Appetites loom large each Passover. Feasting on fresh fruits and veggies, meats and eggs, cheeses and nuts and, of course, matzah, after a few days folks become obsessively hungry for what they don’t have: bread, pizza, bagels… As someone who cooks a lot during this week, this is frustrating and confusing! But spring is a time of awakened hunger. In another kind of hunger, Song of Songs, erotic poetry of the Bible is featured on Shabbat of Passover. Gorgeous, melodic, a stunning song. I first chanted from the Song 2 years ago, and again this Pesach. Intrigued at first because it was provocative, I soon learned it was beautiful. Eventually it completely captured me: Love is as strong as death, the poem proclaims, and love is what God is most about, and what is Godly in our relationships.
Also chanted on Shabbat of Pesach are Torah verses which follow the incident of the Golden calf in Exodus. What were the Israelites hungry for after Moses disappeared up that moApuntain? Did they revert to idolatry because they wanted bread? On the contrary, they were hungry for a relationship with the Divine. But they feared they had been abandoned by Moses, and by God. After all, they had not long ago recovered from a 400 year abandonment. So they built what they knew, an idol. But the point is they hungered for relationship with God. And Moses will echo this hunger as he climbs Sinai a second time. “Please, let me experience your Cavod (honor, glory, ways?)” Moses begs. He has dedicated .his life to God and is hungry to know the Divine more fully. And God’s Goodness will pass near Moses, and God will proclaim that the Divine nature is kindness and forgiveness and grace. Moses will restore those smashed tablets, and be forever changed, aglow from this encounter, his hunger fulfilled, a relationship of love with God a permanent part of his being. Around the dinner table this beautiful Spring, I hope that hunger will be for love, and kindness, and with the yearning to connect with one another and the Goodness in this Universe

April is the cruelest month, mixing memory and desire,  wrote Elliot. Passover mixes memory and desire! Also, during this first week of counting Omer, of numbering our days between Pesach and Shavuot, the theme is loving kindness! I love it when things converge!

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It’s been awhile since I’ve traded childbirth stories with other women, my youngest is 15. But I remember, the intensity, the profound feeling of a new life with big blue eyes staring at you, but also the feeling like you might die because your body can’t possibly take that kind of pressure.

The Torah portion for this week opens with the rules for becoming “pure” for a Mom after conception and childbirth- able to return into relationship with the Divine.

I think it’s interesting that wording of Text begins with Tazria AND  Yalda:  Conception and Birth.
Conception is Life, but Labor and Delivery bring death incredibly close. That’s what it feels like, and for much of history was reality for a really large percentage of us.
And spring brings life from a dead land. TS Elliot wrote that April was the cruelest month, because he would rather remain dead inside, and unfeeling.
Yet interestingly, with the stresses of spring, death rates are high (spring is second only to winter) and we mark yom HaShoah in spring
Finally, the focus is on the Mom, not the Dad in this portion, and her ability to return to holiness, and to the Mikdash, which is kind of interesting, because it says she belongs there: comes from, and must return to holiness and the Mikdash.

Day before yesterday I cried for the first time for a boy who died almost twenty years ago. His name was Brandon, and he was brilliant and funny and usually smiling. I was a twenty six year old high school science teacher and he was my student. Brandon got joy from learning about the world, you could see it on his face. He was also in a wheelchair: he was living with Muscular Dystrophy. Seemingly normal, families watch helplessly as the muscles disappear from a boy’s body.  Brandon had an aid, Marie I think her name was, whose own son, Jimmy, died from MD: it is always fatal. Marie dedicated her life to caring for these boys.  I ran into Marie several years later, and she told me Brandon had gone to Rutgers. And that he died during his junior year. Every year I tell Brandon’s story, and of how wonderful the boy was, to remember him and to give a human face to MD.  This time the shock of loss was audible as I told students about him. That was it, with their help, I finally cried for Brandon.

This past Shabbat I chanted verses and studied with a inspired young Rabbi, Dave Vaisberg and the discussion went to an area I’d thought often about – why a person who comes in contact with a dead body is considered impure, meaning unprepared for worship and ritual in the ancient Temple. Purity means wholeness, all of one kind or texture or intent.  Certainly contact with death can be times of roiling emotion, uncertainty.  I know life and death need separation, you must be busy living, not dying.  Of those in the business to assist with transitioning families when death strikes, a certain distance, a professional emotional wall, and therefore callousness may exist. For others, anger at God, or feeling touched too closely by death’s hand may mingle in our souls. These reactions are all ones which can take away from the focus. We are to worship with kavanah, (intent) of unity with this vast universe, and the creative power that surges through it – and contact with death makes us unfit for this spiritual action. Even unintentional contact? Well, yes, because you can’t get to pure from there.

If all of these reactions: callousness, confusion, anger, unintentional uncaring make us unfit, impure, I wondered, then perhaps after I pass through these initial stages there can be a purity. Perhaps the tears that you shed after awhile, after the anger, or callousness, afterward you can revel in joy of what that person’s essence was.  Perhaps those purifying tears can get you there, and point you toward holiness.

In the morning blessings of each day, we thank God for the miraculous workings of our bodies. The prayer is Asher Yatzar, and it mentions the wonder of opening the openings of our body.  Well, tear ducts are such openings. The very next prayer thanks God for creating a soul which is pure, or t’horah.  Perhaps it’s the tears that make it that way.

The Torah portion for the coming week is Shemini. I will chant the verses that speak of the death of two of Aaron’s four sons, Nadav and Avihu. They must have been beautiful boys, for they were among the seventy that ascended the mountain to behold God, along with Moses and their Dad and 66 elders and leaders. They wanted to approach God again, but offered “alien” fire, which was apparently dangerous, for they were consumed. A shockingly dramatic and tragic scene with little explanation.  Just as there is little explanation for our existence, or the passing of boys (and girls) before their time, silence is what we hear from Aaron and Elisheva.  Too shocked and shattered with loss for tears.

We nationally mourned the shocking death of children a little over a year ago with the losses at Sandy Hook Elementary School .  As many of us were, I was shaken to the core. Madness, chaos, and death tore at our spirits, whispering that the fabric of the universe could easily come undone.  Certainly it was the support of friends as we all shook our heads, the caring that got us through. I was supposed to be singing with the choir kids that nigh (it was Chanukah) and a hug from Rabbi Larry Malinger kept me from walking out the door that night. Finally, a friend, Phil Aronson, and his brother wrote a song, Love will see us Through honoring those kids -and it is pure – pure love and honor and support. Tears are salt water, like an ocean supporting life. I finally honored a boy named Brandon.

Continuation: further inspirations and musings about the deaths of Nadav and Avihu.  Many years ago, a very young neighbor of mine was experimenting with matches in his bedroom.  His Mom left the baby at my house while she went to the grocery store. Next thing I know the fire engines are wailing outside. Their home burned down to the frame.  The matches has smoldered in his room and blazed during that hour in the grocery store. We all know people that “play with fire” – the fires of addiction or other dangerous activities.  The death of Aaron’s two eldest sons scream for explanation, yet their parents are silent. This also cries for explanation, since Aaron is famously Moses spokesperson! It seems as though the boys have been a sacrifice on an alter built for animals:  the language of their sacrifice is exactly the same as the verse before they die: A fire of God goes out and consumes them exactly as the previous animal was taken.  Their ashes will be removed exactly as was commanded the animals of the sacrifice.  They have played with fire and lost. Is this a shocking tale of human sacrifice in our place of God-encounter? We have learned before that the Creator never commands us to go to the lengths of human sacrifice. – so… what is up with the sons of Aaron?

Fire: it warms, feeds, inspires, but it’s dangerous, hard to control.  The Mishkan (tabernacle) where the boys die is to have an eternal fire. If each part of the tabernacle is a part of the human soul, we are to have a fire that never quits at our core, but somehow to keep it controlled, not to “play with fire”.  God needs, and we need, our passion, but not over-zeal. Perhaps after the encounter with God on the mountain, ordinary life pales, and they become zealots.  They initiate a fire in which is “strange”, and “not commanded”, in the words of the text. Perhaps they know what will happen – after all it has JUST HAPPENED moments ago the same way with an offering. The fires of their heart are passions out of control. There are those today that fly airplanes into buildings, and strap bombs on their chest to blow their enemies up. Zealots that wish to sacrifice themselves, and others who seek death as a though seeking a lover. How can passion be balanced: Moses encounters a flame that does NOT consume that famous bush.

And Aaron is silent – with a strange word for silence that has the Hebrew word for “blood” Dam, as its root.  Perhaps Aaron is now impure, his soul a mix. Perhaps he was the one that found the bodies. Perhaps that silence was an accusation, or a depression, a real absent hole in his soul. And Elisheva’s voice, his Mom’s, is not recorded – another silence. On the death your child, what can anyone say? Silence.    I hope that faith and community returned some meaning and sanity to his parents’ lives. .That they, as we, can come around to a place and time where the tears are tears that purify.

I love the movie Wall-e! An adorable little robot, Wall-e is cleaning up after generations of humans who have trashed planet earth until it is uninhabitable. There life begins again with a tiny plant (tree of life?) and a romance with a robot named Eve. Very biblical, very sad and hopeful at the same time. I use a  scene of Wall-e in teaching the importance of photosynthesis to my students. That a single seedling could be the symbol of salvation for a planet is powerful, just as the vision of a planet trashed is terrifyingly too close for comfort.

This week, as I’m preparing text from Leviticus I read that the priest of the wilderness Mishkan is commanded (Tzav) in changing his clothes to take out the ashes of the sacrificial fires -to put on special clothes, then change them again when he returns.
Why put on special clothes to take out trash – why the big deal? Perhpas trash is a metaphor for all the old business in our lives, and we should make a clean break (Tornberg) But maybe it’s about the trash! In modern times we are so used to creating so much trash that we take it for granted.That’s new. There really is no such thing as trash, and no such place as “away”
The thing that drew my attention is the text takes care to mention that the cloth is on his body  ( where else would it be?) just as the ashes are on the alter, and then next to the camp. there is language connecting the living man with the fire of the alter – including the “consuming” the fire does, which, of course, is the same root as ‘eating” Anyway IT’S COOL that he puts on fine new linen to take out the ashes and respectfully place them out, and then changes his clothes. Animals have been sacrificed on that alter to God in an attempt at Korban, drawing close. Those ashes are not trash. they are sacred.
Just as our ashes, once we leave this world, are not trash, they are sacred.
Any archeologist knows, trash is gold.
The song I’d like to finish these comments with is the late, great troubadour Pete Seeger’s  GARBAGE.  

Caught my eye the other day – a beautiful engraving of a hawk with each feather etched, and perfect eyes. It was part of a project called the Beehive MesoAmerica project – a network of artists trying to make the world better. The hope was that art can raise people’s consciousness about the problems of people and creatures in threatened places. So dozens of them donated their time to make a gorgeous nature mural. Can art change the world?
A story:
There once was a King who built a great palace. It had magnificent stone towers, and halls and rooms.
He married a queen, whom he loved very much. He decided after they were married that he would make the walls of the palace’s great hall beautiful, as befits his beautiful new bride. But how could he make it good enough? He decided to hold a contest, and invited all the artists of the land to submit their works. The king picked the two artists he liked the most, and showed them the bare walls of the great hall. “This is your challenge,” he told them each. “I give you one year to decorate your wall. You may live here. You may have any materials you wish. You will paint this wall,” he said to the first young artist Leib pointing to the right, “and You will paint this one” he said to the second artist, Rivka, pointing to his left. “I will return in one year to judge your work. Whichever of you has done the best job I will reward with honor, riches, and fame.” The two artists accepted the challenge.
Leib went right to work. He gathered his ideas: Leib loved the natural world, and wanted rainbows, and forests filled with beautiful creatures, and flowing streams, and sparkling stars. He measured, and sketched. He hired a crew of assistants to build a scaffold. By the end of the first month, the sketches and scaffold were built, and he began to fill the wall with his designs
Rivka came each day also to her wall. Each day she sat and stared at her wall all day with a strange look on her face.
Each month, Leib’s genius was revealed. The inspired design, bold figures, perspectives, colors and textures assured the artist that this was indeed his masterpiece – something unique, a new creation. His work filled him with inspiration and excitement.
And still each day, Rivka came and stared at her wall. The end of the year approached. Lieb was very busy putting on finishing touches, taking down the scaffold very carefully. On the last day, in a celebration, he signed his work, and invited his assistants to sign their names. He looked at the finished work and knew it was exceptional. As he was leaving, he noticed Rivka still staring, and her wall just as empty as ever!
The next morning, the king summoned Leib and Rivka to the palace. He entered the great hall for the first time in a year. As he looked at Leib’s wall, tears came to his eyes he was so moved. Never had he seen such a magnificent and moving work of art, full of grace and insight, designed with care – fitting for his bride indeed.
And then he turned and looked at the opposite wall and his mouth fell open in disbelief: there was the same composition on the other wall, line for line, design for design in every detail but one, there he saw a king looking just like him staring back at him. Suspecting what Rivka had done, he moved his hand over the wall – and it was cold and smooth. Yes, Rivka had put in mirrors, floor to ceiling and from one end to the next, so that Leib’s art was reflected on her wall.
As Leib looked at Rivka’s wall, he became very upset at his stolen work!. “Who won?” they asked the king. “Well, clearly it’s a tie,” said the king “Everything that appears on one wall is on the second. Each of you will be rewarded accordingly” Leib began to protest “No, don’t you see what she has done” “Silence” ordered the king, Return tomorrow and claim your rewards.
So they both returned. Leib was shaken , but Rivkah was relieved and happy. They entered the great hall to see a huge pile of gold, more than either had dreamed of. The King spoke to Leib: “You have created an inspired masterpiece, moving and beautiful. I am proud to be a patron of this magnificent work. Your gifts are truly from God. This gold is yours, and it will support your work for the rest of your life. Take it and make others as happy as you’ve made me.!”
Thank you so much your majesty! Cried Lieb, surprised, Thank You!
“Wait a minute, “ Said Rivka, “I thought it was a tie, and I was to be rewarded too! Where’s my reward?” “Oh yes, said the king, I did indeed promise each of you would receive your just reward, and I intent to keep it. There is your reward. And the king pointed to the mound of gold reflected in the mirror. “Now take your reward, leave my kingdom and never return. Rivka looked up in shock and slowly left the room.
When we Israelites were wandering in the wilderness, we fell in love with God at the Sea and at Sinai, and wanted to take God with us. So we built a portable palace, a Mishkan. Our best materials, and our most inspired , gifted artists made it from leather and gold and precious stones – to divine specs. And in the center was a fire that would never go out, a Ner Tamid, eternal flame.

The Mishkan can be a powerful metaphor. According to Rav Abraham Kook it can be a symbol either of the universe or of the human soul! Both are amazing to delve into. for example, the various precious materials of the mishkah, they formed, as did the various precious elements of our bodies, out of stardust cooked in a supernova that was in our part of the galaxy before our sun was born.  The various colors of the gems also remind me of the colors of the stars at night. But even more powerfully, the mishkan can be the human soul. Rav Kook writes:

What is so important about the construction of the Tabernacle that the Torah describes in such loving detail its measurements and furnishings? Was it not just an interim precursor to the Temple What eternal message does this temporary structure have to impart?…The Tabernacle enabled the Jewish people to express their devotion and love of God. But the Tabernacle was more than just a hallowed place to serve God. By examining its structure and parts, we may reveal the paths by which the human soul draws close to its maker.

So is there a design to the soul? If so, do the frailties and pits within our soul fall within that design: the aching yearnings? even the insensitive parts – the parts we don’t like – what could they be for? And what about that Ner Tamid, the “always light” – what part of our soul is it?  And why a tent, not a castle?  Some possibilities: it’s gotta be a tent because our lives are temporary and portable too, journeys through the wilderness. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make them beautiful for the journey. And that ner tamid: while everything else in the Mishkan is material, this is energy. Perhaps that flame is the fire of creativity and love. Leib means heart in Hebrew, and Rivka means “snare”, that’s why I chose those names. The story teach us each to live our unique and beautiful lives – no copies of anyone else. And to build it by filling it with inspiration and love, a holy Mishkan, and then God will always be with us.  A song about this: Olam Chesed Yibaneh, by R’  Menachem Creditor

Finally, one more song. This one by David Wilcox. I was listening to it by coincidence last week, when it occurred to me it’s about the measured dimensions of the soul: a Mishkan! And it brilliantly hits the nail on head in so many ways. Here are the lyrics below to What the Lonely is For

The depth of your dreams, the height of your wishes, the length of your vision to see

The hope of your heart is much bigger than this, for it’s made out of what might be.

Now picture your hope, your heart’s desire, as a castle that you must keep

In all of its splendor, it’s drafty with lonely, this heart is too hard to heat

CHORUS: When I get lonely, that’s only a sign

Some room is empty, but that room is there by design

When I feel hollow, that’s just the proof  That there’s more for me to follow, That’s what the lonely is for

Is it a curse or a blessing, this palace of promise,

When the empty chill makes you weep

With only the thin fire of romance to warm you,

These halls are too tall and deep

CHORUS

Now you can seal up the pain, build walls in the hallways,

Close off a small room to live in,

But those walls will remain, keep you there always,

And you’ll never know why you were given, why you were given the lonely

This week we celebrate the birth day of the Dr. King and we read of Moses’ father in law, the Midianite Priest Yitro (Jethro). And some things seem to come together in outrageous coincidence.

I love singing with the singers of the Baptist church for many reasons. First of all because they are just nice folks, and it feels so great to find common ground and build bridges, especially when it’s the hate that gets all the press. Secondly, I love the music and the musicians. The current music director is Brother Jack Blanton: Minister of Music, and he packs a huge and jazzy sound. Deacon Michael Wells conducts straight from the heart. And we can learn so much from their powerful, direct and passionate pouring of their souls into the music. Nothing tepid about it.

Their Pastor is inspired, the Reverend John Armstrong. He lost his young, beautiful wife tragically in 2010 and almost lost his life himself from a very recent illness, but he is the antithesis of bitter. Gushing about the blessings and the healing that he has enjoyed, about the meaningful and potent life can be, on the joy of praise, and of reaching out to help another, he brought tears to my eyes. We have so much to learn from our Friends of a different faith, and much to gain in embracing them in common pursuit.

In an outrageous coincidence, this week’s Torah reading, which dramatically includes the Ten Commandments, is named Yitro, after this the leader of another faith and culture. And yet it this foreigner/ kin that teaches Moses how to handle leadership by delegating! Tradition says we were all there at Sinai, and I could swear I saw Brother Jack, Deacon Wells and Pastor Armstrong there too next to Yitro!
One more thing: during the service we sang the old spiritual “We Shall Overcome“, and the Pastor spoke a bunch about overcoming, as did Dr. King. I noticed for the first time, that the word “Overcome” is built from the root “come”, although we think about it as a forward “going”. To what are we coming, when overcoming? Coming home? To one another? To truth and spirituality? I just know it’s better Hand in Hand!

This Friday evening and Saturday is called “Shabbat Shirah”, the Sabbath of Song, because the Biblical Song of Freedom and redemption at the shores of the Sea are chanted. Only song will do. Here is a living room recording  on Soundcloud of the my song-experience of that moment. Trapped, death all around, the only way out is heavenwards. (This song originated in this blog two weeks ago, but has changed)

Ozi: Every Beat of my Heart

M. Wolfson For Shabbat Shirah 5774

Return and return and return,  waves whisper upon the sand

Light flashes, scatters off iron, and horses and warrior men

I am caught between that wave and an impossible  land,

Moses, our hearts reach out to you.  Don’t be afraid he cries, “Lo Tira-u!”

Chorus

And the fear and the awe  in me crash, freezing space and time

I lift my eyes to the heavens so blue: there find hope, so sublime

Open to possibilities, inspiring Truth in my mind

If ev’ry beat of my heart is a miracle, why not here and now?

Ozi v’zimrat Yah:

Soon the wind starts to roar; takes my breath away, bringing tears to my eyes,

Holding my little ones close, praying: hear their cries

The Calvary horses all stomp,  the whites of their eyes mesmerize

And the force of the wind pushes water off sand, in surprise

Going home, I am free !  Ozi  v’zimrat Yah Ozi

BRIDGE: If You are my song I am strong; The melody, sets me free, strengthens me, ozi v’zimrat Yah Ozi!

Once again, inspiration comes from study with R. Ori Har of Aleph. Many thanks!
We all know the story of Noah’s ark, right? Speaking for myself, the answer is “Wrong!” , (and maybe I never really will). So what’s weird about this 100 meter long, 3 story cruise ship is that in all it’s hugeness, there is no light or air except from a single small window, and we in that boat are scared, adrift and nauseated. The demands keep us enfolded always in responsibility and darkness and trying to meet needs. There is only one opening for air and light. We are magnetically drawn to it. It seems the only thing worthy of our attention. It alone has the power to uplift, to save, to inspire us, linking us to worlds beyond our narrow one. I am hypnotized by that light, impaled and tethered to photons from worlds far away and beautiful.  R. Ori teaches via the Baal Shem tov, that the way to be connected and uplifted is through words, which have the power to both lift and create (as the world was created through “word”)  Words that are animated by passionate, musical prayer.  I resonate powerfully with this metaphor: how often have music and/or prayer been so brilliant, they outshine “reality”!

And yet, back in the darkness, and stench, and the nausea of that ark is: life. Not only life, but life’s only remnant and hope for continuance (and we know that life is “good” and “very good”). I don’t really want to go back down there, yet the ray of light that I am tethered to and inspired by is meaningless without that return.
Our world is in trouble now as then. Our actions to one another often inflicted enough pain to darken life and hope. We wound natural systems and creatures that, beautiful and worthy in themselves, we further need to sustain us. We despoil a planet. This planet itself floats as did that ark – but made of water, we float in space, housing the only remnant of life as far as we know or can reach in the universe.
So, I need to find a balance of working in the muck and tethering myself to life. But it takes courage to really work in the muck – these folks are my heroes. And it that stab of light can be elusive….
But maybe there’s another level. Although we stayed in that (d)ark a really long time, (almost a year, what with flooding and waters surging and returning), it wasn’t forever. The real next level is emerging into the light. What you really need faith for, is to know hat times of darkness will end, so that you no longer have to choose between life and light. Whether the darkness is personal depression or dark times, it takes courage to know things will be OK soon. The job of that light coming through is to remind us, to keep us tethered to that knowledge. If we despair, we won’t feed the animals, or ourselves, and so much will be lost- maybe everything.

 A psalm strongly connected for me begins Mi-ma’amikim, “from out of the depths, I call to you” (psalm 130) – maybe that would be my prayer from inside the boat. I heard  the words beautifully sung a year ago by Cantor Angela Buchdahl on the Shabbat following Hurricane Sandy, and the flooding and power outages that were the reality that week.  Maamikim by Idan Raichel project’s song, a love song derived from the words of the psalm – it is beautiful: powerfully connecting love to the call from the depths.

That moment of our crossing the sea, our birth day. What did it feel like, smell like, sound like? What was the score of our liberation? This week’s Torah portion lays the foundation with the names of our liberation from slavery. I am blessed to study, distance learning with Aleph‘s Reb Ori Har, who taught us wisdom from the text on crossing the sea: Pharoah drew close, he drew US close to the Heavens, to our Creator. Ori asked her students to close their eyes and be there. (I did not close them, but somehow was there). I was at the border of freedom, at the mouth – but the breath, the word has not yet escaped time’s lips. The salt air, the mud, the reeds, and a stiff breeze all assault skin.  Eyes tear and I hear the lambs bleat. Then the horn of war blasts and all becomes insanity. The sun glints on weapons – and the waves, which seem like knives too.
But what I really remember were the horses. Sweat steamed off them, and foam from their mouths, and terror in their eyes as their riders urged them on. Waves crash, children scream, and so do those horses. And there was no way out for them or me. Time stands still. I look up to the heavens. Everyone does. There is One way out, only upwards – and i finally can see the source of that light that glints off the animals flanks and the waves and the steel. I am aware and in awe. And here a ladder stretches with it’s foundations in the sand and it’s head reaching for the heavens- it is entirely made of light. Why did I never see it before? I feel as tall as the ladder. I hear Moses calling: “Lo tira-u” – do not fear, and fear and vision collide. And then the wind blows so hard, and my body splits the wind whipping so hard that some of my breath blows away, and my skin pushes into flaps. Ruach, wind, spirit, nefesh, breath – is within and without. Water is also within me and without. And the water pushes off the sand, and I will be free.

Return and return and return,  waves whisper upon the sand

And the light crashes and scatters off iron, and horses and warrior men

and I am caught between that wave and a very hard land,

where can I turn? my soul cries upward to You.  Don’t be afraid he cries, “Lo Tira-u!”

Chorus: And the awe and the fear crash in me, freezing space and time

I lift my heart to the heavens so blue: there find hope, so sublime

Let me open to possibilities, inspiring True in my mind

If ev’ry beat of my heart is a miracle, why not this, why not You, Mi Chamocha ba-elim Yah?

And the hard wind pushes my skin, and takes my breath away, can barely breathe, Ruach Elohim!

I hold my little ones close, don’t take them, please oh please

And the horses sweat and they snort, the whites of their eyes mesmerize

And the force of the wind pushes water off sand, going home, I am free, so surprised!

Ozi, v’zim’rat Yah Ozi!

Chorus

Nelson Mandela, his memory is for blessing.
We never thought Apartheid would end.
Perhaps there were those, world weary that knew that might makes right, that history is written by the winners.
The leader of the revolution placed in a wind swept, hopeless stone prison island had every reason to be embittered, bereft of hope… but he was not. He had every reason to be vengeful, for a life withered like a “raisin in the sun”, but he was not. Released from prison after decades to rule in optimism, even joy, he embodies hope  over despair.
Jane Goodall, heroine of mine travels the world trying to imbue people of different cultures and values with courage to reverse habits of  despoliation in order to preserve beautiful natural worlds so that we can pass them to our children and they can be sustained. Despair is the enemy of such change, so Jane carries with her four symbols of hope. They are:

1. a stone from the Berlin wall, which no one ever thought would come down
2. Mr. H, a stuffed animal given her as a gift. It belonged to a Marine named Gary who became blinded at the age of 25, and never lost hope, becoming a magician to make kids laugh
3. a leaf from Nagasaki, grown from a tree which budded following the atomic devastation
4. a stone from Robben Island prison, from which no one thought Mandela would emerge whole in spirit to see Aparthaid end, but it did.

So in tribute to Nelson Mandela, these words borrowed from Emily Dickinson

Hope is….
Hope is the thing…
Hope is the thing, Mandela.
Hope is the thing with feathers,
That perches in the soul.
And it sings the song without words,
And it never stops at all.

Hope is the thing, Mandela…