The Holiday Season

Instead of a mezuzah, on the side of the refrigerator, near the entrance to my home, hang an assortment of magnets, each with its own history, and under the magnets my grandchildren’s artwork. This week I replaced some of their old drawings with a new piece; a piece of purple construction paper with popsicle sticks and small multi-colored pompoms glued onto it in the shape of a heart. Like a mezuzah, this work blesses my home and keeps it holy. Unlike a mezuzah, there is no other heart quite like it. The blessings this heart offers are particular to me.

It is easy for me to forget my blessings, or to ignore them. The poet, Miriam Sagan, asks, on social media, something like whether anyone keeps a gratitude diary. Yes, I reply. Each day I list in my journal, or try to remember to list, at least three things about my day for which I am grateful. Sometimes I forget, and the conversations I later have with myself about why I may have forgotten, perhaps for days on end, can be powerful.

I understand writing down the things for which I am grateful seems corny. Such is the nature of ritual. When something works and has worked for a long time, perhaps for generations, it becomes trite. It becomes easy to ignore efficacy and replace that with cynicism. Recognizing the many things for which I have reason to be grateful is a shield against hopelessness and despair.

One blessing of old age is the ability to recognize that a popsicle stick heart is a fierce talisman, that a mere glance at it can bring deep joy. We live in an age that’s short on joy, a point, I think that Kamala Harris is trying to get across whether she believes it or not. Joy doesn’t need to be shot out of a cannon. Joy can be a baked apple with cinnamon.

And this is the season of apples. Apples and honey as the New Year comes around again. America does not think of this time in early fall as the Holiday Season, but I do. Big time. My kitchen is filled with apples picked yesterday. I will stock up on local honey at the farmer’s market. Later in the week I will go to synagogue, rather I will go to the Central Presbyterian Church where my congregation, Bnai Keshet, has held High Holiday services for decades. I will be comforted by the familiarity of the service, the meditative chanting. I will spend time with people I have not seen or hardly seen in the last year. All of this will bring me joy.

So many friends died this year, so many illnesses, and the wars, the wars. We just will not stop killing one another. And hurricanes and storm damage. And elections. Much of my writing comes from these very dark places of grief and of loss. There is so much wrong and so many I am unable to forgive.

But my grandchildren make pictures for me, and I hang them on the refrigerator, and I think about gratitude. It’s simple My home is blessed, and I am blessed. I focus on all the good luck I have had in my life. I am, after all, alive. It’s amazing, and I am grateful.

****

It’s the ALTE tradition to share joy with you this holiday season with a Zoom get together. We will meet on Tuesday, October 8 at 7:00 p.m. We would like you to come. Bring your answer to this question: What is your wish (other than as it relates to the Middle East or to war anywhere in the world or to the November election. We know, those are all the things we may all be thinking about, and we are sorry) for 5785? To request the Zoom link email altetogether at gmail.com. Even if you think you won’t know a single person on the call, come anyway. Hope to see you there.

****

P.S. I had the privilege to participate in the Boston Poetry Marathon this morning. If you would like to hear me read three short poems, here is the YouTube link.

  You will find me at about the 15 minute mark.

May 5785 bring peace to all. Wishing you and yours a Sweet New Year. L’Shanah Tovah.