Elul, Day 22 - כ"ב באלול
Dear Elul Writers,
Tonight I wrote a poem in honor of one of the most unique experiences of davening in the time of quarantine.
An Ode to Zoom Kaddish
Once I grow accustomed
To the horrifying sound
That reminds me of metal
Being torn like
A shirt collarCome moments of
Absolute wonder
And reverence as
I float from mourner
To mournerVoices momentarily
Clear amidst the din
Their rectangles flicker
Their voices quiver
And phrases echo back and forth
Across time zones and lifetimesYehei Shemei Raba Mevorach
It is all too garbled to properly hit
my cues but I remain attentive
They have raised their yellow
Hands for just this momentBlessed, her niece who died far too young.
Praised, his mother, Janice. Itah bat Channah v’Tzvi
Glorified, for his great-uncle Max, after whom he was named.
Exalted, her wife, Bella Wolfson.
Extolled, his dad, Mark.And, every now and then,
As this is a new Zoom world,
I hear the rush of the ocean wind
Flowing straight into someone’s phone
As a mourner sinks her feet into some beach
And I pray that she will be heldOseh Shalom...Hu Ya’asei...V’imru Amen
V'al Kol...Bimromav...Amen…
V’imru...Aleinu...Amen...Shalom
V’al Kol...Yisrael...V’al...Yoshvei Tevel
V’imru Amen
Prompt
If you can get past the intense cacophony, there is something strangely cinematic about the unmuted Kaddish on Zoom. Voices come in and out, and we hear ancient words not just in our own voice, nor in the drone of the collective, but as a holy jumble of individuals each saying words at their own pace, in their own cadence, carrying their own loss.
My most meaningful experiences of community are ones in which the voices of individuals within the larger group are lifted up, amplified and acknowledged. As we enter the 22nd day of Elul, I invite you to share your own voice. I would love to hear back from people, in one or two sentences, what are your intentions for the year to come. I will try to find a way to (anonymously) share some of the hopes that people are bringing into 5782.
Laila tov,
Jordan