Poem for Rosh Hashanah

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As part of my preparation for the High Holy Days, there are certain texts I read and study every year at this time.  One is The Last Trial, Shalom Spiegel's classic essay on the midrash on the Binding of Isaac.  Another is Days of Awe, the inspirational anthology edited by S.Y. Agnon, the only Hebrew writer to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.

One shorter piece I return to every year is the following poem by Enid Shomer, a contemporary American Jewish poet.  The title refers to "Tishri" (usually spelled "Tishrei"), the first month in the Hebrew calendar.  The "first of Tishri" is the Hebrew date of Rosh Hashanah.

Freestyle, on the First of Tishri

The metaphor here is the pool, regular
and deep as the tradition itself. First I float,
still and buoyant in what I don’t
accept. Then I shatter the surface, a scholar
dissecting text not to destroy but to enrich,
a farmer plowing and disking the earth
before planting. On land, I forget breath’s
noisy ball bearings, the flutter kick’s
fringes blazing like tangible will. I imagine
that faith is nothing but a grudging promise
of repetition, like these laps, until this
continual splash in the mind begins—
not with grievance or prayer
but as gasp, a momentary bargain struck with the air.

The progression Shomer describes is familiar to us. Jewish tradition is vast and unfamiliar, and it seems as if we “float” on the surface, unable to truly enter. But eventually we can “dive in.” Through study, prayer, and communal participation, we start to swim; our kicking and splashing is our struggle with tradition, and we make our own unique “waves” in Jewish life.

The true impact of Shomer’s sonnet, though, comes with the closing couplet. Judaism is not “grievance or prayer,” the formal—sometimes impersonal—religious language. Judaism is like the swimmer’s gasp for breath—desperate, intimate, life-giving. Though repeated countless times, it is not routine, but dramatic and purposeful.

As we approach the month of Tishrei, we have many opportunities to refine our strokes, to plumb new depths, to gasp for breath, and even to breathe deeply. We have many holidays and services and plenty of time to reflect in between. Let us do this hard work and build better Jewish lives for ourselves, our families, and our community.

For Discussion:  Are there any books, poems, etc. you return to read again and again?  Share by leaving a comment!

Note: This post is based on a bulletin article I wrote while I was the rabbinic intern at the Rockdale Temple in Cincinnati.  If any of my friends there are reading this, I hope they don't mind.