Nirtzah

There was something I was supposed to remember
A boy with a goat, coming down a mountain.
I saw him from a distance giving water to a kid.
And a rich man took it… I can’t remember the beginning,
I missed the first part. There was a wild cat and a fire
and a woman by the well. Only one woman? Who knows.
It seemed like a comedy and also a tragedy so I knew it was good
even if I couldn’t follow the plot.

With the story off my lips I feel
atoned for.
Who should we send off, the goat or the boy?
The man or his offering?
Here I am.
Here it is.
Send us.

Hallel

It’s not for me, that I’d wish you stay. You’d sustain the rest of us as we’re failing, you’d refresh everyone here. (Like another cup of wine! like an Alcibiedan entrance!) Our mouths would be filled with song, melodies crashing like the sea. Our lips open as wide as the sky. You’d see the sparkle in every eye. And it wouldn’t be enough. You’d undress us one by one and still we’d be insufficient. You’d bless the house of Aaron and continue off into the night. Don’t stay for me. All of us are failing.

Barech

My friends,
let us say
that this day
will remain
as a sign on our flesh.
In Jerusalem
may we rebuild
what has gone up in smoke.
A door to strangeness
now open only in wrath,
but we sit empty as the cups.
We’ve been drained
by too much family time.
They think they’ve left us
a night that’s entirely good.

Tzafun

We haven’t gotten to the end yet. I’m thinking about leaving. The kids are out searching for the things that make them laugh. I left you at the door, I remember. I run out to find you but you’re not there. In the streets my friends from highschool find me. I can’t explain why I’m dressed like this, why I won’t come out for pizza. I’ve left a trail of matza crumbs and follow my way back. When I return everyone is gone. Don’t wake me for the afikomen, I no longer want it.

Shulhan Orech

Like the orange
and the fifth son
the egg is never mentioned.
It’s waiting
expectedly, unnamed.
And sometimes a young cousin
will get up and ask
what is it for?
And the grandmother will say
that the good things are bloated to one side,
and the father will open with
how far we have come
from the rituals of sacrifice.
And my aunt will lament fertility.
But what could come first then, the chicken?
Dinner before breakfast? My uncle, like a waiter,
leans over my shoulder with the salt water.
“It’s permissible to keep drinking your wine.”
Yes, eat friends. And drink, drink abundantly.

Korech

When I am old I will lean to the side of my chair, like a baby falling out of his high-seat and I will feed on the mixture of memories that have tipped me this way until today. And then the sweetness of work and bitterness of breath will rise before me in the form of a temple of many rooms. For each new year a stair will lead up. With these thoughts that remain in the evening I will sing a new song for spring.

Marror

Mortar and bricks
for 7 years
and the work in the field
for 7 more.
When you look at me through those slits of your eyes
I forget what I’m in servitude for.

At night I pull the veils away, you’re still the same
as I built you up years before.
Ramses of green, Pithom dripping red.
At least someone has made it through this fire before.

On my way back from work, on my way home to you
I left everything in the back of the van,
my straw and my paint and my scythe.
The van pulled away and I ran and ran
choking through pillars of smoke.

Motzi Matza

I’ve stayed away from you this whole year, but when I remembered you were coming I was distracted from my work- the work that neither begins nor ends with you. I took down the clocks and covered the calendar and you knocked at the door. I had already put on my work boots, how could I take them off? I arose from my bench and put my hand on the lock. I had to let you in slowly.

Rachtza

Emerge the same
but with the sins sloughed off.
Be sure to remain
pure, even before you enter.
To wash away
the whiff of a tiff,
the sweat of running behind for days,
the ache that always come back in the same place,
needs holier water than this,
but maybe it will warm you all the same.

Magid

I’ve become the bad son again. My mom calls me up on the phone and I’m shouting. “How are you?” is all she wants to know. And “How about just writing the LSAT?” Still no revelations, only running from the things that I know. What can I say? What are these things that you’re doing? Dancing on the tabletops, swaying with the breeze. I didn’t understand it myself, until Ben Zoma explained it to me, with a finger crooking out of his sleeve. “The darkness of the night is as thin as the brightness of the day.” This promise made to my forefathers and to me, that everything will rise up against us, the looming shadow of the future, threatening with it’s fist. I will hold my jaw. Save me from their hands.