I rarely go to temple,
Though when New Year comes around,
I do not feel complete until
I hear the shofar’s sound.
Some synagogues stream services;
I listened for a while,
But the rabbi’s talk went on and on
And wasn’t quite my style.
I turned it off and went to sleep,
Yet while I calmly drowsed,
A noise disturbed my slumber
So I suddenly was roused.
It was a shofar from the street
And it was being blown
In the familiar rhythms
That, since, childhood, I have known.
My husband woke up also
To the blasts, both loud and clear,
Which, from right below our window,
Wished the world a sweet new year.
*This is my poem from October 3,
when PoetrySoup was down
Categories:
shofar, holiday, jewish,
Form: Rhyme
Wake up, Wake up
You who slumber and sleep
Wake up
Return whence you came
Jarring, dissonant
The ram's horn bleats
thirty, forty, one-hundred
unencumbered blasts
A simple device, no frills
the breath of a ram
caught in a thicket
magnified through its horn
It is the voice of Abraham
The cry of Sarah
The breathing heart of Isaac
~ It is the cry of a Jew
Categories:
shofar, bible, cry, jewish, new
Form: Free verse
G’mar chatima tova.
Forgive me if I stumble
across the unfamiliar words.
We are not so different.
Each strives to do more good
than bad; at least to do no harm.
We pause for prayer and reflection,
aspire to be more caring, more giving;
make amends and atone for misdeeds.
So I pray for you my friend.
As the shofar sounds the end, may your
name be sealed in the Book of Life.
Categories:
shofar, blessing, holiday, jewish, life,
Form: Free verse
The rabbi had a lot of trouble
Blowing the shofar.*
The congregation waited
But the sounds were just bizarre.
Some strangled bursts of air came out
But music was resistant.
The notes he tried to play, I’d say,
Were pretty non-existent.
He tried three shofars – all were long,
The pride of any ram,
Including those who wandered
In the time of Abraham.
With children gathered at his feet,
The rabbi seemed distraught,
For with his biggest audience,
His efforts came to naught.
But then he grabbed, a last resort,
The smallest shofar yet.
Without a fancy curvy shape,
What music could he get?
He took a breath and we all smiled –
A golden tone emerged,
Outshining all those shofars
On which somebody had splurged.
That little shofar saved the day;
Its sound was strong and clear
And hopefully, it will be first
To have a chance next year.
*a ram’s horn blown on the Jewish holiday
of Rosh Hashanah (the highlight of the service)
Categories:
shofar, holiday, jewish, music,
Form: Rhyme
The shofar fills the synagogue
With sounds which once were heard
On ancient plains, where ancestors
Were possibly interred.
Each Rosh Hashanah, patiently,
I wait to hear those notes
Come pouring through the twisted horns
Of sacrificial goats.
Those resonating plaintive blares
Both echo and resound,
Reminding us another year
Has somehow rolled around.
I’m not at all religious
But just once a year I go
To a temple where I’ll get to hear
That mournful shofar blow.
Categories:
shofar, holiday, jewish,
Form: Rhyme