Tradition & Innovation
Powered By The Reconstructionist Movement


By Judith Sarah Schmidt

the colors of the flowers
are becoming quiet
a ripe apple falls gently
like love
into my hands
bees gather their last
honeyed harvest
all is wrapped in stilled tenderness

crossing over to the mainland
the ferry master cautions us to
hold our ears
as the horn blasts through
the morning fog
I do not cover my ears
I let it be a shofar sound
circling me
in these last days of summer
toward the harvesting
of my heart

to search and weigh and sort
golden songs dark silences
flowering fallen seeds
the lost and found
and never to be found
of this year this life

hesed hands raise up
the shofar's cry
lift the heart
like a white lamb
bleating prayers of praise
for the plenitude
of these days
bleating prayers of tears
for the starving, sick bodies
the senseless bloodshed
this year

awaken us peace Your sleepers
remember us peace Your forgetters
spare us
prepare us
pierce our hearts
to come open toward
the first star
the opening of the neilah gates
receive us into Your gates
Your seed offerings

plant us anew
into the new year
and as evening descends
on that last night
as the gates of heaven
begin to close
wrap us just a little longer
in the lingering scent
of the infinite flowering
of Your love