Poetry

and Prayers

This Rock

Once upon a time
This rock was a mountain,
God's mountain -
Crowned with snow
Wreathed in green
Trees
Fir Trees
Always green
And kissed by rain
Time's endless tears
And caressed by wind
Time's endless hugs
Grandeur and greatness
Weathered away
Glory
Diminished
Eternity and majesty
Turned to pebbles
To sand
To dust
But for this rock
No longer here
But everywhere

The whole world is filled with God's glory

May 2, 2018

Rosh HaShannah Never Comes at the Right Time

Rosh HaShanah never comes at the right time;
It is always too early or too late.
Who can remember exactly when
The wheels of our Jewish year
Intersect the cycles of secular time
And interrupt our worldly life?

Rosh HaShanah never comes at the right time;
Sneaking in right at the end of summer
After vacation and as school begins,
Or hanging around in the background
Only to arrive just after our autumnal schedule has been set.

Rosh HaShanah always comes before we are ready
To put aside our past and lay our burdens down.
There is always something else to do:
Another job, another client, laundry to fold, a room to paint.

Rosh HaShanah always catches us by surprise.
Showing up with a Shofar blast
And a chorus of angels proclaiming,
“Hinei Yom HaDin!”
“The New Year is here – Judgment Day has arrived.”
An unexpected summons,
Like being called to the principal’s office
Or an audit from the IRS.

So we stop, turn and listen
To the arresting voice within and around us
And gather together and pray
For peace and for blessings
For us and our dear ones
On this our New Year’s Day.

There will be a day

(For Yizkor - Memorial Prayers)

There will be a day when our dead will be quiet

Their silent voices will no longer be heard

In our heads

When we sleep

Or fix breakfast

Or nod off

Or look at children

Grandchildren

Or flowers

There will be that quiet day

When strangers walk between the tombstones

Reading their names and dates

The brief words

Here lies:

Loving Father

Caring Mother

Devoted Friend

Healer – Teacher

Brother – Sister – Child

And puzzle at the Hebrew letters

That day will come

But by then

We will have gone.

September 10, 2018

We are Made of Forgotten Stars

(For N'ilah - Closing Service for Yom Kippur)

We are made of forgotten stars
The light of the beginning
Or the next generation
Dust
We are
But
Star dust
Once bright, then dark
And for our moment
A spark
To light,
Perhaps,
A star?

September 12, 2018

Lamah Sukkah Zu? - Why this Sukkah?

“Why have we built this sukkah?” the little child asks.

“So that we can play in it forever,” his smiling daddy replies.

“Why have we built this sukkah?” the adventurous boy asks.

“So that we can explore the earth together,” his caring dad replies.

“Why have we built this sukkah?” the questioning youth asks.

“So that we can remember the hungry and homeless,” his loving father replies.

“Why have we built this sukkah?” the young man asks.

“So that we may recall our youth and our love,” his wistful old man replies.

“Why do we build this sukkah” the new father asks.

“So our dreams may last forever,” the proud grandfather replies.

October 12, 2003

Stories

Years end, books end, lives end.

Stories?

They do not end.

They continue over the years,

Unfolding and contracting,

Reaching in and out.

Characters enter and depart

And stories intertwine

Sometimes stories are written.

Sometimes stories are read.

Reading stories creates new stories.

Writing stories creates new readers.

Telling stories creates new friends.

New friends tell new stories.

Stories do not stop for time.

Stories do not stop for us.

We can jump in or not

Whenever we wish

Or better yet

Bring a friend along,

And show her

Letters,

And how letters make words,

And how words make sentences,

And sentences, paragraphs,

And paragraphs, chapters,

And chapters, books,

Which hold our stories,

Which never end.

So we get to live forever,

Always young, always old,

Sometimes wise,

But always alive,

In our stories.

June 11, 2013

Dead Jews Walking

Dead Jews walking –

This is not a Holocaust poem

Although some survivors are still walking

Slowly

With neighbors who used ration coupons

And wore Uncle Sam’s cloths

Or enjoyed Stalin’s hospitality

In Siberia or in the Red Army or both

Or hid during the Blitz

And then moved to the suburbs

Where they are now

Back again

After a house

An apartment

Florida

Great grandchildren

And medical conditions that would have killed their parents

Depression, depressing, depressed

At times and lonely too

Just packing for the next journey

To a world probably less strange

Than the one they now share with us.

January 2019

The New Suit

One thing I won’t need soon

Is a new suit,

Not until

The ones I own

Become

More outdated than I,

And I have to go

To a wedding,

Or a funeral,

The latter,

More likely,

But, hopefully, not mine,

And I need a new look.

There are always thrift stores and outlets.

So my old suit can be replaced for less money,

Just as I was when I retired.

January 2019

Dayan HaEmet

Burying Mom on a Rainy Day

The last word we said was true

Or was it real?

I’m not sure

Nor was I sure

Standing on shaky ground

Wet grass, teary trees, soggy hole

And a torn ribbon

Possessing too much of what I need – clothes

Holding too little of what I want – time

Endings are always true

Or real

Or so they feel

Beginnings less so

But who remembers

I greeted you crying

And so I said goodbye

And there I stood

With muddy shoes

Red south Jersey clay

Knowing the only

That my truth

Had changed

March 2019

Peace is Our Goal

Memorial Day 2019

Cherry Hill, NJ

Your dream was to be with us

Yet you gave your life for us

So please forgive us

If we sometimes forget

That:

Freedom is precious

And War marks a failure

Though Victory, opportunity

But we need to be brave.

For if Hatred divides us

Then Love can unite us

And Peace is our goal

May we remember

What we lost forever

And that through living comes life.

But Fear is our enemy

And Anger our foe

Though Hatred might divide us

Our Love can unite us

So help us be brave.

Hope will sustain us

And Memory maintain us

For you were our children

Our brothers, our sisters

Our neighbors, companions

And also our friends

So help us remember

That

When Hatred divides us

Your sacrifice can remind us

That Love will unite us

Our values will guide us

To wholeness, and wellness

Because peace is our goal

So please abide with us

And bless us and trust us

As we march on forward

To Peace, our shared goal.

June 2019

Lost Keys
(To my cousin, Liz Eron Roth, in memory of her husband, Danny Roth)

Do you remember that day
When I could not find my keys?
I put them in a safe place
So that I would remember
Where they were
But I didn’t.
So you helped me find them
And my safe place.

So, to be safe
I gave you the keys
To that safe place.

But then I lost you
And with you, my keys
And found myself
Shut out of that place
Which I thought would be safe.

So I will break the lock
And open my heart
For your love to enter
And your spirit departs
And now I remember
I don’t need a key
Since no place is safe
And to be safe is not free.

Lewis John Eron
December 28, 2019

Grandma’s Tallit

The old, worn, large wool tallit[1]

Missing its fringes

Which I thought was my grandfather’s

Actually belonged to his wife,

My grandmother,

Long after he had gone.

She was small

The tallit was large

And wrapped in it

She kept warm.

She kept the tallit

Missing its fringes

While missing her husband

Who had died.

She kept it safe

It kept her warm

And saved it for me.

I keep it in a draw

Wrapped up.

After he went niftar – died

And the tallit became pasul – void

She kept it with her

And it kept her warm

And it kept him present

And it kept her alive

Not forever

But for a very long time.

Wrapping oneself in a tallit is a mitzvah,[2]

Remembering one’s love is a brachah,[3]

Staying warm on a cold night is a michayyah,[4]

Nothing lasts forever

But even a broken tallit has enduring value.

[1] Tallit – a prayer shawl with fringes on each corner

[2] Mitzvah – a deed directed by Divine love

[3] Brachah – a blessing

[4] Michayyah – a revitalizing experience

When I Die Will the Emails Stop?

When I die, will the emails stop?

And the text messages,

and the letters,

and the bills,

Or will they rest in my away box

Until resurrection?

Death could just be a vacation.

Everything will wait until we return

And our punishment will be

Trying to catch up with promises not met

And letters gone unanswered

And bills still to be paid

And with friends

Who, too, will return to busy lives.

And all this will take a long time

But not forever

For God is merciful

And we will come to see that

Most of the stuff

Really wasn't all that important.

Lewis Eron

July 7, 2020

Mourning Dead Stars

How do I mourn the death of a star,

When I still enjoy its light?

The news has reached me so long after its light went dark.

Where it was or what it is, I do not know,

Though I thought I saw it a while ago.

How do I mourn the death of a star,

That bit of light that I’ve just lost?

Where is the warmth, the power, the love,

The cosmic dance

Around the One,

The All

And me?

Lewis Eron

July 16, 2020

Shabbat in the Month of Cheshvan

When the candles die

Shabbat starts –

The quiet Shabbat

The noiseless Shabbat

The Shabbat of pillows and sheets and comforters

The Shabbat of darkness

And secrets

And stars

And of falling leaves,

And crickets

And bedroom windows still open.

When the candles die

And the dishes are washed

And the wine is gone

And it’s time to sleep

Shabbat begins.

Lewis John Eron

October 20, 2020

Crossing the Red Sea

(for Parashat Beshallach)

Only a fool dives into unknown waters

Maybe safe, warm, comforting

Maybe turbulent, cold, frightening

Maybe deep

Maybe shallow

Open hearts?

Broken skulls?

Only the fool dives in

So if you can

Jump in feet first

Or better

Walk in

Slowly

Carefully

Feel the sand or the mud or the weeds

Feel the fish or the crabs

Nibbling on your toes

Reach down

Splash water

On your chest

On your arms

On your face

Over your head

And say, “Mechaiya”.

Feel the water

First cold, then cool, then comforting,

Slowly, carefully,

Exploring, exclaiming

You can enter the water any way you choose

But, however, you enter,

Make sure you know how to swim

Lewis John Eron

January 30, 2021

Praise to the Angels who die Every Day

(In Memory of Susan Love)

Who would guess

Angels live no longer than mayflies

All that energy

For one brief moment

One task, one breath

One life, one death

Stars you know

Live longer than angels

Much longer

All that light

Dispersed forever

One task, one breath

One life, one death

We live

Not long enough to be stars

Not short enough to be angels

Lots of tasks, lots of breaths

Touching many lives,

Touched by many deaths.

Lewis John Eron

February 2, 2021

“I Can’t Breathe” Is Not A Prayer.

“I can’t breathe” is not a prayer.

“To pray” at first is to breathe”

Every prayer starts with a breath.

The world was created in a breath

With a word, in a moment, with a prayer.

“I can’t breathe” is not a prayer.

Without a breath, one doesn’t have a prayer.

With a breath, one has a chance to pray.

All life flows from God’s breath.

The world begins in prayer.

“I can’t breathe” is not a prayer

“I can breathe” can start a prayer.

All that has breath can always pray.

The world can end in prayer.

Not every breath becomes a prayer.

But every prayer was once a breath.

From breath to life to prayer

But “I can’t breathe” is not a prayer.

At times we need to pause our breath

Holding our breath puts prayer on hold

Stopping a breath is stopping a prayer.

Each of us can be a prayer.

But “I can’t breathe” is not a prayer.

“I can’t breathe” is not a prayer.

Without a breath, there is no prayer.

Those asleep in the dust have no prayer.

And stopping breathe is stopping prayer,

And the world can end with the end of prayer.

Creation’s God is the God of prayer

Creation exists for the sake of prayer.

But “I can’t breathe” is the end of prayer.

Lewis John Eron

September 30, 2021

The Dead Boy

(For Ravi who died while on vacation)

This time it was an auto accident

You weren’t driving

Just bad luck.

It could have been a gun

Or a knife

Even though you were peaceful.

Or the current plague

Or another disease

Or a congenital defect

No one could see.

We never see death coming

It’s in that blind spot

Between the rearview mirror

And the one on the door

Or below the peephole

Or behind the hedge

Or even in a welcomed hug and kiss

This time it was an auto accident

It was not your fault

It rarely is

And next time

The surprise will kill us

Once

Again.

Lewis John Eron

April 12, 2021

White Jews

Hey, Jew Boy!

Do you remember the day you became white?

The day we let you in?

The ticket price?

We do.

Hey Jew Boy,

There’s a penny in the corner

So just be nice

Don’t rock the boat

Don’t move the chairs

And we’ll save your space.

Hey Jew Boy

What about the Israelis?

They kick ass

But they look like ‘spics

Puerto Ricas, I mean,

Not to offend

Your New York ears.

Hey Jew Boy

With your curly hair

With your olive skin

With your big nose

And your sister’s a blond

From a bottle.

Hey Jew Boy,

I’ve got a Jew doctor

I’ve got a Jew lawyer

I’ve got a Jew neighbor

And you’ve got the money

And you’ve got the markets

And you’ve got the movies

And you’ve got the moves.

Hey Jew Boy

You like being white?

You like the schools?

You like the parks?

You like the jobs?

You like the perks?

Hey Jew Boy

Do you remember the day you became white?

The day we let you in?

The ticket price?

Not too high?

You jewed me down.

For what its worth.

Hey Jew Boy

Enjoy being white.

Lewis John Eron

October 24, 2021

“When will I be myself again?”

To Alyssa, whose Mother’s Funeral Was Yesterday

Some Tuesday, perhaps,

In the late afternoon,

Sitting quietly with a cup of tea

And a cookie;

Or Wednesday, same time or later,

You will stir from a nap and see her;

You will pick up the phone to call her;

You will hear her voice – unexpected advice –

And maybe argue.

And you will not be frightened,

And you will not be sad,

And you will not be alone,

Not alone at all,

And your tears will warm you.

But not today,

And not tomorrow,

And not tomorrow’s tomorrow,

But some day,

Some Tuesday, late in the afternoon,

Sitting quietly with a cup of tea

And a cookie

And you will be yourself again.

Lewis John Eron

February 12, 2013

(for a recitation of the poem - see the recording of the memorial service of The First Parish at Arlington, MA, a Unitarian/Universalist Congregation's annual memorial service, December 16, 2020, entitled Watch the Embrace the Darkness Service 12/11 at time marker 17:40)

Press Here