So the cycle circles round endings unfold into beginnings.
You've reached a quiet marker on the roadside, a threshold, the road yet stretching ahead of you parts seen and known, parts yet to be revealed the sweet gift and challenge of walking in this world.
Time to savor the moment before picking up your walking stick and continuing on your way into the life that awaits you.
You stand at a powerful threshold, parts of self dying and parts about to be freshly born, and call upon the name of God, HaRachaman
HaRachman, You Who delivered me into life, You Who travels alongside me, I stand with You now, all my candles aflame. We stand together, a pillar of fire, burning in the darkness of the night, in this moon of endings and beginnings.
HaRachaman, You Who tend me lovingly, You Who catch me when I fall and Who helps me rise up again, in this moon when I know light is returning, but I can't yet see it's traces, in this moon where night yet reigns, I tread a walk of faith, my eyes open, my arms extended, the journey of life itself.
HaRahaman, You Who hold me close, You Who rallies by my side, Who guides me to safety, I enter this moon of water, when earth and sky meet in embrace when the rains come down deeply drenching the Land, soaking the seeds, washing the trees roots, refilling the wadis, the caverns overflowing once again with song.
I descend into the soft darkness of Tevet, and let her teachings and magic play upon my soul, shaping it, wet mud from the rains, stuff of life, messy, rich with lives gone by, decaying plant leaves and small white animal bones slip together creating clay from which to sculpt my life anew.
HaRachaman, You Who watch out for me, You Who want me to be all that I can be, in this moon of Tevet there is quiet space with room enough, space and quiet enough, deep and full enough, to hold all of who I am, the parts seen, as well as those trying to reveal themselves. This my soul needs, just as the cisterns which now fill up again with heavy rains, relief of water filling up, filling up, filling up again my dry places. So may I emerge from this moon of night, from the depths, with new life.
Kindle all my flames, free me from the shadows, that I might offer up my abundance, that I might adorn Your world with radiance.
Be with me HaRachaman and aid me. You Who walk beside me in my days, You Who protect me in my nights, HaRachaman.
The vastness of night, like a great ocean, surrounds you now while your soul whispers the name of God, HaKodesh.
Holy One, You Who fosters all life, I stand in the dim of the waning moon, at the darkest time of year. I have journeyed far and wide and I am weary now. I have struggled and claimed my traditions. I have wrestled with forces greater than I. The road has been long, the battles lengthy, and I am worn.
Holy One, You Who illuminate my being, aid me summon up courage and stubbornness, persistence and hope. You Who restores all souls, hold me now, embrace me, bathe me and cleanse me, wash away the impurities of my travel. Help me emerge clear and fresh again, my inner courtyards shining again, ready for the sacred ceremonies.
You Who kiss each life awake, help me find my hidden vessel of sacred oil. Fill my lamp, pour Your pure rich golden oil, the first press of olives over me, that I might soften and heal.
Fill me. Fill my containers up.
O Holy One, You Who treasure all creation, aid me re-consecrate myself, my body, my spirit, my soul. You Who I am but a particle of, renew my life force, kindle my flames.
And each night, one by one, increase my light. That I might ever shine and sing Your song in this darkest of nights.
Holy One, walk with me and light my way.
As I light this candle, so too may You kindle my seven inner flames and the eighth, that I may know wholeness.
I rededicate myself this night to that which You wish of me. May I walk in the path of Your light.
Your soul yearns for tending in this time of deepest night, and calls upon the name of God, Ha'G'vurah
HaG'vurah, You Who sculpts the caves deep within the earth, Who soothes the ocean's waters, You come to me in this Moon of Kislev to teach me of true power.
Kislev nestles on the edge of winter, month in the Land where rains sweep across the face of the earth, thistles softly green wave in the wind, and harvests of oranges blend with stories of courage and miracles, fear and wonders.
HaG'vurah, You Who sprinkles the stars throughout the heavens, Who holds the planets in place, You teach me of the many forms of strength. Strength of muscle and of voice, strength of coppers and of spirit, strength of action and of stillness, strength of struggle and of release, strength of laughter and strength of tears, strength in daily living, and moment to moment choosing life.
HaG'vurah, You Who spreads the sun's rays each morning Who paints the clouds with light, You instruct me of the many forms of might. Might of position and of person, might of gold and of presence, might of speaking and of listening, might of confidence and of humility, might of compassion and of companioning, might in daily living, and moment to moment walking with faith.
HaG'vurah, help me to stand with You. Renew my energies that I might join You, to assist those who are failing and protect those who are fragile, to support those who are weary and defend those who are vulnerable, to lift those who have fallen and shield those who have become weakened through the rounds and turns of life.
HaG'vurah, grant me continued vigor. Refortify me, that I might continue to find my power and to use it once uncovered with wisdom.
In this Moon of Kislev, gird me, You Who are my strength and shield, HaG'vurah
You can feel the earth's changes, the tide of night rising around you. And so you call upon the name of God HaMakom your place, your haven, in this time of transformation.
HaMakom, in this moon of Cheshvan You teach me to learn from the trees. They rise in radiant splendor, their rich reds, deep clarets and brilliant golds gleaming on the hillsides, showing me the way to walk in this world, with quiet dignity, colors aflame, soul shining in beauty, gently releasing that which is no longer needed so as to stand more lightly in this world.
Cheshvan arrives, season of sowing in the Land. Barley and wheat are tucked into earth's bed to sleep and rise in the spring. You teach me now is the time to plant seeds, which in order to sprout requires exposure to cool air and deep rest. So too do I need travel through my chilled spells, my times of darkness, that I might rise in my season, gifting nourishment to this world.
In Cheshvan in the Land, storks and cranes on route to the south take respite in the fields, blanketing them in white. So you show me that cycles ever keep turning, to watch for the gifts which periodically descend, the storks, harbingers, of promise yet to come.
In Cheshvan the farmers gently lay the newly plucked olives into their garlicky brine, that they might in quiet turn to luscious morsels. After reviewing my harvest, cleansing my spirit, living in the elements and dancing in joy, I too now eagerly enter into the tantalizing invitation of the velvety quiet, to absorb, reflect, shift shape, rest my soles.
For just as the earth wraps herself in fallen leaves and composting flowers, in pine needles and fugitive nuts, tree's cast off clothing, lying down to rest, so too do I need pause and tuck myself inwards, relearning that my native resources lie within my own soil which in season needs enriching, replenishing, and restoration.
HaMakom, You Who guide me to my place, You in Whom my place lies, succor me during this season of frost. Grant me warm shelter as I turn to You as I return to myself, HaMakom.
Yedid Nefesh, Heart of my hearts, Soul of my souls, come dance with me.
It's time, it's time to dance, my Loved One, come this night and dance.
Yedid Nefesh, You Whom I adore, just as I pray for rain, that my fields and gardens may bring forth new life, so do I dance my thanksgiving for Your wisdoms, which water my spirit, nourishing my inner lands. And so, in celebration, I dance to You. You Who gives me life, this dance is for You.
As the moon grows dim, come dance with me. Place Your hand in mine. For this is the evening of endings, and this is the evening of beginnings, the eternal dance of life. And You, You thread through it all, traveling with me through closings, the dying times, into the rewindings, the reworkings, through that which is seen and that which lies hidden, through that which is known and that which is mystery, through that which is written, and that which lies awaiting to be expressed, I dance with You, my Partner, through it all, through all the cycles of my life, ever returning to the start, that poignant, fresh, glistening point, font of burgeoning life.
So come Yedid Nefesh, let us dancethe dance eternal. You Who my soul adores.
One of the early women in the rabbinate, I was ordained in 1979 from HUC-JIR, Cincinnati.
For a fuller sense of my route, do see my bio.
Currently I'm serving Congregation Shaareth Israel, and am savoring the sun and the beautiful, breathtaking sweep of the broad Texan sky.
Please see my website for Moorings, newsletters for Jewish bereaved, Prayer-poems for each moon and for each holy day, rituals, additional writings and resume.
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