Category Archives: Poetry

High Holy Days in the Pines, 2020

On the morning of Erev Rosh HaShanah, I came out to Fire Island, where I have been leading services for the last 22 years. Even though our services are on-line this years, I still wanted to be in the place where the congregation is based. Being here in this physical place for the High Holy Days every year is part of my own personal introspection and reflection practice of the holy days. Without an in-person congregation to interact with, to my surprise and delight I found a congregation in the natural beauty of this unique landscape. One part of my personal practice for many years has been to write a High Holy Day poem, and here is this year’s.

 High Holy Days in the Pines, 2020
 
A congregation of sea-oats rustle and sway,
bowing to the rising moon.
Amen, amen they whisper, a wafting of supplication. 
The wind roars across the sky and 
whitecaps scatter their greetings across the bay.
 
Like us, the birds have not yet 
departed this island for the winter
and in this twilight they sing, full-throttled and eager
to fill the empty spaces between us
in this strange year of distance,
comforting us with their eternal chant. 
 
The pine trees show off fresh growth,
their bright, exuberant boughs
stretching out with faded tips.
If only it was this easy for us to demarcate 
our old ways from the new.
 
The still-open gates stand ready to allow us entry.
This season beckons us to unscroll,
to shed the brittle membranes of last year’s self.
Come, let us slough off the unrealized and unfulfilled, 
the unloved and the unresolved. 
Let us become undone
in order to start anew. 

2 Comments

Filed under High Holy days, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 2015

IMG_2389
Every year I write a new poem for Rosh HaShanah to share with the community I lead in Fire Island Pines. Below is this year’s poem. I’m also including the poem from 2014 since I never posted it last year. 

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, 2015/5776

The sea pushes back off the shore,

yielding to gravity with a sigh,

not a leaving but a letting go,

a retreat into its own deep fullness.

The sun relinquishes its hold on the sky

only to rise once more at daybreak

as the tide rolls back in,

a different kind of letting go,

an unspooling across the expanse.

And we creatures of earth are granted a fresh start,

a chance to gather the debris

and shape a whole new world.

 

Wholeness is a kind of holiness,

the stasis of perfection.

But brokenness demands re-creation,

a churning cycle of endings and beginnings,

the act of pulling hope and brightness from the wreckage,

taking the jagged shards and making of them,

if not wholeness, a new sort of sacred splendor.

 

(Copyright (c) 2015 by Hara Person)


 

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, 2014/5775

 

We gather, poised at the edge of time,

hearts teeming with intention.

Like the tide, we expand and contract,

unsure of how to proceed.

 

A tenuous new moon tilts in a Tishrei sky,

while below the ocean roars.

Trees dip and sway in the darkness.

Wind rolls in off the sea.

Swells churn dangerously

as the deluge approaches landfall.

 

Accept our burdened hearts, we plead,

our broken spirits,

our yearnings for redemption.

 

Like the moon, let us begin the work

of rebuilding our selves anew.

Help us find shelter from the storm.

 

(Copyright (c) 2014 by Hara Person)

2 Comments

Filed under High Holy days, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 6 – A Poem for the New Year

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, a barrier island off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah – feel free to also read 200820092010 and 2011.  Here is the sixth, from 2012.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, 2012/5773

 

WaterWe emerge, quiet and subdued,

into the darkening night of new year.

Across the dunes the ocean roars into the wind.

 

The tide tugs at our souls, a beckoning.

The pounding surf calls us to attention

and we turn, alert and yearning.

 

Tomorrow, under the bright sun of a fresh day,

seagulls will grab our handfuls of transgressions

tossed with great hope into the foamy spray.

 

But tonight the sea is dark, roiling and rough.

Waves beat against the shore,

then release, churning, back out to the horizon.

 

We are small, inconsequential in the infinite universe

yet even in the dim light of the setting sun

we cast a shadow on the sand.

 

As evening descends the air is crisp, bristling with possibilities.

Above, the sky fills with bright bursts of monarchs

making their annual pilgrimage home.

 

Copyright © 2012 by Hara E Person

1 Comment

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 5 – A Poem for the New Year

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, a barrier island off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah – feel free to also read 20082009, or 2010.  Here is the fifth, from 2011.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.


Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, 2011/5772

 

IMG_0251Darkness settles, slowly, across the horizon.

The new year rises before us,

its fragile moon awaiting our embrace.

 

Heaven and earth entwine

in their annual dance of re-creation.

A fissure appears in the firmament tonight,

an entranceway into new beginnings.

 

Out beyond the swales

the sea expands and contracts,

keeping time to the thrumming of the universe.

 

Under this Rosh HaShanah sky

the path before us is uncertain.

All we can do is hold each other tight

as we make our way home.

 

2 Comments

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 4 – A New Year’s Poem

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, a barrier island off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah – feel free to also read 2008 or 2009.  Here is the fourth, from 2010.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.

 

Rosh HaShana in the Pines 4

Fire Island 2010/5771

 

IMG_3272The taste of summer is still

sultry yellow, bright and sparkling.

Seasprayed and sunsoaked,

sated with pleasure,

we move with reluctance

as change quietly beckons.

 

The water has its own cadence

a rhythm under the surface

pulling in and releasing with an outstretched hand.

 

The quickening of the moon calls us to return

and we gather, seam-dwellers on the edge of the earth.

As the sun lowers itself into the sea

introspection rises.

A sliver cracks the heart of the firmament,

the vast blackness an invitation

to write ourselves anew.

 

@ 2010 by Hara E. Person

Leave a Comment

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 3 – A New Year’s Poem

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, a barrier island off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah.  Here is the third one, from 2009.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 3

Fire Island Pines, 2009

 

IMG_3121Under a cerulean sky

we gather together

cloaked in the warmth of mid-September sun.

 

Renewal comes heralded by the screech of seagulls.

Houses decked out in summer finery

offer dappled turquoise pools for self-reflection.

 

The still-rowdy sun of early fall

is tempered only by the vigor

with which we approach our appointed task.

 

Faces bared to the breeze off the sea

we allow ourselves to open,

turning toward the sweetness of beginning again.

 

We stand on the shore of the new year,

feet awash in the fragile foam of creation,

cleansed and purified by the embryonic ocean brine.

 

Copyright © 2009 Hara E. Person

Comments Off on Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 3 – A New Year’s Poem

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 2 – A New Year’s Poem

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, a barrier island off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah.  Here is the second one, from 2008.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, Fire Island 2

                                                            2008/5769
IMG_3095This late in the season

decks are bare,

houses closed up until next summer.

Torsos are covered,

tattoos and piercings remaining undisplayed

until the cycle repeats itself next year.

Geraniums are gone,

eaten by deer weeks ago,

leaving gray-weathered boards

brightened only by blue tarps

of now-covered pools.

 

IMG_3159Scrub pines

rooted deeply in sand

offer occasional shelter

from the scouring late-September gusts.

The sea laps a lullaby against the shore.

 

Holy days arrive amidst autumn’s pumpkin

and apple harvest.

We make our own stark beauty

on this strip of sand

cleansing our souls in this pared down paradise.

Late this year, but never too late.

 

Copyright © 2009 Hara E. Person

 

Leave a Comment

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines 1 – A New Year’s Poem

Since 1999 I have served as Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Olam.  B’nai Olam is a unique and special congregation in Fire Island Pines, a beautiful summer community on Fire Island, off the Coast of Long Island, which meets only  for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.  In 2007 I began writing a new poem every year for Rosh HaShanah.  In these days leading up to Rosh HaShanah, I will be sharing these poems here.  Shanah tovah u’metukah.

IMG_0248

Rosh HaShanah in the Pines, Fire Island, 2007/5768

Slanted light filters through pine trees,

sweet smell of resin stickiness,

rough wood of the boardwalk

— careful to avoid the nails —

moist breaths of salt air,

rusted sliding doors open grudgingly onto decks.

 

The new year comes amidst

heightened senses,

grains of sand between toes,

nearly empty gray blue beaches,

autumnal monarchs alighting on end-of-season purple buds.

 

One more year.

Who is missing from the congregation?

My father gone now four years,

the kids taller,

grumbling teenagers who crave attention.

 

An orange sun setting over the bay.

Phosphorescence outlines each crest of waves.

Flashlights in the dark

guiding us home.

 

© 2007 by Hara E. Person, originally published in Bridges.

1 Comment

Filed under High Holy days, Judaism, Poetry

A Father’s Day Poem

STP baseballFather’s Day is one of those days that got dropped from my personal calendar when my father died almost ten years ago.  It’s not that I don’t want to honor fathers in general, and I encourage my children to find ways to celebrate their father.  But it lost some resonance for me when I became fatherless.

It’s not exactly that Father’s Day pierces my heart when it rolls around every year.  It was never a big celebration in our family when I was growing up, and for that matter neither was mother’s day.  I miss my father much more on his birthday, which he enjoyed with the glee of a little boy, or on his yahrzeit, always a day of sadness and what-ifs.  And I miss him on important family occasions where his absence is especially felt, like my kids’ bat and bar mitzvahs, college acceptances, high school graduations, and the like, where he is glaringly absent in the family photos.

But still, when Father’s Day rolls around there is a feeling of sadness, and emptiness.  So in honor of Father’s Day, and in memory of my father, here’s a poem about him that I wrote a few years back.

To My Father, 1934-2003

The World Series

 

While machines flashed red numerals

hope, despair, hope

your long graceful fingers

reached up from your ICU-induced sleep state

to trace figures in airborne columns of debits and credits.

 

Yiddish was your first language

but numbers were your native tongue.

Balance sheets spoke to you of nuance,

challenges mastered and tamed,

the stories and dramas of the universe.

 

Numbers talked,

and you answered.

You wrote your life story in their epic language

of plusses and minuses.

 

Ebbetts Field was your princely realm,

a boyhood kingdom in which

the beauty and order of stats

kept the chaos away.

 

“Peppy” they called you in high school

because Pepsi’s kept you sharp.

The reliable math of poker and

the clean geometry of pool sharking

provided cool cash

stored always in serial number order.

 

Becoming an accountant

provided an arithmetic solution

to the sum of your first-generation yearnings.

Controlling the figures in ledgers and spreadsheets

supplied the way to amount

to a man of substance.

 

You would have loved tonight’s game

a four-of-four sweep for my son’s team.

As we watched, his eyes on the screen and my eyes on him,

he held forth in that language of

stats and averages, innings and outs,

that I haven’t heard since your numbers went still.

 

Copyright © Hara E. Person

July 14, 2008

Leave a Comment

Filed under Judaism, Poetry

Fish Forks and Beer Mugs: Choosing the Right Technology for Publishing

fish forkThe nature of the book has changed dramatically in recent years. From the old standard of signatures of paper, in multiples of 16, 24,or 32, bound between covers and filled with typeset text, we now have ebooks, and PDF’s, and audiobooks, and apps – and that’s just for starters.

There are so many choices about how to produce a book. And yet, the essence of a book in many ways remains unchanged. They remain transmitters of ideas, containers of human experience and expression.

As a publisher, I’m often asked about how we will use technology with any given project. My answer is very simple: In as many ways as possible. For while it’s true that the technology presents us, a publisher using Hebrew text, with real challenges, and while it’s also true that we also have real financial limitations, our goal is always to create as many different versions of a book as we can, taking into account what makes sense for that particular content. For even with all the options we have available today, publishing should not be driven by technology, but rather by content development.

Publishing is no longer focused on the physical manufacturing of objects. But just as has always been true in publishing, content has to be developed carefully, thoughtfully, and creatively. That is our central goal at the CCAR Press. First we need an idea that is right for our core market, an approach that aligns with our mission, and the right team of editors and/or writers. Each project has different specifications and uses, and so allows for different formats. There are technological options we can consider today that weren’t possible last year. Surely that will be the same next year as well, and so on. Some projects, like the Daily Blessing App, are not physical books at all. Some projects, like Mishkan T’filah, exist as a physical book, an App, and in Visual T’filah, and we will continue to develop other versions as technology and finances allow. Mishkan R’fuah: Where Healing Resides, is both a physical book and an ebook. And so on.

iT'filahThere’s a lot of talk in the publishing world about how people are choosing to read today. Publishers carefully study stats about how people are reading, and which demographic is doing what in which medium. But I’m not convinced it’s a competition between formats. Rather, it may be that the more formats, the more we can customize our personal reading experiences.

The other day I was listening to a book on Audible and the voice in my ear said, “In this audiobook you will learn…” which I found rather jarring. For me, the experience wasn’t about listening to an audiobook. I had simply chosen to listen to this specific book, rather than read it. I hadn’t shopped for an audiobook, I had shopped for this particular title. The fact that it was an audiobook was insignificant. The audiobook aspect of the experience was a doorway to step through, on the other side of which was the content of the book. What mattered ultimately was the content, not the format.

Growing up I learned that salad is eaten with one kind of fork, and the main course with another. Dessert might be eaten with yet another. Later I learned that fish has its own kind of fork, and even later was introduced to such specialty items as pickle forks and olive forks.  Think too about glasses – this kind for water, this kind for white wine, this kind for red, and a frosted mug for beer. Each was created to best serve the experience of imbibing that particular food or drink, but in the end, the purpose is all the same: to convey the food or the liquid to your mouth.

So too with different book formats in this age of multiple choice. As a reader, I find myself choosing different formats depending on the content and context. I prefer printed books for poetry, for Torah commentaries, and for cookbooks. Yet I read fiction almost entirely on my iPad. I listen to non-fiction business books on my phone. It’s not a competition between the formats, but rather a matter of which one I prefer for the particular content.

The questions about how to best use technology in publishing are challenging and enormous. Publishers of all shapes and sizes are required to constantly keep learning new skills, and consider new options. But the core of publishing is still about content. For publishers, technology is not the goal, it is merely the means.

This blog also appeared on RavBlog, the blog of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Books, Judaism, Poetry, Publishing