Massachusetts 7, or The Sweetness of a New Year

Note: this entry contains lots of references to both religious and secular Jewish culture. Every year I do a freewrite on Rosh Hashannah, and on Yom Kippur, and this is a part of that exercise, so I'm not going to make explanations or treat it like a normal essay.

Jews are filling my world tonight.
Just now, from downstairs, I heard a quick Kiddush
flung into the stairwell like an old pair of boots,
"boreiiiii priiiii ha'gafen..."
except they're blessing beer, if I'm not mistaken.

This year, I want my actions to be
motivated by kindness. Not nice.
It is too easy to be nice without being kind.

I held the rabbi's youngest daughter in my arms
tonight and sang shehechianu to her soft seashell ears
while her mother fed her tiny bites of oatmeal - her first
solid food.

This year, I want to celebrate the newness of things.
To do this, I must create new things.
Like pottery, and poetry, and friendships.

Shana tovah u'metukah,
good and sweet year,
sweet with the neighbor's fresh honey
tasting home's flowers on my fingertips.

Normally, I prefer savory tastes to sweet ones.

This year, I want to savor all the sweetness.
To do this, I must create sweetness.
Sweetness is when people smile at a baby
from all the way across a room while she's
in my arms, eating oatmeal.

O, G-d,
notice my prayers
like you would smile at a baby,
eating.