And G!d says: "And you shall make sure that every time you list the litany of your ugly, and your rotten and your wicked, you end the litany with a prescription for how to move on from it - through reflection, reparation and repair - so that you do not get stuck in the ugly, which is mighty and sticky and will close your ears to the shofar and keep you asleep and in despair.”
 

And G!D says: "Rosh Hashanah has another name: Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembrance. And Yom Kippur is called the Day of Judgement. But on Yom Kippur, we cast aside all things that allow us to forget the horrors of the world. All our escape routes. All our distractions. We wake today to face the horrors head-on, so if you want to call Yom Kippur the Day of Staying Woke, that works, too."

And G!d says: “And on this day, you will not be able to turn to another for comfort or escape, but instead must hold yourself. You will surprise yourself with how much enough you are.”

And G!d says: "And lo, let us go. Go deep. Go in. You have done what you can. And now is the time to face yourself. Go with courage, for you are doing the work of the righteous. Go with comfort, for you have not given up. Go with trembling, for though you are small, you are an indispensable part of the greatness.  You are necessary. You are essential. You are here." 

And G!d says: "And on Yom Kippur, you shall pull away from the pleasures of music, food, drink, but most of all - touch. On this day, you may not lose yourself in another, must withdraw from the dizzying drama of the community, to be alone with yourself - and this is holy work. It is not selfishness. Ultimately, it will lead you out of loneliness."

And G!d says: "Why you remind yourself that your origin is dust, and your end is dust, and humans are but a flock of vanishing dreams: you can't do this work from high up. The work is to be done from your most vulnerable place ~ and what faster way to get vulnerable than go deep into mortality? Shine your lantern on the rotten, the ugly, the stinking guts of yourself, reeking with shame and bile. Bring it to the light. Then get to work."

And G!d says: "And when you have wrung yourself out, and it is the middle of the afternoon, and you are together wailing, take a break. Go outside and smell the garden herbs, go to the couch and rest. Do not do Torah Yoga, for that is an abomination and appropriative as all get-out. But stretch your beaten, hungry body, and give it what care you are permitted on Yom Kippur. To find self-kindness in the midst of atonement - that is the holiest part of the day."

And G!d says: "And when you face the ugly, you will do so with your fist upon your chest, beating at the place where your heart hides, in the hope that you will crack yourself open and let the light in."

And G!d says: "That when you cannot face the ugly because it is too hard and you hurt too much, that's why we have a book full of prayers, idiot. To give yourself a scaffolding through the process of acknowledgment and repentance. So open it and find something that resonates, because otherwise you might get stuck feeling guilty instead of moving towards healing. Keep moving, even when you're not doing it perfectly. Perfection is the enemy of t'shuvah"
 

From Dane Kuttler's The G!d Wrestlers,  The Social Justice Warrior's Guide to the High Holy Days, Sept. 2015

The Beginning
By Rachel Kann

If you can find stillness,
the jasmine will night-bloom in your direction
and the breeze
will carry its sacred exhalation of perfume
toward you.

Breathe,
the moon will cascade waves of radiance
downward,
drop her silver robes,
glow.

You will awaken,
overtaken by a love
that asks no permission,

golden particles rising
beneath your skin.

all of existence
longs to be an offering.
eternity is a constant whisper
wishing to be listened to.

This is the beginning.
This is only the beginning.
Let it in.

And G!d says: “You think these are my office hours? That only in these precious days I can hear you? No! I walk with you through the valleys and the fields, gridlocked streets and riot blocks. It is YOU who hears ME in these coming days. It will be you who stops to listen. These gates are open for YOU.”

 

And G!d says: “Can you feel the turning? The sun is lower and the trees are beginning to burn; it is time, again. The time is coming. You will not be ready. Even if you have planned each menu for your vegan, gluten-free, macrobiotic Rosh Hashanah lunches. Even if you are expected to lead your community in prayer. Even if you remembered to buy local, organic honey, there is no readiness for the work to come. Only a willingness to show up and dive in.”

 

And G!d says: “Awake! Awake! This is the time when nothing can hide, when the leaves are still outstretched on their branches, and even the cornhusks are opening to reveal their sweetness. So too, should be the ugliness of the world - if you have not known it before now, then rouse yourself. It is not too late. There is too much to do; you cannot sleep any more.”

 

And G!d says: “You, who are exhausted with the work already. You, with the asphalt-worn boots, with the house full of placards. You, who are always breathing in, preparing to shout, who sees the work everywhere and swallows the impossible sea of it: breathe out, weary ones. Prepare yourselves to go in, and to go in deep. Find the work inside: the work of self-kindness, the work of healing and repair. The work on the street will still be there when you re-enter. The world needs you whole.”

 

From Dane Kuttler's The G!d Wrestlers,  The Social Justice Warrior's Guide to the High Holy Days, Sept. 2015

We Dance Around The Shul
By Trisha Arlin

Our Torah is old.
The blue velvet cover
And the silver plate that hangs over the velvet
Are both covered in names
Of donors long gone,
And their honored loved ones, gone even longer.
These names mean nothing to us:
We ignore them
On Shabbat
When we dance around the shul.

On Selichot we put aside the old velvet
And dressed our Torah in fresh white covers,  
only a year old,
Donated by a beloved member,
Amina.
She died this year, four days before Rosh HaShanah.
Tonight it’s Simkhat Torah.
So we now take off Amina’s white cover
And put on the old one,
Blue, embroidered with strangers' names. 
Then we will dance around the shul.

We will think of Amina every year at this time 
From now on 
Until none of us are around,
Until there is no one who remembers her, 
Or us.
Then others will carry this scroll with the white cover
Donated by a Jew they never knew,
While they dance around the shul.

We give thanks for the ancient traditions, 
Telling the story even when we can’t, 
Keeping our loved ones’ memories 

And giving us Torah from the beginning, every year.

These poems are from a series on slicha (forgiveness) and geulah (redemption) by poet Julia Knobloch. 
Click here for the companion pieces on slicha.  

 

Geulah/Redemption I

They say that when we move in silence
from the blessing for redemption into the standing prayer
without pause, precise, at sunrise
we do as the pious would (although we’re not required to)
I was driven out into these copper sands
by restlessness and shame, not my intention to juxtapose
the blessing for redemption
with the plea for open lips and dew drops
Time was running out, I was not silent
Please, hear and understand me
I have no ancestors to bless, I will die without descendants
Spread your wing and hold me until the break of dawn

Geulah/Redemption II

Let me say again, lovers can be
vessels of redemption 
Remember us
Let us
remember us
for good
for the sake of our names
for the sake of our hands
for the sake of making old days new and new days holy

Hello, couch. Hello, kitchen table. Hello, backyard.
I look around my house and I greet these ordinary objects.
We have spent more time together these past months than usual. 

Thank you for being an oasis of comfort and safety.
You have worked so hard to hold me, day in and day out.
How can we allow you and me to rest and restore and return on this most sacred day?

I transform you with my desire for the change I wish to see in myself.
You, dear couch, table, backyard, you are now my sacred space—my mikdash m’at, 
a sanctuary where I will allow myself to become present to my breath,
to turn down the noise of the world
and turn up the volume of my prayers.

Shanah tovah, dear couch, Good Yuntif, dear kitchen table, G’mar Tov, dear backyard!
In this holy space that is my home, I pursue my desire to become whole.