Weaving our stories
Following on from last week's post about ritual, I found this article from the magazine Lilith a delightful gallop through women's stories around their tallitot.
http://www.lilith.org/pdfs/tallit_fall06.pdf
So many stories are interwoven in these ritual items, and story telling seems to me an important part of the female Jewish voice (of course also an essential for a Jewish voice in general!). It reminded me of one of my favourite poems, a reminder that all our voices joined together are so much more powerful, and helping each person find their story in Judaism and find where their voice will add to the harmony, is one of the greatest privileges of being a Rabbi:
http://www.lilith.org/pdfs/tallit_fall06.pdf
So many stories are interwoven in these ritual items, and story telling seems to me an important part of the female Jewish voice (of course also an essential for a Jewish voice in general!). It reminded me of one of my favourite poems, a reminder that all our voices joined together are so much more powerful, and helping each person find their story in Judaism and find where their voice will add to the harmony, is one of the greatest privileges of being a Rabbi:
Merle Feld, “We All Stood Together,” A Spiritual Life: A Jewish Feminist Journey, p. 205.
My brother and I were at Sinai
He kept a journal
of what he saw
of what he heard
of what it all meant to him
I wish I had such a record
of what happened to me
It seems like every time I want to write
I can't
I'm always holding a baby
one of my own
or one of my friend
always holding a baby
so my hands are never free
to write things down
And then
As time passes
the particulars
the hard data
the who what when where why
slip away from me
and all I'm left with is
the feeling
But feelings are just sounds
The vowel barking of a mute
my brother is so sure of what he heard
after all he's got a record of it
consonant after consonant after consonant
If we remembered it together
we could recreate holy time
sparks flying
He kept a journal
of what he saw
of what he heard
of what it all meant to him
I wish I had such a record
of what happened to me
It seems like every time I want to write
I can't
I'm always holding a baby
one of my own
or one of my friend
always holding a baby
so my hands are never free
to write things down
And then
As time passes
the particulars
the hard data
the who what when where why
slip away from me
and all I'm left with is
the feeling
But feelings are just sounds
The vowel barking of a mute
my brother is so sure of what he heard
after all he's got a record of it
consonant after consonant after consonant
If we remembered it together
we could recreate holy time
sparks flying
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