A month later…

A month has passed since our last communication. In some ways the world is a bit better, in many ways it is terribly disturbing. Nature won’t calm down, violence is on the rise. We continue in our deep feelings of distrust. The beauty of compromise seems so strange to as if to say we, humans, have very little in common and must therefore be ready to take to the streets and destroy one another.

In our last communication we spoke of the forthcoming Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year). In its celebration the deepest sense of renewal, repear, return and reconstruction is with us. We have been taught by our teachers on the tenth day of the month of Tishrei G-d awaits us. He sends forth a message: “No matter how you have missed the mark that is yours, I still welcome you to my side”. You are forgiven. Our tradition teaches us that G-d is aware of our human failings. G-d realizes we walk, we race, we stumble and we rise up and start again.

That is the message of our Holy days.

I wish you a good and healthy year.

Rabbi Harry Sky

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One Response to “A month later…”

  1. Henry Braun Says:

    THINKING REEDS ASWAY

    for Rabbi Harry and the New Year

    Happening, nowadays, feels
    different, everyone
    watching how our shoulders bend
    inward as if preparing for a doorway
    narrower than most,
    how memory with legs
    and arms and fingertips for touching well
    into oncoming days
    reaches out from our pasts,
    though, sometimes,
    darkening white clouds cotton to the blue.

    The days with their easts and wests
    are lit by variable sunshine
    moving suddenly across the field
    where the old hit places of granite
    wait to shine and shine
    until the sun’s strange courtesy defers
    to passing cloud.

    Journalists honing the cheeks of their knives
    up/down on the New,
    the sky daily threatening to fall,
    BEFORE and AFTER wrestling
    with their index fingers—
    everywhere, in such a time, is hearth.
    Like chassid rebbes we’ll dance
    unseen in our own towns
    between the towns of others,
    accessing the information of roses,
    the countless pixels of the human face.

    The days, each one once
    with its morning and its night—
    “Someday,”

    for us thinking reeds asway,
    means NOW.

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