not seek Hollywood’s
fantastic predictions on the screen;
nor, fear the earth-changes,
while my faith is intact.
I will do my part to hasten
the renewal of the earth;
and prevent the suffocation of sea turtles,
by not accepting plastic bags at the store.
My conscience clean, I will rest in quietude
every night in expectation of a dawn,
that will succeed man’s best efforts
to create harmony within the biosphere,
as G-d enacts a rescue plan.
Hope, is the mainstay of my life
and the fruition of my thoughts.
Hope, will outweigh the strife
that weighs heavily upon my heart.
Hope, the champion of the future,
a prelude to ultimate victory.
Hope, is enough to suture
the wounds inflicted by misery.
Hope, will mend the broken fragments
of a life unduly shattered.
Hope, will diminish the lament
of those whose clothes are tattered.
Hope, designed to stich each patch
and sew together the unraveled strands.
Hope, will help to gather all who are lost,
like collecting so many grains of sand.
Hope, will meld with faith,
bridging the gap in between.
Hope obtained, will never fade,
always realizing the dream.
The surrounding countryside of Kiev, and other cities, such as Lviv, and even my own ancestral hometown, Bolekhiv, are quiet in the night, while the Russians prepare their next attempts to maneuver their positions, to be in alignment with their next forward march into the fray. By now, they know that they will continue to meet with resistance from the Ukrainian defenders. These are not nationalists, like the propaganda espoused by the Putin regime would have it known; rather, these are loyal citizens of a country that has been trying to gain its complete freedom for decades. True, it was Ukrainian nationalists in the midst of WW2, who were no friends of the Jewish population in Bolechov, Poland in 1939, when the Soviets retreated. However, the current generation of Ukrainians are not responsible for the sins of their ancestors.
After WW2, my ancestral hometown fell in under the new lines of demarcation, designating the city as Bolekhiv in the newly established boundaries of Soviet Ukraine. And, now, 58 years later, and, incidentally, fifty-eight miles south of Lviv, I wonder how far the smoldering torches of war have receded, or perhaps impeded upon the place where the graves of my ancestors rest. Of course, most of them, were actually buried in either one of two mass graves. The first, 7 km outside of Bolechov (now, Bolekhiv) in Tarnipol. The other, hastily made grave in the actual cemetery. This cemetery is the best preserved Jewish cemetery in Europe. I have always wanted to visit, since I “found” my ancestors through genealogical research. And, now, How am I to do so? Ultimately, if am able to do so in the future, will I be entering Ukraine, or Soviet-controlled Ukraine?
My ancestors souls,
transcend earthly boundaries,
knowing only peace.
And there’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend.
Slow Train, by Bob Dylan
When society is upended,
and people are tormented,
take heart in your faith,
don’t let your soul go to waste;
there will be a slow train
coming around the bend.
Let faith reign in your heart,
don’t pretend to play the part,
when the mind is sincere,
and the pathway is clear,
there will be a slow train
on the tracks ready to start.
Let’s dare not be hesitant,
when opportunity prevails, take that first step,
look, the passenger door is open,
these tired souls that appear to be broken,
will be renewed on the slow train,
moving along the tracks.
From deep within a heart of stone,
lies the essence of a kernel, soon to bloom.
Behind these stony faces, tears run dry,
emotions hidden inside the outer shell,
where hope mixes with fear, and a suppressed cry.
The seedling will soon sprout,
when watered by tears of joy;
then, this plant will blossom in the sunshine,
of a new day, when faith reigns,
in the hearts of once lifeless ruins.
The stones from where the seedlings thrived,
will break away to reveal what was hidden inside –
people stepping out from beneath the earth,
to greet the sunrise with all that they are worth.
No more concealed in the basements below;
now, blessed to watch the sun’s glow.
Living in the belly of the beast,
rising up from the vacant grave,
reaching towards the light from the East,
an angel from Heaven appears,
with a mission to save.
Crying out from a land of tears,
dying to ourselves every day,
casting away all of our fears,
gaining ground over the years,
as the enemy retreats the other way.
Opening up to the possibility,
of hope becoming permanently ingrained,
indelible as ink, on a deed of civility,
or the silver lining of a cloud,
that is translucent with sunbeams.
The sunflowers in the land of the living,
sway in tune with a heavenly chorus of angels,
and a myriad of people singing
the refrain of the song of Moses,
shining like golden bells.
1.
All of the firebrands that you have thrown at me,
have been deflected, landed in fertile soil, and,
transformed into pillars of truth to guide my life.
The blazing torches of lies, brandished in my face,
have been quenched by the streams of sanctity,
and extinguished by waters from the well of salvation.
I have been inoculated against future deception,
and strengthened against the cunning of the Great Deceiver.
I have regained my sanity in a world of chaos.
2.
I put one foot forward each and every day of my life,
on the road towards freedom from my past bondage,
held as a mental hostage, in the lairs of my nemesis.
Yet, when you appeared, my bonds were loosened,
my nightmare ended, and new horizons emerged.
Now, carried away by the Spirit, to new vistas,
I have tread upon the tail of the serpent,
and danced amongst my people reborn.
The Tree of Life 