Sing Hallelujah

By Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

 

Sing praise and

shout hallelujah

as bullets sing their siren song

and death is never far;

and sing praise

while fires rage and

children fall silent

behind barbed wire fences, and

children fall silent

with bellies distended, and

children fall silent

as their homes are devoured,

and they race against monsters and time.

Sing praise, for the monsters are winning.

 

Free the captive.

Feed the hungry.

Give shelter to those in need.

This is my song,

this praises my name –

Be kind.

Work for peace.

Hallelujah!

Hope is an action.

Pray with your feet.

Hallelujah!

Lift your eyes and see God

In the eyes of the other.

Hallelujah!

 

All the earth is holy ground.

The bush burns,

do you not see?

Open your eyes –

there are such wonders!

Open your heart –

there is such love!

Sing hallelujah!

 

This is my bounty.

This the glory.

For this we give thanks.

 

For the richness of life,

And the jagged edges that cut

and draw blood,

And the beauty

In the sound of rain

and silence,

 

We give thanks.

 

For the Creator of eternity

and time,

Who calls to us in darkness

and light,

In our hunger

And our want,

 

We give thanks.

 

For the fullness,

For the stones that bite

And the bedrock upon which we stand,

For the hands that lift us,

And the song that fills us

 

We give thanks.

 

For our breath,

For our bodies

For the grace of  healing,

And the blessing of light,

So that we can taste the sweet,

The sharp,

The weary,

Lonely,

Lovley

Holiness of this day

Sing hallelujah

And give thanks

 

An Absence of Color and Light

By Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

We sat among the willows,
and we wept,
there by the river
that flowed
clear and cold and swift,
–branches dancing,
barely dancing–
as they swayed
and swept the ground.

We stood among the weeping trees,
Prayers mixed with
visions of ash.
and smoke
that rose and billowed,
Black against purple-stained blue
— the blue of periwinkles
and royalty–
and a sky smudged with soot and
an absence of color
and Light,
and the altars we had left behind.

How can we sing
with no stone walls
adorned with lapis and gold:
— the blue of royalty
and the blaze of the sun–
How,
before that pillar of fire,
that billowing smoke
that is empty of God
and absent of Light?
That raged in a fiery, metallic storm,
licking at loose rubble,
that once was strong walls,
that once was adorned with
the presence of God?

We wept,
and did not sing,
and found no music
in our unstrung lyres
and broken harps.
We wept,
for how could we sing?

And after the weeping
and the fire
and the absent,
Empty,
broken altars–
Pale morning.
and skies of purple-stained blue
shot through with scarlet and gold.
Mist tangled in those willows,
their branches dancing–
barely dancing–
barely skimming the swiftly flowing waters.

A moment–
A breathless,
silent
sacred moment.
that was a psalm,
A hymn of color,
and holiness
Made anew.
And there was no absence.
And there was light.

And there,
among the willows
by that swiftly flowing river,
We found a new prayer
And sang.

 

For Tisha B’Av

 

Jacob Dreamed of Ladders & For Esau by Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

Jacob Dreamed of Ladders

It is not the going up

that interests me,

not the view from Heaven

nor the view from Tuesday—

today is struggle enough.

And I am downright fearful

of going down,

with its trickster promise of return

and illusion of solid ground.

Down is done backwards, after all,

the last step always more question

than answer.

In truth I am terrified of ladders,

of their rickety rattling restless motion,

of the balance they require,

the perfection.

Easier—

infinitely easier—

to wrestle with myself

on the ground.

For Esau

Thief!

Liar and thief!

Despite all you stole,

I loved you still.

I would have given anything

if you’d asked.

Instead your shadow

smothered my birthright,

my heat.

Thief!

You stole the light of heaven,

the love of our mother,

even our father’s faulty eyes.

You took it all and left me—

what does one call a shadow

of a shadow?

Of betrayal you made a nation

numberless as the sand and stars.

Because you knew God,

you were blessed and cursed

and beloved.

You knew God,

but I learned forgiveness.

And so I bless you and curse you

and love you more still.