Faith

Leaving Our Egypt- A Path Unknown

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Wilderness or promised land?

You have been freed!

Hurry, because the slaves are leaving fast,

Having cheated the angel of death upon your doorstep.

At least for the moment . . . 

But there is a deadly new plague on the horizon.

Covid-19. 

Did your mystical God wreak the virus upon us?

I thought he was perhaps more powerful than our idols.

Hurry before Pharaoh changes his mind.

Or your people cower and decide to stay.

Bring only the essentials.

A dry unleavened cracker,

And vial of my hot magenta lipstick

Pharaoh’s wife cried.

Hurry my slave. 

Take your plagues with you!

Bring your sickness, destruction, and death.

You must leave the house of your birth.

Do not look behind.

Set out in the blackness, to wander an unknown path.

Will it be a barren wilderness? 

Or a promised land?

Can the promise of new life, 

Be sweeter than the safety of past misery?

As you stand on this beacon of light, 

Do you have the fortitude to step forward?

Go! You must hurry before you hesitate.

And fear to leave the tomb of your mind.

The Broken Easter Bunny

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From the chards of the chocolate Easter bunny and matzo crumbs come surrender.

The bunny was broken! Yet, he stood for sale in the window of Duane Reade with a noticeable gash. Maybe the store clerk didn’t notice that the confection had been maimed. It flew in the face of what we expect on Easter Day, this ancient rite of spring — garish hats decked with birds and flowers, perky marshmallow Peeps, and new pastel pumps. 

But then again, this was no normal holiday. Over the past months, humanity has been fleeing one another, only hoping to be spared from a modern-day plague. 

All at once, it hit me. Here was the perfect metaphor in a chain store window. It’s about me.I feel hollow and bruised like the boxed-in bunny. Frightened of slipping down the rabbit hole. My underpinnings have been torn away. I am fatigued from hoarding toilet paper and wee wee pads. Exhausted trying to figure out where this will all end.

All at once, the bunny spoke to me. “Yes, I am not perfect. I bring the parts of me that have been shattered and gutted to the full beauty of life’s experience. And so will you.” I stood dumbfounded on a painful Easter Day as I contemplated my broken humanity.

The Snowy Valentine

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I know we are not the same as when I came to my forever home seven years ago. Over the past year, my fur has turned snowy white. I blend into the pale comforter on the bed. My little face is wizened like a very old woman. I know when you look at me, you see a mirror image of yourself- your older reflection staring back, only through my still-loving, and devoted brown eyes. You do not hide or cover up my soft, silvery strands the way a humans does, trying to preserve the last shreds of youth. 

I have loved you more with each year that has passed. Old canine love is special—Each day is a precious gift as life fades away. I know you are taking more pictures of me. Even when I’m asleep. (You think I don’t notice, but I do…) You never complain about my many accidents. I dotry to go on the paper. I’m not able to stand on my paws for a bath, so you hold me in your water soaked arms. And our many trips to the vet—I perk up for those occasions so the doctor won’t worry about me. 

You don’t leave me alone nearly as much. I’m getting many more belly rubs. And you bring out my old favorite squeaky toys to try to renew my puppyhood When we walk outside you are behind me to gently hoist me up the stairs. Or to carry me. 

I don’t have to bark for you, my human. You are just there. I am your snowy Valentine. And you are mine. We are old dogs together. I wrap my paw around your hand. And there it will rest for the remainder of our journey.

You are my snowy Valentine

Passover- A Journey to Possibility

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Hurry my servant, you have been commanded to flee.

Along with 600,000 of your tribe.

After more than 400 years, you Jews have been freed.

Hurry, because the slaves are leaving fast,

Hurry before Pharaoh changes his mind.

Or your people cower and decide to stay.

Wear the baby pink toga,

With the flat, strappy Prada sandals.

You must pack light but look pretty.

Bring a vial of my hot magenta lipstick

Along with these gold coins.

Take my pearl ear bobbles,

I won’t need them anymore.

Pharaoh’s wife wept.

Here is charred lamb meat as a snack.

For you will need strength for your journey.

And pack some bread, although it is unleavened.

Do not wait for it to rise.

Pray to your mystical God for us,

As your divinity is more powerful than Ramses.

Hurry my slave, and take your plagues with you.

Your sickness, destruction, and death.

Take your wretchedness and stench of bondage.

Listen to me carefully.

You have been a faithful servant.

But you must leave the house of your birth.

Do not look behind.

Set out in the blackness,

Hurry, for you will be guided

By a vapor darker than the blackest shadow.

Run, into the magical unknown.

Believe, and you will find your way.

Go now before you hesitate.

And fear to leave the tomb of your mind.

Run, into the magical unknown 
Believe, and you will find your way.

I Put My Paw in Your Hand!

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My furry Valentine

Dear Mommy Jane,

Here is my Valentine to you

I realize it’s late, but I’m dealing with dog years!

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I love the tax returns

You give me to chew

If I can’t tear it, dear mommy,

Your manuscript will due.

I love the shredded carrots,

You give me to eat.

Watching you pick crumbs out of the carpet,

Is really a treat.

I love the balls you throw me,

As you jog through the room.

Not an athletic canine,

I nap, while you fume.

I love the Chinese food,

You order for me.

I hear the words “steamed chicken” (no sauce)

And I know I’m home free.

You give me medicine and nurse me to health.

I realize my care has cost you your wealth.

You took me to emergency rooms, 

Demand an IV.

All night, I sit on your lap,

For the doctors to see.

And when the sun first appears,

You scoop me up to go home,

My paw in your hand, we are never alone.

Love and licks,

Brie

Your furry Valentine

Valentine Me.

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I want to send more love into the world,

Instead of throwing kerosene on conflicts.

To be a source of happiness to others and myself,

And have more empathy and be slow to anger.

To stop playing God, and realize I am powerless,

Against the forces of nature,

And everything else.

I would like to be a walking red heart.

Even with the knowledge that the earth is dying.

That rage and racial hatred are like mother’s milk.

To turn it all this over, like a plate full of discarded peas,

At the foot of a higher power.

Who might have abandoned his creation.

Or taken a long summer vacation.

Or is plotting some kind of cover-up.

I wish you a Valentine with white fancy lace.

I will pray for chocolate anesthesia. 

Ask for grace,

And that salvation grows.

A happy valentine
Valentine Me.

Stuck in the Big Fish! A Story for Yom Kippur.

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grayboat

Have you ever been stuck in a big fish taxi?

 

Has God ever asked you to do something that you just didn’t want to do? Was there an important message you did not heed? Jonah had that happen to him. Here is his story.

God:

Jonah, here’s your mission. Go to the great city of Nineveh and tell the people who live there that their sins and wickedness have come to my attention.

Jonah:

Me? Go to Nineveh? That lousy neighborhood? It’s a hotbed of violent crime. There’s no industry. Their infrastructure is crumbling. Those thugs own the black market on weapons, Cedar and Tyrian purple. I don’t want to go to Nineveh. Anyway, those people are hopeless.

God:

Jonah, go to Nineveh.

Jonah:

No way. I’ll hop on a cruise ship and sail somewhere else — anywhere but Nineveh. I could use a vacation. Life is exhausting.

Narrator:

Jonah falls into a deep sleep aboard the ship when suddenly . . .

Sailor #1:

Excuse me, sir. Jonah, please wake up!

Jonah:

(Groggy.) I was taking a quick nap. What is it? What’s wrong?

Sailor #1:

A storm, sir. The crew tried everything. We’re afraid the ship will capsize in this wind. The captain sent me to ask you to pray to your God to help us.

(Sounds of storm increasing. The boat tosses to and fro.)

Sailor #2:

Jonah, we think this storm is your fault! What terrible thing have you done to bring all this trouble on us poor seamen? Tell us.

Jonah:

Listen, I am a Hebrew. But right now I am running away from Him and what He wants me to do. I didn’t think he could find me. A small boat on the sea must be outside of the Lord’s GPS.

Sailor #1:

What should we do? We’ve already thrown all the cargo off the ship and it hasn’t helped. We are all going to die.

Jonah:

I ran from my mission. The problem must be ME. I guess the Divine one really does see what I’m doing in secret. Pick me up and throw me into the sea.

Sailor #2:

No, sir, we can’t do that. That would be murder. Let’s try rowing again.

(Sounds of storm increasing.)

Sailor #1:

It’s no use. We are going to have to throw Jonah overboard. Oh God of Jonah, please don’t let us die.

Narrator:

The sailors throw Jonah overboard. While he doggy paddles in the turbulent sea, a large fish appeared and swallowed him up.

Fish:

Gulp!

(The storm fades into quiet.)

Stuck in the dark belly of the fish with no sheep’s milk or Netflix, Jonah prays to God. For three days and three nights, he lay there contemplating his life. That was quite a time out.

Jonah:

I’ve reevaluated this situation. Lord, my God, when I almost drowned, I called for help. And You listened to my cry. I will sing you a song of thanks. I will do what I have promised. Lord, I will not run. You are the one who saves.

God hears the prayer of Jonah and causes the fish to spit Jonah to vomit the reluctant prophet out on the shore. Then Jonah keeps his promise to God and goes to Nineveh.

(Sounds of crowded city)

Jonah:

People of Nineveh, I have a message for you from God. In 40 days, Nineveh will be destroyed because of your wickedness.

People of Nineveh:

Oh, no! We need to repent for our sins. We will wear black clothes and we won’t eat to show God how sorry we are. Please, Lord God, turn away your anger. We will turn our evil ways.

God:

I will have compassion on you, and I will not destroy you.

***

The Jonah story is traditionally read the afternoon of Yom Kippur, the Jewish High Holiday of repentance. Jonah runs from himself, from his people, moral responsibility, and God. But when things seem the most desolate, he turns his life around.

Like Jonah, I have been in the belly of the big fish. I’ve felt forever stuck. Unable to change my character and the direction of my life.

The central theme of the High Holiday season is we can return to our truest selves. Even when we “hit bottom” and descend to the depths of despair, change is possible. The way we are today need not be who we remain tomorrow. We are not condemned to stagnation, but can fashion a new way of being in our own lives.

The story of Jonah’s descent into the bleak netherworld urges us to transcend the impediments that prevent our personal transformation, and the creation of a more hopeful future. Jonah and the Ninevites choose life.

And so can we.

 

 

 

 

 

New Year’s Hope

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vincent-branciforti-506716-unsplash

I slammed my prayer book shut.

During the Selichot service, I was reciting the penitential poems and prayers leading up to Jewish high holidays. It was the time of contemplation that started a week before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, through Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. 

Where am I?  My annual report to God revealed a steep crash.

I reflected on the past year. In a fit of misery last January. I quit my “career” as an adjunct professor. The low pay, demanding workload, and lack of respect left me feeling depressed.  I had feelings of worthlessness, as well as a life of impending poverty. It’s academia’s dirty little secret. Teaching is the new Wal-Mart for highly educated professionals cast out of corporate jobs. With the savings on tenured professors salaries, institutions of higher learning can invest in what’s truly important. Football stadiums. Do you know who’s educating your children in the hallowed halls of academia?  It’s most probably, a beleaguered adjunct living out of her car. Yet, upon leaving, I felt a loss of identity. Sadly, I started out wanting to make a difference.

Soon after, I became ill.  First severe bronchitis, and then the flu, the mega strain that’s had been floating around the country (as well as South Korea.) The dreaded Noro disease– known as the poop and puke virus. I caught it, even though hadn’t even been on a Carnival cruise. I experienced a sickness I’d never known. Migraines, stomach flu, coughing and sneezing the wracked my rib cage. Even my mind was foggy. I couldn’t walk a short block to Starbucks. No coffee and muffin for me… Most days, I lay in bed, barely able to move. And even if I could, I was highly contagious. The malaise wouldn’t leave me.

After a week, I mustered the strength to see a doctor. My internist immediately diagnosed the malady.  She instructed me not to tell a soul that I had “ the Norovirus. It would cause a panic.”

“Can’t you kill it?”

“No. Only the warm weather makes it die. But that’s only three months away. March is around the corner.”  She shrugged.

“But here must some drug!“  I pleaded. The prospect of leaving her office without a prescription terrified me.  It would be a first. Even some sugar pills in clinical trials would have allayed my fear.

“An antibiotic would make it worse.”  She grimly added, “My patients are dropping like flies. This is the death of man.”

With that cheery thought, I returned home with no antidote.  For weeks, I lay in bed listening to the drone of MSNBC —the chatter of the daily Trump show wafting by… No one was allowed to visit. I was officially infectious. I was instructed not to touch people or kitchen surfaces. A yellow HAZMAT suit was in order. My friend Dave dropped a bottle of ginger ale in front of my door and then made a run for it. The night I spiked a high fever, I called him to ask if he would take my dog should I go to the hospital. Or expire. But then I texted to say I didn’t mean it…I started sobbing.  I can go either up or down.Which is it?  Awakening isn’t for sissies.

Praying in synagogue, I had an epiphany.  The malaise went beyond a physical malady. My life didn’t feel right anymore.  Like a pair of shoes that no longer fit– attractive stilettos that suddenly cause piercing pain and blisters. My passion had slipped away. I had fallen far from who I was supposed to be.

I must have some purpose I’ve been avoiding.

Soul weariness is never sudden. I refused to heed the shrieking in my gut until it was diagnosed as reflux.

Along with the congregation, I rose and chanted an ancient prayer for forgiveness. The melody was sad and full of longing, expressing the desire to repent and change. The words cried for life’s fleetingness.  And the longing to break the cycle of our lives and change for the better.

O Lord, hear our voice in the morning; in the morning we set them before You with hopeful expectation. Hear our voice…

I pleaded, “If my soul had a GPS, where would I be?

You have fallen into a sinkhole. Shouldn’t you have “transitioned” out of it by now?  The voice inside me taunted.

I wandered into hostile foreign terrain wearing lead army boots. It felt impossible to lift my feet out of the muck.

Who’s in command? What has set me off on this fallen path?”

The answer came from my heart.  It had been ME..

Over the past year, my inner compass jabbered in Polish, or some crazy language I didn’t understand.

Divine One. Couldn’t you give me a little nudge in the right direction? Silence.

I continued standing while the rabbis changed the outfit on the Torah scrolls — from their usual taupe velvet to High Holiday white silk.  

It’s always darkest before the dawn. Next week is a new year!

Dear God,

During this period of repentance,

Help me to forgive.

Myself first.

Please restore my heart.

And return my soul.

I bear grudges.

You don’t.

Jane

P.S. Did you receive the basket of apple and honey I sent you?

 

 

 

Unimaginable Tuesday!

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Pink Moon-

History was made today. On March 8, 2018, President Trump pulled out of the Iran nuclear deal. And with Neo Conservatives as advisors… It was nice knowing you! Saudi Arabia and Israel are cheering. Well, I’m sure Iran is a bad neighbor. They want the Persians to move. And perhaps the U.S. to do the packing. Is this a struggle over Middle-East astro turf? Our allies wasted trips to the White House, handshakes, tree planting, kisses, and hugs. And more? Ugh!

Oh, and the Russians are giving Trump’s lawyer, Mark Cohen, big bucks. Which explains all of the pandering. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you!

That’s the plan.

Signs of Spring

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Jane Ranzman Writer

Walking down Columbus Avenue in NYC, I passed storefronts and restaurants that were once my “old haunts.” But my hangouts were gone. A chain store remained. Or an abandoned space. I felt bittersweet sadness. There was hardly a remnant of my galavanting youth. I crossed the street and got a coffee in Starbucks. When I came out, I spied a small tree with bare branches. Pastel Easter eggs and bunnies were hanging from its tenuous limbs. A sign said “Happy Spring.” It had been right in front of me. I didn’t see it.

In my sadness, I saw there was redemption concealed.

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