Nirtza 2020

We are done. 
We have put everything
in order. 
I have said 
the words 
that you have said 
before me. 
I have placed 
the magic objects
back in their cushioned boxes 
and been confounded 
as you have been before me. 

One wish lingers
that next year 
we struggle 
more closely.

Hallel 2020

Welcome, welcome 
Blessings, blessings 

Who is it who shines
like the dawn?

light, light 
altar, altar 

as beautiful as 
the moon. 

Thank you, thank you
Raise You, Raise You 

Radiant as 
the sun. 

Goodness, goodness, 
always, always

Your flags waving 
in the wilderness. 

Barech 2020

Open the door 

Open the door 
to the empty street.

Elijah and Miriam 
whispering through the vestibule.

Is it us or the wind 
howling in rage?

Tzafun 2020

What do we discover
at this station? 
This whole evening 
has been waiting. 
And now, we send the kids off
to search,
smug in our chairs. 
There is something underneath 
the tablecloth.
We leave it there. 

I have no image of my grandfather’s life 
before the war
even though I go off looking, 
for a house by a synagogue in Lublin, 
a dentist’s office near a river in Prussia…

I will leave you 
with so many 
images of me
you will be drowning
in selfies. 
And still, 
where will You be? 

Do not awaken us, 
until it is found.

Shulchan Orech 2020

You sit outside and post pictures 
of the food you have been eating 
while in quarantine. 
You devour the comments,
respond with bubbling blandness 
to each one. 
The disconnect is deeper,
from when you threw my mother out 
of the nursing home, 
locked away my grandmother, 
didn’t tell me my dad was in danger. 
And still 
I fondly recall 
when we would all gather 
at your table for seder
all those years ago. 

Korech 2020

I have created a new ritual 
where I take your photograph
and the wisps of dreams 
and eat them together with my tears 
to fulfil literally the words of Torah:
“They mixed myrrh and spice
and ate a forest with its honey”

Marror 2020

fujl 
a radish 
the size of a softball 
red skin peeled back 
shared in calmness 
in the fields 
below the city of “torah and chasidut
in the hills of judah” 
that belched sewage. 
who made us stop?
and now the Bethlehem markets
still won’t buy from the 
gentle-handed farmers of the village, 
the most exquisite pearl flesh 
that I have ever tasted. 

Motzi Matza 2020

I must rise 
and roam the city 

Pass through the streets
and squares 

Where is my beloved?

Cracking 
at the edges, 
taken from the earth.

Rochtza 2020

You took us out 
of the plague-ridden city
of my isolation.
My worn heart
and torn hands
lifted up
to shed the impurity 
of thinking that this 
is constant
and bless you. 

Maggid 2020

How will we be able 
to play midrash
when we are hiding
and not seeking?
How will we not 
nod off, 
get impatient
at the boundless words
drowning in them together? 

As it is written: 
pillars of smoke 

When God gave the Torah 
the mountain became ephemeral and was turned into smoke

As it is written: 
my dove in the cleft of the rock 

When the rock was cleaved at revelation
you flew out ten parasangs,
until the angels gathered you back. 

Do I reach through the screen 
uncovering, plague, enough 
of flying through the wires
racing through the waves
reaching up my throat. 
Halleluyah.