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Showing posts from July, 2015

Sent by God [a #poem]

Sent by God © Rabbi Menachem Creditor
Light within and between fills the universe, part by part, eye by eye, smile by smile, breath by breath.
There are people who ignite your heart in an instant, fill your eyes with grateful tears just by being. You can’t look for them. They aren’t like that.
They’re just right there, sent by God to wake you up.

That Box [#poem]

That Box © Rabbi Menachem Creditor
I’m not ready to be here again, yellowed papers in endless rows, nothing has changed.
Texts are more than words, more than parchment, more than lifespans.
One year ago… but I’m not ready to be here again.
We moved from our People’s geniza into that room, touched the holy texts of poets and statesmen, dreamers and pioneers…
,,,we moved on...
Suddenly (again) my hands suddenly held death, hard, cold, and demanding, the end of the dream of immanent peace.
The pounding of missiles above and my heart within.
How can I walk back into that room? How can that room even be? How have we managed to endure our ragged history?
Those who forget the past may be condemned to relive it.

Friends, I'm asking for your help to fund a funeral.

Friends, I'm asking for your help to fund a funeral. 

A dear friend's friend (Gloria) in Chicago just lost her father and two brothers due to‪ #‎GunViolence‬ yesterday. This was a murder-suicide at the hands of Gloria's eldest brother who was mentally ill. They tried in vain to get him help but failed. The family is now faced with burying three family members at once. I'm asking you to go to the gofundme page Gloria's family has set up, make a gift, and share this message. This is a mitzvah the likes of which I wish no one ever needed do. Please give, and share this with your networks. Praying for healing. 
http://www.gofundme.com/z8z8s8w
Thank you friends, for making this difference, Menachem
............................
Rabbi Menachem Creditor
menachemcreditor.org ▶netivotshalom.org To join Rabbi Creditor's email list, send a blank email to thetisch-subscribe@yahoogroups.com!

Please God, Softness [#poem]

Please God, Softness [#poem]
© Rabbi Menachem Creditor Last year it was a gun
that broke my heart,
missiles tore my soul. Today I heard a Palestinian grandfather
pray to not bury his grandchildren,
piercing me with his eyes. There will be analysis of his facts.
(He, of course, has only his eyes.)
History will be written and rewritten,
never to be agreed upon. But his eyes, his eyes, his prayer...
that simple, wrenching prayer... So much blood.
So much pain. God's tears pour through my eyes
because God's tears poured through his. Please God, I'm begging
for softness,
for love,
for our sharp edges to disappear.
Please... -------
Rabbi Menachem Creditor
▶menachemcreditor.org ▶netivotshalom.orgTo join Rabbi Creditor's email list, send a blank email to thetisch-subscribe@yahoogroups.com!

Mall Poems

Mall Poems (c) Rabbi Menachem Creditor
Looking Up
Battery dead, I look up:
children in bumper cars, just another day at the mall. parents jostling to get their child this pink car, that blue one.
One boy with a kippah (in the pink car) crashes into a girl's (purple) car and smiles.
Their parents don't stand together. One's mom here, the other's there. She wears a sheitel. She wears a hijab.
When the children collide and smile I search their mothers' eyes, but they're looking down, distracted by their phones.
Sof Onah / End of the Season
Discounts glare from every angle, people everywhere, noise everywhere.
An Arab family walks into Hoodies, followed by two yeshiva bochers. A father carries his young girl, a mother searches the crowd for hers.
I sit under an HD Samsung TV, watching it all, pushed by the noise, lights, chaos, lostness, and the rush of undifferentiated humanity, all just trying to to find a sale, their sale.
A Bag for Eggs
Twenty-three years ago my fa…

Faces and Arms and Feet and Numbers [a #poem]

Faces and Arms and Feet and Numbers
(c) Rabbi Menachem Creditor

All I want to know is:
what would my number have been?

This face of mine, suddenly unfamiliar,
belongs to time long gone.
So why wouldn't my arm be the same?

These feet,
upon which I stand, shaking,
in my own home, my People's home:
Whose feet are they, really?

On this day,
marking the beginning of our defeat,
our walls breached:
Will this time be different?

All I want is:
Let there be no more numbers.