Spenserian

Unfortunately for everyone, I've decided to resume these stupid poems because the test is coming up soon. So, a Spenserian on Halloween costumes. This is the stanza Spenser created for The Faerie Queen, reduced to a simplistic and stupid rhyme about finding a Halloween costume. It is a nine-line stanza. The first eight lines are in iambic pendameter, and the final line is in iambic hexameter, which is called an alexandrine. The stanza's rhyme scheme is ababbcbcc

On Thinking of a Halloween Costume
The contents of my closet are not vast
But soon October will be at it’s end
So I must think of something, and think fast
A costume for which I won’t have to spend
A lot, but others still can comprehend
The character that I purport to be
And no polite soul need to just pretend
Smile and nod awkwardly at me
I must think of a few disguises, two or three

A lamp: dress in clothes that are all brown
And thread a cord so it hangs behind your shirt
Wear a lampshade on your head as though a crown
And clip a chain to your ear, though it might hurt
A flashlight goes inside the shade and squirt
Some yellow facepaint all over your face
You can paint pictures all over your skirt
Of flowers, rainbows, even outer space
If you have it you can even use some lace.

To be a box of popcorn is quite neat
First you need a box that’s big and tall

With holes for legs, and stockings for your feet
Paint stripes of red and white over it all
And when this work seems to be complete
Write “popcorn” at the place where the stripes meet
Glue popcorn on the box and everywhere
A lot, you’ll lose some as you walk the streets
So put some in your pockets just to spare
And if you are so brave, string popcorn in your hair!


There are many more ideas but I don’t know
How to make them work in Israel
Where to buy supplies, or where to go
For cheap clothing you don’t want to wear for real
To celebrate a day that no one knows
Or cares to know about at all, and so
I don’t know what I’ll wear but I do think
That Halloween requires a good show
So I’ll come up with something, if it stinks
At least I will have tried, and will have earned a drink.

Sabbath of Sabbaths and Rhyme Royal

Services were exquisite. They were an emotional journey after which I truly feel cleansed and renewed. They were a conversation between me and the community, the community and the infinite, the choir and the soloist, the tradition and the future, sleep and wakefulness, strength and weakness, life and death, joy and sorrow. I felt as though I was guided by strong and knowing hands through a fearsome and draining path toward deeper knowledge of self and a deeper sense of meaning, and then brought back again gently to a place of joy and relief. I am left in awe and bewilderment at the rainbow of my experiences over the holiday - the joy and grief, the longing and hope, the fear, faith, skepticism, desire, thankfulness.
Often I find the final moments of Yom Kippur the most moving, those moments when I want so badly for it all to be over, but want so badly for it to last forever, when I feel so holy and so desperate for holiness, my body weak and dizzy, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, even between life and death. It is then that I believe in the infinite most, when I can feel the presence of infinity leaving and prodding me back into myself. It is such a bittersweet marraige when my soul cleaves to my body and the community scatters into separate individuals and I am myself once more - how glad I am to return, and how sorry I am to leave. I often don't consider myself a spiritual person and it is often hard for me to reach a state of spirituality but on Yom Kippur I am taken there, and especially this year I feel that, accross a vast chasm, I glimpsed the divine.
So, of course, I wrote you a GRE review poem about it. It's in rhyme royal, which means that it's in seven-line iambic pentameter stanzas rhyming ababbcc. Rhyme royal was first used by Chaucer, but probably got its name because James I of Scotland also wrote using this verse form. It hasn't really been used since the Restoration.

We stand as one, an army afraid of the fight
Our voices joined, we breathe out our souls in song
The spirit drains as day fades into night
And we yearn for a home where our bodies don’t belong
The end grows near, and still the wait is long
Our words are fervent and yet the chasm grows wide
Our deaths and and lives grasp hands across the divide

We fear we may fall in the swelling rift – unsure,
Dizzy, and week, we step forward toward the abyss
And cry forgive us pardon us make us pure
Together in song but separate in thought we kiss
The edge of the tallis that wraps the world and this
Is the day of atonement, this is the time
When we return to ourselves and so doing become sublime

The clouds are tufts of pink in the evening sky
Our eyes turn to royal blue heavens that deepen toward night
It soon will be over, in these last moments we try
To promise to change, to grow to be good and upright
Transforming our conscience, absorbing these last shards of light
Through parched lips swallowing promise of hope and peace
And begging that in days to come our joys will increase

The iron gates slowly fold closed to shut out our pleas
To prod us back to our lives from this brush with the end
But surely, couldn’t I reach in my hand and squeeze
Out just a piece of that magic so I can extend
This teary-eyed, awe-filled prayer and transcend
My life all the days of the year? The shofar sounds
I let go of sublime as the harsh- holy call resounds


After Kol Nidre, we went on a walk to Emek Refaim, where the whole neighborhood wandered the streets, greeting friends and neighbors to apologize for the wrongdoing of the year. It was a sight to see, like a street fair without the bouncy castles or loud music. Swarms of people gathered in the road, children riding bicycles, clusters of friends chatting, strolling, people watching. We ran into someone who worked for UVA Hillel two years ago, and were excited to chat with her a little. She's living in Jerusalem and hopefully we'll have an opportunity to see her again before the year is through.

I hope you all had an easy and meaningful fast, and are looking forward to Sukkot, the season of our joy.

Ottava Rima

For this, I really must apologize - this poetry writing is pretty hard and I know the following is ridiculous. This is another poem written to help me study for the GRE literature in English exam.
Ottava Rima consists of 8 line stanzas usually in iambic pentameter rhyming abababcc. Originally used for heroic themes, it also became popular in the mock epic form. I have written a very short, poor quality, mock epic about a reverse mechitsa, which is supposed to be making fun of the idea that it is better for men and women to be separated - not sure if this was successful at all so I thought I'd summarize what I was trying to do up front.
Separation: A Mock Epic

Once upon an evil time that’s past
There was a sanctuary made of stone
Together there the folks would pray and fast
Although the women could not pray alone
A problem which to them seemed large and vast
For their sweet voices sounded like foul groans
When joined with prayer that came from mouths of men
A sound they never have to hear again

The women cried that they were quite concerned
They felt as though in prayer they were distracted
Because instead of heaven their thoughts turned
To the strong tall men to whom they were attracted
And wondered if their advances would be spurned
They desired to see a change, reform enacted
They wished to solve this problem and they prayed
This soul-deep longing heavy on them weighed

But lo! There was a woman young and pure
With muscles taut as wire round her bones
Who cried that co-ed prayer she’d not endure
She did not wish to hear the manly moans
By members of a sex that was impure
By virtue of their cruel Y chromosomes
Who were anchored to the world of everyday
Who could not their spirits lift and fly away

She built a wall between them strong and wide
Of quite strong cardboard sealed with Elmer’s glue
Stepped back from her work and said with pride
Girls, I think we’ve got some prayer to do!
The women laughed with smiles that spread wide
While praying, swaying, chanting Torah too
They sang and read and prayed and taught and learned
Together the other sex they scoffed and spurned

A separation keeps the deep-voiced and the low
Still today in that far of sainted land
Where women are in charge, as well you know
From mingling with the high-voiced and the grand
The men must ask and women must bestow
Permission to eat, pray, or sit, or stand
The land is just its ways are all of peace
The righteous live and joy will never cease

In Memorium A. H. H.

The following poem is written with the same structure as Tennyson's "In Memorium A.H.H." - each stanza is four lines of iambic tetrameter rhyming abba. It's about nighttime in Jerusalem, as heard through our apartment window. Once again, I apologize for the amateur poetry, and you can skip this post if you like.


Alone I watch the evening fall
Like ink that spills across the sky
Some small mistake from G-d on high
Who wishes to erase it all

So darkness reigns throughout the land
Until the dawn, dark conquers us
A ruler that is merciless
Yet we ignore its stern command

Despite decrees that it be night
And silent darkness must now be
The darkness permits revelry
Despite the absence of the light

And so I hear the streets alive
Though darkness spreads across the sky
I hear the people passing by
The walkers walk, the drivers drive

Across the street the silver clinks
As diners laugh while downing wine
Music that I can’t divine
Blares from cars before they slink

To other streets or to their homes
And I can hear the wind blow by
A car horn honk, a baby cry
Friends meeting with the word “shalom”

The night is lively and it’s young
I listen gladly from my room
The city wakes yet fairly soon
I’ll be asleep, but hold your tongue

For I enjoy the sounds of eve
Though I’m alone in my bedroom
And in the morning I’ll resume
To love the life that I perceive

For me it is enough this time
To hear the sounds and know they’re here
And close my eyes to evening dear
Resuming life when the sun climbs

The ladder of the morning sky
And takes its place among the clouds
So birds begin to sing out loud
Announcing that it’s time to fly

Folk Ballad

Hi everyone,

So I've been thinking a lot about the word Israel, and the way that while it has so many meanings - Jacob of the Bible, the Jewish people (ancient, past, and present), the current modern state of Israel, and a hope of peace, to name a few - so many times the conflation of all of these meanings can be confusing, especially in prayer. Are we praying for peace in Israel - as in this Israel in the Middle East? No, I think it is something much bigger and more universal than this one country, and I think it always has been, but it is hard to remember that when I say the word Israel in prayer, hard to separate prayer Israel from the state of Israel in which I am living. I was going to post extensively and coherently on this, but instead decided to study for the Literature in English GRE subject test. Suddenly, I had a not-very-brilliant idea, for which I beg your forgiveness. I have decided to study poetic forms by writing poems of my own for this blog, using these forms, to express the ideas, experiences, or emotions I might otherwise convey in a much-more-pleasant-to-read way that is in many ways dissimilar from amateur poetry and cheap study tools. So, with my apologies, an attempt at a poem about the use of the word Israel in prayer, in the form of a Folk Ballad. The typical stanza of the folk ballad is called the ballad (go figure) and the length of the line isdetermined by the number of stressed syllables only (rather than all syllables) - in this way it is more similar to Old English poetry or to sprung rhythm than it is to, say, a sonnet (some of those will be coming your way soon if I keep up with this nonsense). The rhyme scheme is abcb.

With pride pouring from our lips
We speak of holy land
The words are words we all enjoy
Set to soulful tunes, and grand

And suddenly, although I wish
These solemn lines to pray
I feel as though they are a lie
I hesitate to say

Aligning past with present times
Our now with then and there
Conflating, confusing, entrapped in a maze
Of politics and prayer

Israel – what is this word
An ancient hope for peace?
The magic of which angels sing?
The goal that will not cease?

A people joined in blood or pride
A nation or a creed?
A promise made to Abraham?
An ever budding seed?

Or are our words directed toward
A Middle Eastern place
Imperfect as all nations are
With problems we all must face

Not holy, not perfect, not awesome, not pure
Not more righteous, noble, or just
Not above corruption or hate
Homelessness, hatred, or lust

Hear O Israel the Lord is One
I say with all my might
While children learn in religion-based schools
Before joining the army to fight

And I, an American living abroad
Who is this G-d I can’t see
Have I also been instructed to hear
Is Israel also me?

I am lost and confused in Israel
With no map for finding my way
Between the desire and reality
The ancient hope, the present day

Cantors, Cooking, Cups, Concert, Camelot

About Rosh Hashana Services: It is in writing about moments such as these that I realize that language is inadequate - or that I don't have the skill to shape my words in such a way that you can understand the full majesty of what we experienced. Seated in a high-ceilinged room at HUC, from whose Eastern wall, made entirely of class, we watched the sun as it set (last night) and ascended (this morning) over the Old City, we listened to and joined in services of such magnificent music that it quite literally brought tears to my eyes. These cantorial students, these people with talent so great, their voices rang out so purely and fully together that they seemed like the heavenly host of angels praising G-d that we read about in the high holiday liturgy. It was especially moving to hear some of our friends, cantorial students, whom I'd never really heard sing, sharing and bearing themselves in front of the congregation and really sanctifying the day with their gifts and their passions. I felt like a guitar that had been strummed and I'm still resonating, within me I'm filling up with music and sound, waves that flow upwards and outwards and fill the whole of me.

In addition to the pheonminal choir of cantorial students, we also had the honor to hear Cantor Eli Schleifer, the director of the cantorial program in Jerusalem. His passion was matched by his control of the music, and his ability to connect the music to the words of the prayers to enhance and elevate the entire experience. He read the Akeidah, speaking the words of G-d and of Abraham with a bold, deep commanding voice, and the words of Isaac with a voice so tentative, so unsure, that he was transformed himself into a timid son following a half-crazed father in search of his G-d at the expense of his own lifeblood. There were so many powerful moments in his prayers, that I simply cannot recount them all. When he sang of mortality his voice began strong and softened until it was a tiny star in the vast, dark, heavens. All of his words, all of his prayers, were so deliberate, so artful. There wasn't a single misplaced note or syllable, not a single word that seemed to be sung by rote or out of obligation to the tradition - all was sincere, all was in a spirit of atonement and celebration, of truly marking life by the seasons in which we live it, by the emotions we experience, and by the limits of our physical bodies and the limitlessness of our souls.

I wish all of you could have been there. It was grand but also participatory, it was awesome, but also down-to-earth, it made me feel as though praying was a holy endeavor, while reminding me that prayer is also a vehicle and a vessel that needs to be brought out of the synagogue and carried around as part of every day life. If I can bring the service with me as I embark on the ten days of tshuva, I will have accomplished much.

Daniel and I were just discussing how difficult we find the ten days of tshuva, because we aren't sure what they mean and how we should act during those days. For instance, is it enough to say to everyone "If I have done you any wrong this year, I am sorry"? Or is that sort of a cop-out as you aren't personally probing to try to remember the wrongs you have committed and you aren't making yourself vulnerable to others by admitting your imperfections? And what if you honestly can't remember something that you did wrong? Or what if you can remember it but it really was just a small thing, and you think it would do more harm than good to bring it up again? Exactly what are we to do during these ten days? Another question is to what extent should we force ourselves to be better people for just these ten days? If I want G-d to judge me for who I am, perhaps I shouldn't change my behavior for ten days, perhaps it is dishonest. Or, perhaps I can take these ten days and try to change and improve myself, nad maybe some of it will stick into the next year. It's like a trial period for New Year's Resolutions - and surely if you do something every day for ten days, it is likely to make an impression on you, and affect your behavior at least in some small way for the rest of the year. I don't know, but I do know that it is important to try to be the best version of yourself at all times, and perhaps focusing on that for ten days will help with focusing on it throughout the year.

As the New Year is beginning, the weather is changing and we're beginning to feel a cold breeze settling on the city of Jerusalem. It will stay, and the sun will seem rarer, and it will be harder and harder to find warmth in the city. It seems like a hard time to begin a New Year - not in the spring when we can rejoice in the warmth of the sun and in the personal freedom that summer offers, but at the cusp of the rainy season, when we are chained to our umbrellas, slaves of our galoshes. But, perhaps too the rainy season is an appropriate way to begin the year, as it is the start of the agricultural cycle, and I am praying for a year that bears plentiful fruit, a year that grows toward the sun, a year that blossoms in vivid colors.

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We began our preparations for Rosh Hashanah with cooking, which is itself a deeply spiritual activity. A very wise person once told me that the action of knitting, a practical, creative endeavor of craftingthe long and narrow into the full, soft, and warm, was one of the most spiritual activities that life offers. I'm not sure if that holds true for me, but I would say that I can apply the same to cooking. I love the mysterious way that artcan be created out of the very stuff of the earth - the grain and the leaf, the fruit and the nut. We baked a splendid honeycake in preparation for the holiday. It is rich, dense, and fragrant, with candied ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. We're hoping to have some friends over tomorrow after services to share it with us. For today's potluck lunch, we made a simple yet elegant dish of mushrooms in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and white wine, and for the potluck dinner we are attending tonight, I tried to replicate the lasagne recipe that Paola taught me a few weeks ago. We spent most of the day yesterday cooking and shopping for food. In addition, we decided to splurge on some items we've been sorely missing: a challah cover, candle sticks, a vessel for ritual hand washing, a set of cups, a set of serving bowls, a steamer, and four mugs. Everything was on sale because of the holiday season and was quite reasonable, and we are pleased at the idea of leaving the apartment well stocked at the end of the year, as we've been so happy with all of the supplies left to us by the previous tenants.

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On Thursday, I took my final exam for my ulpan, and I am now enjoying a month's break. For my first day of break (Sunday), I went to the Ministry of the Interior and finally was able to procure a student visa, thus ending the painful work of half a year. I've begun studying for the GRE Subject Test in Literature in English, though my testing date has been pushed back until November. I have a lot of studying to do for the test, so while I am disappointed at the date change, especially as I am a little antsy that not everything will arrive to the schools I'm applying to on time if it is sent so late, I am pleased to have the extra time to reread Canterbury tales and quiz myself on the names of all of the characters that ever appeared in a work by Shakespeare or Dickens. I've begun reading in English again, I couldn't help myself, and even Hemmingway (who I'm reading now but have never read before) feels like a dear old friend. The lack of a novel these past months has felt deeply physical and personal, like a whole part of my life and my identity had been left stranded at the airport in Toronto. Being able to read in Hebrew helped a little, but I am so glad to be reunited with the English language. I am a bit nervous, however, that this long break will allow too many opportunities to forget to be diligent about language study, and I hope to continue to read in Hebrew and in Yiddish throughout the break. In addition to all this reading, I of course will be applying to graduate school, and am currently working hard at discovering my sense of purpose, so that I can write a statement of purpose to each of these universities. Wish me luck.

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On Thursday night, Daniel and I strolled to Yung Yiddish. We are rarely out so late at night, and there was an excitement to the bright lights of stores against the stillness of the evening. On the way, we passed through the shuk and I bought Daniel a molten chocolate cake. We passed through bustling Jaffa street and through an empty Rehov Yerimiyhu where we walked past a store displaying fancy, beautiful sukkot.

The crowd at Yung Yiddish was mostly secular this time, and the place was pretty full (maybe 45 people in the audience?). The performer, Theresa Tova, had a deep, pointed, strong, alto voice, and she sang Cabaret/Jazz style Yiddish pieces, many of them also translated into English (She's not a Hebrew speaker), with poise, and a smooth, easy sort of confidence. She was accompanied by a pianest and cellist that she had just met that day, yet the performance was not anxious, and where there were mistakes, they were corrected cooly. Theresa Tova exuded a love for the music that she was singing - an enjoyment of it, and also a belief in it. She had a jazzy, sassy, easy, sultry sort of stage presence. She explained each piece before she sang it, often with jokes and always with smiles. We loved her music, and we found ourselves clapping and singing along to Belz, Sheyn Vi Di Levoyne, Papirosn, and many others. We enjoyed it so much that we bought a CD and when we are back in the States we'll be glad to lend it to you. Theresa Tova is an actor. singer, and writer, based in Toronto (woohoo!) who performes in New York, Poland, Germany, Toronto, and elsewhere. Her mother was a Partisan during the Holocaust, and Tova learned Polish Yiddish in her home.

After Tova finished singing, Mendy Cahan, the head of Yung Yiddish, passed out cups for wine and vodka and made a warm toast to the New Year. Armed with our CD and these warm wishes, we set out into the evening to walk back to our apartment.

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It's been so long since I've written that I keep thinking of more that I want to say. Should I tell you about teaching a friend to bake challah and the two huge honey-glazed round challahs we produced? Should I tell you about the Shabbat meal we shared with two friends, or the Shabbat lunch we served to other guests the following day? Should I tell you about the new friend we made at shul on Saturday that we welcomed into our home for lunch the very day we met him? Or about my being called to the Torah for an aliyah at the Conservative shul we enjoy attending on Saturday mornings? I think it would be too much, and take too much of your time. Suffice it to say that it has been a full, full, few days (both in terms of being busy and in terms of consuming a lot of delicious food!)

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So instead of ending by telling you more about our week and our life here, I want to end with a thought for the new year. The following quote, which I read on the blog of the Velveteen Rabbi (see the links side of our blog page) struck me as particularly useful in conceptualizing Rosh Hashana:

She Writes: "Today is the birthday of the world." We say it every year; we'll say it on Tuesday and Wednesday, that 48-hour span of time which Jewish tradition mystically considers a single extended day of Rosh Hashanah. But the liturgy says something slightly different than what the simple English rendition would suggest. As Reb Duvid notes, harah means "pregnancy," conception or gestation: not labor, not birth. I've never carried nor borne a child, but I can see from here that they're very different things. Rosh Hashanah isn't the world's "birthday," exactly; it's the day when we celebrate creation's pregnant possibilities.

In studying for this English exam, I found myslelf rereading Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott," which is about a magical woman who lives in a tower upstream from Camelot. She sits near a window and looks at the world through a mirror, weaving a tapestry that depicts the world that she sees outside. She is forbidden to look out of the mirror itself and to see real life. Ultimately, she sees Lancelot out her window and falls so in love with him that she cannot resist, looks out her window, and as her mirror cracks, she realizes the desolateness of the cursed life she leads. She leaves her tower, carves her name into a boat, lays down upon the boat and floats to Camelot, dying of cold along the way. It is a deeply mournful poem, of the desperate longing to break free from a life cut off from the world and in an act of desparation and of headlong bravery, to experience real life, even just for a moment before the coldness of death.

If creation is pregnant with possibilities, I think "The Lady of Shalott" urges us to take them. To take risks. Not to weave "by night and day a tapestry of colors gay" about the lives of others and the world that lies outside our doors, but to actually go out and to see the world and to live life. It is not easy to do. It is not easy for me to do - my natural inclination is to stay home where I am safe and comfortable, and perhaps this is why it seemed so exciting and unusual to me and Daniel to be out on Thursday night, as we are in fact inside most evenings. But my wish, my hope, my dream for the new year, is that as we enter into a time of the birth of the world, we will not only recognize its potential, but experience and be a part of that potential. I wish you all a sweet and a meaningful new year, a new year of experiences, of action, of headlong fanciful bravery that lasts more than just a moment, but for the whole long and enchanted journey of your lives.