The poems in this post are part of a special section, curated by Ori Z Soltes and Robert Bettmann, The Jewish Experience.

The Thread of Elul

What does thunder say and what storm
or visitor has come to quench the secret

thirst of the soul and how different the soft knocking
of the heart and can you bathe in the waters

of the breath? The dharma of a warrior is not to fight,
but to love, and how do you trust that your vulnerability

is your strength. Discernment is knowing that to hold
and to release are not two beads, but one thread.

A Woman of Valor

Walking by the fire pit at Shaker Village,
a group of older couples are gathered—
autumn, Kentucky.

My daughter points and says
Shabbat! Shabbat!
so loud—

In my daughter’s brain, fire
equals Shabbat.

Every week we light two candles and
say blessings. It doesn’t matter
that it’s never 18 minutes before sundown,
we just light them and get on with dinner.

But here, I’m self-conscious,
all their gazes turning towards us.
Someone else’s child would say fire.

For a moment, I’m 16 again,
in Krakow, sun gleaming across the Vistula.
We had just come from McDonald’s,

so full of teenagerness, we are loud,
the only ones on the bridge
until we see it, a shop cart full
of Jew dolls, little rabbis

with tails and horns
holding coins.

And a few years later,
on a trip to the Holocaust Museum—
I had already seen Auschwitz,

Majdanek, Treblinka.
I wept looking at dolls and games,
Nazi propaganda.
Proof that hatred can be taught—
marketed and sold.

And then, here I am again.
All woman, mother
lighting the match
of my voice.

Since October 7th, 2024

We are all doing what we can,
chopping vegetables,
picking berries.

We find shade from trees
who have seen the world before we were born.
We spread picnic blankets,

And dance in the fountain
while The Young At Heart band
plays songs from the 1930s.

We buy baked goods from the pretend bakeries
our children make for us
While everywhere there are hostages.

Someone else’s children malnourished
and all the rapes.
A few minutes ago they shot at 10 month old baby

in her mother’s arms.
The world, too terrible to make up.
We play at peace.

My daughter collects coins for tzedakah
and I count smiles and giggles,
my own thin shield.

I watch as she saves the spare change from the grocery store, the coffee shop.
The solidary clank as it lands in the dark box,
copper and silver light shining, even when not visible.

Carly Sachs is the author of the steam sequence and Descendants of Eve. She is the editor of the why and later, a collection of poems about rape and assault. Her poems and stories have been included in The Best American Poetry series and read on NPR’s Selected Shorts. She currently works for The Jewish Federation of the Bluegrass and teaches yoga at Wildfire Yoga.

Featured image in this post: Shabbat Candles, Olaf.herfurth, creative commons via wikimedia commons.