“He Stood to Praise”
He stood to praise the minor miracle
To seek blessing at the
Coming of the new moon
When dusty from the road came upon them
Rav, the son of Shava,
Rabbi with few students
Not impressed with dust or paltry learning
Nor his lateness for prayer
Ravina did not greet
Surely a day of only small wonder
He could have said “Shalom”
Or smiled at Shava’s son
But to interrupt his words needed more
Required a better man
Someone he could respect
“Seven Days Without a Dream”
Seven days without a dream
Without a trace of fire in the night
Without a visit from the heavens
I’ve been left far behind
Forgotten in the rear
While others have been
Led to safety
Seven days without a dream
Yet I’ve done the hardest studying
I’ve read ’til candles burned themselves out
My eyes teared with madness
Sated as best I could
But still my sick sleep
Has been empty.
Now what evil will befall
When God has turned His back so fully
When Divine concern has run its course
Never to return to
One who’s waited always
Burdened by fear and
Challenged for love?
“The Beginning of a Prayer”
So what is the beginning of a prayer
When one is bound to carry through?
If I enter Your house
Is there no retreat
Until I fast repeat
Those certain words of truth?
So where is the beginning of a prayer
That we are bound to carry through?
If we need not come in
What forces us to stay?
When must we continue
Or else say “never mind”?
So when is the beginning of a prayer
That I am bound to carry through?
If I say “Dear God, please …”
And then forget the rest
Or stumble with my thoughts
Have I sinned or floated free?
“On His Way”
On his way to pray he saw there ahead
A scaffolding swaying in the strong wind
He could cross four busy lanes of traffic
Or could walk under and hope it withstood
The force of God’s breath
Either way, the obituary would
List his name, accomplishments, and mourners
He dare not think if a prayer might spare him
He could just quickly voice his last Sh’ma
Ready for judgment
“The Grave”
I have rubbed the dirt of my father’s grave
Deeply into weary lines of my hands
Required to wield the long heaving spade
That spilled Your earth over the plain pine box
Enfolding Your creation forever
Now I am exempt from obligation
The last act of love for him replacing
The words of my daily recitation
“A New Day”
When the hot water strikes its cleansing claws
Against the sleep spoiled pores of my body
And I am most vulnerable and bare
So that the least stray thought sprays
Into a fountain to be seen forever
And when I try to wash in purity
To begin a new day knowing that a rooster
Knows better about when to rise, and when
I say Hear O Israel silently
Reciting so as not to wake my wife
And forgo the donning of Tefillin,
Is it truly that I lie to myself?
What can be a more complete connection
To the Ultimate than to accept It
Every morning in all Its scalding force?
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brucejberger 