By Raanan Geberer
BROOKLYN -- How many days a week do most people work. Five.
However, the New York State Department of Labor’s unemployment regulations seems to believe we all work four-day weeks. Don’t believe it? Look at the regulations for what happens when you work part-time while still receiving unemployment. Here it is, straight from the web site:
“Each day or part of a day of work will result in a payment of a partial benefit as follows:
1 day of work = 3/4 of your full rate
2 days of work = 1/2 of your full rate
3 days of work = 1/4 of your full rate
4 days of work = No benefits due”
Apparently, the Department of Labor doesn’t know basic math. Here’s another example: If someone has a part-time job and works even one hour, he or she forfeits the entire day! Again, thinking back to my math classes, I don’t think the typical workday is one hour.
If, say, a typical work day is supposed to be eight hours (and it rarely is nowadays, but let’s just pretend), then if a recipient of unemployment insurance works one hour, shouldn’t they forfeit one hour and be paid for seven (or six, depending on whether you count a lunch hour or not)? Also, if someone is on unemployment and works one day out of the week, shouldn’t he or she be paid four-fifths of his usual check, and not three-fourths?
The state’s antiquated rules were probably been formulated in a day and age when part-time work was extremely rare, and the great majority of people in the workforce worked either full-time or not at all. The original bureaucrats of the 1930s who formulated these regulations may well have thought that people who claimed part-time work were trying to get away with something, and wanted to make things difficult for them so they could find full-time work and get off the unemployment rolls.
This is no longer the case, if it ever was. The number of part-time workers, especially in service industries, has been rising, especially what the government calls the “involuntary part-time,” meaning those who would like to work full-time but aren’t able to find full-time jobs. Thus, discriminating against them by short-changing them gives them a double whammy, so to speak.
One may ask — won’t straightening this part-time situation take more money from our tax dollars? No, on the contrary — it will encourage part-time work, and the state Department of Labor may very well save money by having to pay out less! Look at it this way — say, there’s an unemployed person receiving unemployment insurance. He or she gets an offer to work three mornings a week. But because the rules say that if he or she works even one hour, he forfeits the entire day, that person decides not to take the job and risk his unemployment payments.
Now, however, that person will have no qualms about accepting the job because he’s sure that he’ll be treated fairly by the state, and the state will actually save money by only paying him for those hours he doesn’t work.
Back in the early 1930s, when one fourth of the American people were jobless, organizations of the unemployed sprang up everywhere. It’s largely thanks to these groups that we have unemployment insurance. If the current economic conditions continue, it’s only a matter of time before similar groups begin to emerge. And this issue – receiving unemployment benefits while working part-time – should be at the top of their list.
Originally published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle
Monday, February 16, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Israel and Gaza: Both Sides at Fault
By Raanan Geberer
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
BROOKLYN — As I’m writing this, Israel has launched a massive air attack on Hamas strongholds in Gaza. This followed a two-day period wherein Palestinian militants fired almost 200 rockets into Israel.
If you want to trace this situation back to its immediate cause (as opposed to addressing the overall Arab-Israeli conflict), one can look back to Ariel Sharon’s 2005 move to evacuate Israeli troops from Gaza. This seemed like a move of peace, but one must examine this closely. Israel refused to negotiate the pullout with the Palestinian Authority (then dominated by the moderate Fatah group). This basically ensured that Hamas would take over Gaza, and that there would be years of back-and-forth violence, thus preventing a true Israeli-Palestinian peace. This would then serve, in a bizarre way, the warlike aims of Gen. Sharon, who believed that peace can only be achieved by total victory. Sharon is gone — well, almost — but we are stuck with his legacy.
But taking a broader view, we can see that both Israel and the Arabs/Palestinians are at fault. The Arabs and Palestinians are at fault for:
Constantly making nasty, disrespectful and condescending remarks about Israel and the Jewish people in general. Read any statement by Hamas or Hizbollah leaders.
Trying to place a double standard on the state of Israel — i.e., it’s OK for almost all the Arab states to define themselves as Muslim in their basic laws, but if Israel defines itself as a Jewish state, it’s suddenly racist.
Constantly firing rockets at Israeli civilian targets — even though these rockets are inefficient, this doesn’t make those who fire them any less malevolent.
Denying the obvious historical connection between the Jewish people and the Biblical land of Israel. Kidnapping Israeli soldiers, and;
Perpetrating attacks against civilians, such as suicide bombings.
The Israelis are at fault for:
Putting Gaza under siege, thus denying civilians medicine, food and water and causing untold human misery.
Subjecting Palestinians to daily harassment and disrespect at border crossings, checkpoints and roadblocks. Israel’s aim in doing so very well may be to try to “encourage” as many Palestinians to emigrate as possible.
Denying Palestinians’ right (on many occasions) to engage in peaceful protest. Violating U.N. resolutions repeatedly.
Violating international law by engaging in torture and by detaining prisoners for long periods of time without being charged; and, perhaps most of all;
Playing by “gangster rules”: “If you kill one of ours, we’ll kill 10 of yours.”
In addition, it’s somewhat odd that whenever Israel makes a military move, the fallout ends peace talks already under way — in this case, talks between Israel and Syria. This brings up the question — do the ruling circles and military leaders in Israel really want peace, or do they want military dominance first and peace only on their own terms?
In an ideal world, I would advocate United Nations troops on both sides of the border, the banning of Muslim extremist groups such as Hamas and Hizbollah, and the banning of Israeli extremist groups as well, such as Avigdor Lieberman’s party (which seeks “transfer” of Israeli Arabs) and some of the settler organizations. I would also call for the end of Syrian influence in Lebanon as well as Iranian influence in the whole region (and hopefully someday, the internal overthrow of the Iranian fundamentalist regime).
Finally, although I cannot in good conscience call for an end to U.S. aid to Israel, since that would give free rein to its enemies to destroy it, I would call for the U.S. to scale down such aid so it matches the amount of aid the U.S. gives other nations.
(Note — Raanan Geberer, the managing editor of the Daily Eagle, has volunteered on two archaeological digs in Israel and was once a summer student at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. His father and uncle both were American volunteers in the Haganah, which became the Israel Army, during the first Arab-Israeli war in 1948.)
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
BROOKLYN — As I’m writing this, Israel has launched a massive air attack on Hamas strongholds in Gaza. This followed a two-day period wherein Palestinian militants fired almost 200 rockets into Israel.
If you want to trace this situation back to its immediate cause (as opposed to addressing the overall Arab-Israeli conflict), one can look back to Ariel Sharon’s 2005 move to evacuate Israeli troops from Gaza. This seemed like a move of peace, but one must examine this closely. Israel refused to negotiate the pullout with the Palestinian Authority (then dominated by the moderate Fatah group). This basically ensured that Hamas would take over Gaza, and that there would be years of back-and-forth violence, thus preventing a true Israeli-Palestinian peace. This would then serve, in a bizarre way, the warlike aims of Gen. Sharon, who believed that peace can only be achieved by total victory. Sharon is gone — well, almost — but we are stuck with his legacy.
But taking a broader view, we can see that both Israel and the Arabs/Palestinians are at fault. The Arabs and Palestinians are at fault for:
Constantly making nasty, disrespectful and condescending remarks about Israel and the Jewish people in general. Read any statement by Hamas or Hizbollah leaders.
Trying to place a double standard on the state of Israel — i.e., it’s OK for almost all the Arab states to define themselves as Muslim in their basic laws, but if Israel defines itself as a Jewish state, it’s suddenly racist.
Constantly firing rockets at Israeli civilian targets — even though these rockets are inefficient, this doesn’t make those who fire them any less malevolent.
Denying the obvious historical connection between the Jewish people and the Biblical land of Israel. Kidnapping Israeli soldiers, and;
Perpetrating attacks against civilians, such as suicide bombings.
The Israelis are at fault for:
Putting Gaza under siege, thus denying civilians medicine, food and water and causing untold human misery.
Subjecting Palestinians to daily harassment and disrespect at border crossings, checkpoints and roadblocks. Israel’s aim in doing so very well may be to try to “encourage” as many Palestinians to emigrate as possible.
Denying Palestinians’ right (on many occasions) to engage in peaceful protest. Violating U.N. resolutions repeatedly.
Violating international law by engaging in torture and by detaining prisoners for long periods of time without being charged; and, perhaps most of all;
Playing by “gangster rules”: “If you kill one of ours, we’ll kill 10 of yours.”
In addition, it’s somewhat odd that whenever Israel makes a military move, the fallout ends peace talks already under way — in this case, talks between Israel and Syria. This brings up the question — do the ruling circles and military leaders in Israel really want peace, or do they want military dominance first and peace only on their own terms?
In an ideal world, I would advocate United Nations troops on both sides of the border, the banning of Muslim extremist groups such as Hamas and Hizbollah, and the banning of Israeli extremist groups as well, such as Avigdor Lieberman’s party (which seeks “transfer” of Israeli Arabs) and some of the settler organizations. I would also call for the end of Syrian influence in Lebanon as well as Iranian influence in the whole region (and hopefully someday, the internal overthrow of the Iranian fundamentalist regime).
Finally, although I cannot in good conscience call for an end to U.S. aid to Israel, since that would give free rein to its enemies to destroy it, I would call for the U.S. to scale down such aid so it matches the amount of aid the U.S. gives other nations.
(Note — Raanan Geberer, the managing editor of the Daily Eagle, has volunteered on two archaeological digs in Israel and was once a summer student at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. His father and uncle both were American volunteers in the Haganah, which became the Israel Army, during the first Arab-Israeli war in 1948.)
Monday, December 29, 2008
These Boots Are Made for More Than Walking
By Raanan Geberer
Visiting Tomas Sladek, my Czech immigrant friend, in his new incarnation as a graduate student in engineering at Drexel University in Philadelphia raised a question in my mind: Would his newfound status change him?
After all, when I’d met him as an undergraduate at Brooklyn College, he was a drug user, a frequent shoplifter, an adulterer and a heavy drinker. From time to time, he also made outrageously racist, sexist and anti-Semitic jokes in public, not caring who heard them. All in all, these were not the type of qualities that would be considered ideal in a civil engineer, even though he was also a straight-A student. Would he now “go respectable?”
I followed him down busy Walnut Street -- which was hard to do, given how fast he walked -- to a stately old highrise building topped by a marquee with the name “Samuel Adams Hotel.” Walking into the lobby, I was stunned by the lack of activity. Looking past the desk into the rooms, it appeared that they were all empty. Mystified, I looked at Tomas, who was almost a head taller than I was.
“De hotel vent out of business,” he said rapidly in his deep voice. “Dey’re selling all kinds of tings dat ver in de rooms."
“Why don’t we take a look at what’s on these tables?” I said, motioning toward two tables in the back of the room. “Not so fast, not so fast,” he replied. “Come vit me!”
We took the elevator up to the 10th floor – a floor that was totally deserted. With the plain white rooms and white hallways and the furniture already gone, it looked to me more than anything else like a deserted nursing home. Tomas led me into one of the rooms.
“You see all de old brass doorknobs and chains? Dey must be vorth a lot of money!”
“So?” I asked.
“So?” he countered, smiling. He then reached into the high cowboy boots that every self-respecting twenty-something, myself included, wore in 1979. He took out two screwdrivers.
“Here,” he said. “Vun for you, vun for me!”
We spent the next five minutes or so unscrewing doorknobs and chains and stuffing them into our boots. On the way out of the building, Tomas suddenly went to one of the tables in the back of the lobby, then picked up a pillow as if to appear more legit.
“Is dis a fedder pillow?” he asked the middle-aged female cashier.
“What? … Oh, a feather pillow? Yes. It’s two dollars”
“I’ll take it, please,” he told her, taking out his wallet.
As we left, I found my answer to the questions I’d asked myself earlier that day. Yes, engineering student or not, Tomas was exactly the same as he’d always been.
Visiting Tomas Sladek, my Czech immigrant friend, in his new incarnation as a graduate student in engineering at Drexel University in Philadelphia raised a question in my mind: Would his newfound status change him?
After all, when I’d met him as an undergraduate at Brooklyn College, he was a drug user, a frequent shoplifter, an adulterer and a heavy drinker. From time to time, he also made outrageously racist, sexist and anti-Semitic jokes in public, not caring who heard them. All in all, these were not the type of qualities that would be considered ideal in a civil engineer, even though he was also a straight-A student. Would he now “go respectable?”
I followed him down busy Walnut Street -- which was hard to do, given how fast he walked -- to a stately old highrise building topped by a marquee with the name “Samuel Adams Hotel.” Walking into the lobby, I was stunned by the lack of activity. Looking past the desk into the rooms, it appeared that they were all empty. Mystified, I looked at Tomas, who was almost a head taller than I was.
“De hotel vent out of business,” he said rapidly in his deep voice. “Dey’re selling all kinds of tings dat ver in de rooms."
“Why don’t we take a look at what’s on these tables?” I said, motioning toward two tables in the back of the room. “Not so fast, not so fast,” he replied. “Come vit me!”
We took the elevator up to the 10th floor – a floor that was totally deserted. With the plain white rooms and white hallways and the furniture already gone, it looked to me more than anything else like a deserted nursing home. Tomas led me into one of the rooms.
“You see all de old brass doorknobs and chains? Dey must be vorth a lot of money!”
“So?” I asked.
“So?” he countered, smiling. He then reached into the high cowboy boots that every self-respecting twenty-something, myself included, wore in 1979. He took out two screwdrivers.
“Here,” he said. “Vun for you, vun for me!”
We spent the next five minutes or so unscrewing doorknobs and chains and stuffing them into our boots. On the way out of the building, Tomas suddenly went to one of the tables in the back of the lobby, then picked up a pillow as if to appear more legit.
“Is dis a fedder pillow?” he asked the middle-aged female cashier.
“What? … Oh, a feather pillow? Yes. It’s two dollars”
“I’ll take it, please,” he told her, taking out his wallet.
As we left, I found my answer to the questions I’d asked myself earlier that day. Yes, engineering student or not, Tomas was exactly the same as he’d always been.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Singing Dentist of Bensonhurst
The Singing Dentist of Bensonhurst
By Raanan Geberer
“When you begin/Begin the beguine/It brings back the night/Of tropical splendor....”
Dr. Pearlman sang as he looked into Rob’s mouth and started poking around, the curbed probe in one hand, the tiny mirror in the other. Ever since Rob had moved to Brooklyn last year, in 1987, his father had tried to get him to see Dr. Pearlman as a dentist because Dr. Pearlman was a cousin and had grown up with his father in the East Bronx, and finally, here he was. Dr. Pearlman’s office was on the second floor of a rundown two-story building on a nondescript commercial street in Bensonhurst whose only redeeming feature was the Italian bakery next door. You walked down a long, narrow hallway to get to Dr. Pearlman’s office.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H/ I got a gal in Kalamazoo/Don’t want to boast but I know she’s the toast/of Kalamazoo...”Rob had never heard of a singing dentist before. Not only does he sing, he thought, but he seems to sing only the songs of his own era, which would be the late 1930s and early ’40s. It’s incredible that this guy is still practicing, he thought. He must be in his late 60s, past retirement age. He idly glanced at the wall – here was a diploma from “New York University Dental School, June 1948.” Probably went to dental school on the G.I. Bill, he thought. Suddenly, he became alarmed when Dr. Pearlman picked up a drill.
“What are you doing with that drill? Aren’t you going to give me an anesthetic or an injection?”
“Well, the X-rays show that the cavity is very small and very near the surface, so we don’t need it. Open your mouth—you’re so good, you’re the best, you’re the champ. Here it comes. I’m not lazy! `I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle/As we go merrily along/And they say, ain’cha glad you’re single/And that song it ain’t too far from wrong’ ...You’re doing great! Don’t worry about anything. I’m the master! `In ‘76 the sky was red/Thunder rumbling overhead/King George couldn’t sleep in his bed/And on that morn/Uncle Sam was born’...You’re so good! Okay, rinse out your mouth!”
Rob bent over, grabbed a paper cup and rinsed his mouth. He watched the blood going down the drain. He had hardly felt anything. “There! That wasn’t so hard, was it? “ Dr. Pearlman asked. “I’m gonna do the filling now! You know, your father did some amazing, heroic things! Like the time he ran into the battlefield and carried the wounded lieutenant on his back to safety! They were gonna give him a medal for that, but, you know how it is!”
Rob had never heard that story before. Then again, his father rarely talked about his past. He was going to ask another question when....
“OK, we’re gonna put in the filling material next. Here it comes! Stay still! I’m not lazy! `Moon over Miami/Shine on as we begin/A dream or two that may come true/As the tide comes in.......’ Okay, just a little bit more. Just stay still. You’re the best! ...Bor’chu es adonai hamvoroch/Boruch atoh adonoi hamvoroch leolom voed/Boruch atoh adonoi/Eloheynoo melech ha’olam ... OK, we’re done here, kid!”
“I heard you singing that Hebrew brocho,” Rob said, referring to the blessing over the Torah that Dr. Pearlman had just intoned. “Wouldn’t those Hasidim I saw in the waiting room object if you sang that when they were here?”
“Fuhgedaboutit!” Dr. Pearlman responded, cheery as ever. “Don’t worry about them. They got nothin’ to say! OK, see you next time?”
“What should I pay?”
“Don’t pay anything! ‘’Cause you’re a relative, I’ll fix the insurance form so the price will be very high, so what they give me will cover what you should pay!”
“You don’t have a secretary?”
“Naah! I used to have a secretary, but if I did now, I’d have to charge you guys more! OK, kid! Give your regards to my father .....NEXT!!!”
By Raanan Geberer
“When you begin/Begin the beguine/It brings back the night/Of tropical splendor....”
Dr. Pearlman sang as he looked into Rob’s mouth and started poking around, the curbed probe in one hand, the tiny mirror in the other. Ever since Rob had moved to Brooklyn last year, in 1987, his father had tried to get him to see Dr. Pearlman as a dentist because Dr. Pearlman was a cousin and had grown up with his father in the East Bronx, and finally, here he was. Dr. Pearlman’s office was on the second floor of a rundown two-story building on a nondescript commercial street in Bensonhurst whose only redeeming feature was the Italian bakery next door. You walked down a long, narrow hallway to get to Dr. Pearlman’s office.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H/ I got a gal in Kalamazoo/Don’t want to boast but I know she’s the toast/of Kalamazoo...”Rob had never heard of a singing dentist before. Not only does he sing, he thought, but he seems to sing only the songs of his own era, which would be the late 1930s and early ’40s. It’s incredible that this guy is still practicing, he thought. He must be in his late 60s, past retirement age. He idly glanced at the wall – here was a diploma from “New York University Dental School, June 1948.” Probably went to dental school on the G.I. Bill, he thought. Suddenly, he became alarmed when Dr. Pearlman picked up a drill.
“What are you doing with that drill? Aren’t you going to give me an anesthetic or an injection?”
“Well, the X-rays show that the cavity is very small and very near the surface, so we don’t need it. Open your mouth—you’re so good, you’re the best, you’re the champ. Here it comes. I’m not lazy! `I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle/As we go merrily along/And they say, ain’cha glad you’re single/And that song it ain’t too far from wrong’ ...You’re doing great! Don’t worry about anything. I’m the master! `In ‘76 the sky was red/Thunder rumbling overhead/King George couldn’t sleep in his bed/And on that morn/Uncle Sam was born’...You’re so good! Okay, rinse out your mouth!”
Rob bent over, grabbed a paper cup and rinsed his mouth. He watched the blood going down the drain. He had hardly felt anything. “There! That wasn’t so hard, was it? “ Dr. Pearlman asked. “I’m gonna do the filling now! You know, your father did some amazing, heroic things! Like the time he ran into the battlefield and carried the wounded lieutenant on his back to safety! They were gonna give him a medal for that, but, you know how it is!”
Rob had never heard that story before. Then again, his father rarely talked about his past. He was going to ask another question when....
“OK, we’re gonna put in the filling material next. Here it comes! Stay still! I’m not lazy! `Moon over Miami/Shine on as we begin/A dream or two that may come true/As the tide comes in.......’ Okay, just a little bit more. Just stay still. You’re the best! ...Bor’chu es adonai hamvoroch/Boruch atoh adonoi hamvoroch leolom voed/Boruch atoh adonoi/Eloheynoo melech ha’olam ... OK, we’re done here, kid!”
“I heard you singing that Hebrew brocho,” Rob said, referring to the blessing over the Torah that Dr. Pearlman had just intoned. “Wouldn’t those Hasidim I saw in the waiting room object if you sang that when they were here?”
“Fuhgedaboutit!” Dr. Pearlman responded, cheery as ever. “Don’t worry about them. They got nothin’ to say! OK, see you next time?”
“What should I pay?”
“Don’t pay anything! ‘’Cause you’re a relative, I’ll fix the insurance form so the price will be very high, so what they give me will cover what you should pay!”
“You don’t have a secretary?”
“Naah! I used to have a secretary, but if I did now, I’d have to charge you guys more! OK, kid! Give your regards to my father .....NEXT!!!”
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Falling in Love by Rhea Lewin Geberer (wife)
Falling In Love
Love
came into
my life
while climbing
down a mountain,
holding onto astonishing roots,
afraid to fall,
afraid of fear.
Crouched and moving,
on a hot sun-lit afternoon,
perspiration making me
a funny face,
a day of wonders
and strange birds
in the sky.
When love came in,
the trees grew branches
before my eyes,
and the flowers deepened,
blues, reds, yellows,
and I needed to stop
for breath;
when I did
I didn’t know
if I could start again --
down the long trail
to the flat earth,
life as time, comings and goings,
after this time, this trip,
this imperfect pink rose given
to me by grace.
Love
came into
my life
while climbing
down a mountain,
holding onto astonishing roots,
afraid to fall,
afraid of fear.
Crouched and moving,
on a hot sun-lit afternoon,
perspiration making me
a funny face,
a day of wonders
and strange birds
in the sky.
When love came in,
the trees grew branches
before my eyes,
and the flowers deepened,
blues, reds, yellows,
and I needed to stop
for breath;
when I did
I didn’t know
if I could start again --
down the long trail
to the flat earth,
life as time, comings and goings,
after this time, this trip,
this imperfect pink rose given
to me by grace.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Unconditional Cat by Rhea Lewin Geberer (wife)
Unconditional Cat
Gravity's art
white-water falls
greys and amber.
Sculptured spaces
crystalline
dominant grace.
Unconditionally cat,
you awakened me
in a bracelet of greeting,
a circle of eyes, round
bodies of orange light -
I return your reflection
without conditions.
Eyes like fire closed in my arms
tired like a peaceable infant -
I return your meal of affection
without condition.
Love unnamed
unspoken
you hold me
without condition.
Gravity's art
white-water falls
greys and amber.
Sculptured spaces
crystalline
dominant grace.
Unconditionally cat,
you awakened me
in a bracelet of greeting,
a circle of eyes, round
bodies of orange light -
I return your reflection
without conditions.
Eyes like fire closed in my arms
tired like a peaceable infant -
I return your meal of affection
without condition.
Love unnamed
unspoken
you hold me
without condition.
Rosh Hashanah by Rhea Lewin Geberer (wife)
Rosh Hashanah Thoughts
Being Jewish
at Rosh Hashanah
is so different
for a woman like me
part-Jew
part-American
Manhattan-West Side
sophisticate,
or so I think
of myself at times;
wearing cool jeans
in my 50s
self-conscious
know-it-all progressive,
ironed with touches feminine
and naive
In the month of Elul
wind and branch
seem the work of God
and I thank Him
and I add to my charity
and I try to be good
but no longer as a child does,
being differently conscious
of goodness and the knowledge
it brings to us
becoming a perceiver
of G-d’s presence.
Limited things,
the mouth’s sudden
bend, words
cheer me
small mitzvahs,
small donations
but many.
There are many people,
many widows
many orphans,
intellects asleep
on lumpy sidewalk --
for many nights --
my favorite cause
I would say, hovering
about them,
Such chutzpah--
I could be their
favorite charity;
no makeup, body-and-
soul-size questionable,
unclouded, I would speak
of a donation
to their pantry
or lunch, and
they in turn
would teach me
to be fearless,
their small donation.
In Rosh Hashanah,
all are
inscribed--
one brimming book.
Being Jewish
at Rosh Hashanah
is so different
for a woman like me
part-Jew
part-American
Manhattan-West Side
sophisticate,
or so I think
of myself at times;
wearing cool jeans
in my 50s
self-conscious
know-it-all progressive,
ironed with touches feminine
and naive
In the month of Elul
wind and branch
seem the work of God
and I thank Him
and I add to my charity
and I try to be good
but no longer as a child does,
being differently conscious
of goodness and the knowledge
it brings to us
becoming a perceiver
of G-d’s presence.
Limited things,
the mouth’s sudden
bend, words
cheer me
small mitzvahs,
small donations
but many.
There are many people,
many widows
many orphans,
intellects asleep
on lumpy sidewalk --
for many nights --
my favorite cause
I would say, hovering
about them,
Such chutzpah--
I could be their
favorite charity;
no makeup, body-and-
soul-size questionable,
unclouded, I would speak
of a donation
to their pantry
or lunch, and
they in turn
would teach me
to be fearless,
their small donation.
In Rosh Hashanah,
all are
inscribed--
one brimming book.
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