Category Archives: Poetry

Two Poems–by Barbara D. Holender

Parsha Insights, Poetry

Naomi

God is good; He’s made me a grandmother.
Live and be well, little man, grow big, grow strong.
Just when I think I’m too weary to bother
and too old to start over, you come along.

Such pleasure in the house! Who would have thought
that widow harvest Boaz gathered in
was ripe for joy, or that your little heart
could make my bitter blood run sweet again.

You’re a blessed miracle–ask your mommy,
singing to herself like a nesting bird.
When my friends say a son’s born to Naomi
she smiles at me and never says a word. read more

To My Grandchild–by Barbara D. Holender

Poetry

Little snail,
Can you hear me
with your new earbuds?
You wear my lifeprint sealed
within your see-through skin.

Your father scares your mother
with his anatomy book.
Next week you will be
big as my thumb,
all heart and brain.

What will you take of me
to ripen in your shell?
So much depends
on your selection.

You are bearing me
beyond my time alive
alive
alive.

Shadow Play At The Western Wall–by Barbara D. Holender

Poetry

Caperbushes sprout through dry crevices, spattering shade
on stone eighty feet above the congregation.

One chassid among the flock of crows–that one–
dances with himself in prayer,
sways left, now right seven times,
forward thirteen, now seventeen short bows,
again and again, pliant as a lulav,
his shadow advancing, earlocks matching
flying curl for curl, even the fringes
of his tallit, almost even the stripes
sharp in shadow, so clear the light,
so light the air, ah that Jerusalem air. read more

First Time at the Kotel—by Kathleen Wilkinson

Poetry

Off the bus? Now, in the dark and the rain?
Our clothes are not correct, our hearts are not prepared.
The rainy walkways could be slippery but they are not.
Old men begging at the gate – “walk on by” –
They are always here.

Mothers and their small children have come,
Perhaps night is their only chance.
Prayer is alive – help, solace, hope shimmer.
I stand back a bit, unsure, but smiles
Call me forward, space is made – for me.

When I touch the stone, cold and wet,
The suns of two thousand years shine warm.
I know the comfort and the connection
Sought and found by my generations.
I belong. read more

Two Poems–by Barbara D. Holender

Poetry

A Birthday

My feet are 88.
They look it–
puffing around the ankles,
collecting themselves
to shoot the dark veins
up the knotty trunks.
I travel light,
hope they’ll hold me.

But if I must go piecemeal
I’d rather go from below
like Socrates
conversant to the end,
than grope the long way down,
having thrown the master switch.

****
On Reading A Translated Poem

Yiddish poem
your bones stick through
your borrowed clothes.

Poor immigrant,
your relatives
are always explaining you,
while your displaced persona
cries out in its own voice
“That’s not what I said!” read more

The Scarlet Maple–by Barbara D. Holender

Poetry
 

The Scarlet Maple
(for Aaron)

I went out to the park today
to see the tree your great-aunt
planted in your memory.

Like you it is a sapling bursting to bloom and through it your broken limbs will arch and stretch, and leaves will blaze like your living spirit. Best of all, you will grow old, and I swear that nothing, no one, will ever again cut you down.

Leah and Rachel: Two Midrashic Poems–by Ahavya Deutsch & Ayala Emmett

Poetry

I. Leah Knows the Secret of Joy—by Ahavya Deutsch

Leah knows the secret of joy.
She names her children, instead of nursing her loneliness.
Even after all these years, she trades her bitterness for one more night with Jacob.
She turns her tender eyes inward. She turns her tender eyes upward.
If Rachel is the flame, Leah is the wood that’s burning.
And she is not consumed.

II. Rachel Loved Leah*—by Ayala Emmett

At sunrise the mother died.
In the tent the women wept,
Leah, soft eyes and seven years
lifted the flailing, helpless baby
“Rachel” she whispered.
She wrapped her in their mothers’ still warm multicolor shawl
letting the slave woman nurse her
when she cried and Laban hated her.
Leah held her tight,
“I will never leave you.” read more

ARBEIT MACHT FREI*—by Gertrud J. Lind

Poetry
Arbeit Macht Frie
Arbeit Macht Frei at Auschwitz

ARBEIT MACHT* FREI
Gertrud J. Lind

Reviled German words: “Work Sets You Free” or “Work”, “Power”, “Free”.
Bringing visions of multitudes who slaved behind that gate,
Each one surely praying for the last, to be “frei”.
In the middle of “Macht”, the mighty Nazi power,
They were caught, “frei” only their “Arbeit”, their labor.

Madness reigned behind these words,
And madness and very
Clever calculation drove that “Macht”.
Hate unleashed, unchecked, unchallenged.
Think what it did. read more

Reflection—by Eleanor S. Lewin

Poetry

Reflection
Eleanor S. Lewin

November is filled

With bounty

Autumnal pursuits have

The perspective of long life

Beauty beckons like still wine

To satisfy the eye and soul

Friendships sustain memory

With sublime echoes of

compassionate voices

Time is the frame

For a well lived life