Drafting pencil

I learned of the following poem from my mentor and colleague, Rabbi David Stern, and I am forever grateful for the gift of these words:

Special Orders by Edward Hirsch

Give me back my father walking the halls of Wertheimer Box and Paper Company with sawdust clinging to his shoes.

Give me back his tape measure and his keys, his drafting pencil and his order forms; give me his daydreams on lined paper.

I don’t understand the uncontainable grief. Whatever you had that never fit, whatever else you needed, believe me,

my father, who wanted your business, would squat down at your side and sketch you a container for it. 

I shared this treasure at a memorial service yesterday and could barely begin to say the words as it felt so true as I come to accept that my father’s physical presence is searingly absent. In these days of sermon drafts and soul accounting and vast wonder that we are here at all, I feel his absence intensely. But I also feel the opportunity— to learn and to evolve with this tender, broken heart and to live with an even greater sense of presence and purpose.

And how do we approach the collective sense of trembling we feel as 5786 begins only a week away? Perhaps, Hirsch’s words can guide us beyond the personal, reminding us of the immeasurable presence of Avinu Malkeinu, (Our Father, our King) of Imeinu Malkatanu (Our Mother, our Queen). For me, the majestic language for God is a partial picture of my faith. This year, may the King/Queen/Judge, rise from the throne or bench, and squat down beside me, us, helping lift our drafting pencil to imagine and create healing and wholeness for ourselves, our loved ones, our people, our world.

Shanah Tovah, dear ones.