Welcome into the new week, shavua tov. I hope you were able to have some time connecting to a loved one this Shabbat, maybe to cherished community via Zoom. Virtual connections can both fall woefully short of a real hug and kiss but still sustain us by breaking through isolation. In just a little while, we’ll Zoom with our havurah which normally meets for Shabbos afternoon study and a potluck supper, rotating from home to home. When I sent out the “invite,” I playfully added, “I’ll be bringing challah and salmon as usual,” and people responded - “I’ll bring the salad” and “I’ll bring bourbon cake.”
In that vein, the first of two very different offerings to share today, a video I’ve repeatedly enjoyed since I saw it on YouTube. Each time I laugh all over again at its truth, its fierce and stubborn spirit: an Israeli mother of four protests homeschooling, releasing her tension and ours with defiance and humor - bless her! [You’ll need to maximize the screen to see the subtitles; then minimize to return to this page.]
The second offering is a poem I woke up with one recent morning, unable to block from my mind the dark realities of those who are suffering most right now.
I pray for those, and those
How vastly different, the lives of those at home with toddlers
and small children, suddenly no reprieve, no relief, learning
the hard way about life in the trenches, 24/7.
And those at home with a violent parent who rages. They too,
without reprieve, watching, listening, waiting.
Those at home with a so-called partner, respect having eroded
and crumbled years before, so many hours with nothing to say.
Those at home with the invalid, the incapacitated, who demands,
demands, who’s forgotten please and thank you,
if those words were ever known.
Those at home, bereft of shopping therapy, not able to walk
the malls, dazed, sedated - deprived of the escape the mall offers.
Those at home with an addict, desperate, withdrawing.
Those at home with the first newborn, terrified, nascent parents
like the seder child who does not even know how to ask a question.
Those at home with loved ones far away, or just down the street –
immeasurably separated, the yearning burning.
And those fleeing what was once home, now on the long immigrant
road, suspended in space.
And those in prison, struggling to hold onto one sweet memory of home,
or bereft of such a memory altogether.
And of course, those who sit on the streets with hand-lettered signs –
I’m homeless, please help.
Merle Feld (c) 2020
What’s hardest for you in these days? Who/what are the lifelines you can reach for? What inner strengths and capacities can you call on? How can you cultivate compassion for yourself?
As for me, I struggle to maintain my equilibrium. Sorrow for the pain of others can immobilize me. When I find concrete ways to help, to be of some use, I lift my own spirits.
Is that true for you? Who can you help, and how? [Offer to shop for those who cannot; ask parents you know if you can read/tell stories virtually to their young children; continue paying those who work for you; dig deeper to financially support food banks and other local/national programs…]
Please share your own ideas of how to be useful, how to help, in the comments section below.