Another one from the archives: Kol Nidre poem

This poem was first published in What Stays, my second chapbook of poems (Bennington Writing Seminars Alumni Chapbook Series, 2002.) It has been used in congregations and independent minyanim during Kol Nidre services.




KOL NIDRE


I.



My people break our promises publicly.

We stand and say "Hey, God, you know,



you can't hold us to anything really,

I mean we're creation, right?" We declare



all vows, promises, and oaths

of the year to come -- all vows we're too silent



or too weak or forgetful to uphold --

null and void in advance.



We say, "God, you're listening, right?" We say,

"Don't worry, God. We still feel guilt."



We are like wild grapes.

We are beautiful, and we are sour.



Forgive us, and forgive

the stranger in our midst.



II.


In Stolpce, my grandfather's town,

some sons ran away, abandoned God.

Joined the army, splashed water

on bare faces, cooked pea soup with bacon.

Even they would gather once a year,

press their ears to the synagogue door,

whisper the Aramaic words and weep.



My grandmother's house in Prague

had a Christmas tree up to the ceiling.

When children said she'd killed their God

she said, "That must have been the Polish Jews."

For Kol Nidre she wore her new fur coat

and walked the cobbled promenade.

At eighty she still fasted, stood and swayed.



Once my Hebrew teacher stood a girl

in the trash because she wouldn't learn.

I came home bursting with new sounds

and imitated his accent at the dinner table.

I argued with our yardman, a Jehovah's Witness.

Later Eloisa chewed him out in Spanish:

didn't he know what Jewish meant?



III.



So that our vows may no longer be vows

we knock on our breasts with loose fists,



we speak an abecedarium of sins.

We know the disclaimer only lasts so long;



next year we'll be back with our court

of three, holding scrolls, looking solemn.



We know how foolish we sound

but the melody is old, and makes us cry.

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Published on November 23, 2012 04:00
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