Yom HaShoah

In the Time of our Sorrow

By Rachel Kann

My tongue wants to un-gate the flood, it is

an urgent compulsion to spill knotted guts,

in these weeks of banned melody,

my lips wants to rebel,

to howl,

to sing

of my suffering,

of all my shortcomings,

every rejection,

every threat to our collective existence,

the abandonment unabated,

of how my heart is a bitter almond,

spilling with cyanide,

splitting its endocarp,

longing only for the orchard,

of how my heart is a heavy stone,

flack-jacketed,

sallow and sinking in my chest,

how a glut of shrapnel is stuck in my throat,

of how I am blindfolded in love’s minefield,

frozen, unable to navigate the danger

lurking beneath the surface,

hurtful blossoms

lying in night-wait

only to explode,

detonate the light of day,

of the world’s unending

re-dedication to the re-destruction

of temples.

My heart wants to take flight,

transcend the gravity

of this misbegotten planet.

Before the unkindness of ravens and

murder of crows can escape the open moan,

I am circle-dancing,

hand in hand with so many wondrous

warrior women,

with Magda and Miriam,

who came through the dark tunnel of the Shoah,

who are here with me,

present and spilling light.

This is beyond awe,

beyond gratitude.

We weave a grapevine

up the trunk of the almond tree,

we are strengthened by our suffering.

We are indestructible.

This world crushes us,

we refuse to turn poisonous,

dancing and rooting and branching

despite this.

In glorious defiance,

we pour ourselves forward

in honeyed amaretto flooding,

we sweeten the darkness,

light the bitterness.

We kasher every unholy implement

used against us.

We ready them for service

in the holy temple of our most

miraculous dance:

our continued existence.

When leaving a home where people are mourning, we offer words of comfort to remind the mourners they are not alone in their grief. 

People from Sephardi heritage traditionally say, “Min hashamayim tenachumu,” which means “May you be comforted by heaven.” And people from Ashkenazi heritage say, “Hamakom yenakhem etekhem betokh shaar avelay tziyon viyrushalayim,” which means, “May the Presence bring you comfort among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.” 

Clip source: The Shomer Collective

It’s customary to tear one’s garment or a ribbon at the funeral to signify who is in mourning. As we end the week of shiva, we take a moment to put that garment back together. Like our hearts in this moment, our garment will always bear the mark of its tearing, but with this intention, we begin the process of sewing ourselves together. 

Source of Wholeness, as I tore this garment when my

loved one died, so now I prepare to baste/sew the

tear back together.

This garment will never be the same as it was before

I tore it in the first expression of my shock and grief.

I don’t need a visible reminder of my loss. My life

will go on and it will never be the same without my

beloved.

This mending symbolizes that I put my trust in the One

Who Heals.

May each stitch bring acceptance. May each stitch bring

me closer to a sense of the Oneness of All.

-by Rabbi Janet Madden

—

Originally published in Laments & Kavannot for The Journey, produced for Kavod V’Nichum’s annual North America Chevra Kadisha Conference and shared with author’s permission.

Clip source: The Shomer Collective

Our first toast is to Yom Truah, the Day of Reawakening. “Truah!” shouts the shofar, blasting the alarm buried in your soul. The shofar wakes us up, and it amplifies our voices, making our prayers heard. Move in your body, stand in your power and be loud. 

Together, we raise a glass and make a Toast to Reawakening from Psalm 118: 

“From the narrowness of distress, I called to God; and God answered me with the breath of Divine relief. You have heard my voice; do not shut Your ear.”  

Blessing for Hearing the Shofar 

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha-olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu lishmoa kol shofar.

We praise You, Eternal God, Ruler of the universe, who has made us holy with commandments, and who has commanded us to hear the voice of the shofar.

Reflection Questions for Yom Truah - Day of Reawakening

When was I asleep in the past year? 

What do I want to be alert to in the year to come?

We Remember Them

by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer

At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.

At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.

At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.

At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them.

At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.

When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.

For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them.

Baruch atah Adonai

Brucha at Shechina

Blessed One-ness

Bringing connection when there is separation,

Remembering joy even when we cannot.

One-ness,

We are blessed to be part of this holy wholeness

Even if we understand so little of it.

We are blessed to have received so much love,

Even when it is lost. 

And we pray for the strength to perceive the blessings

Even when it hurts so much.

Amen.