Category Archives: poetry

September 7, 2026 · 7:30 am

Tashlich

by Judith R. Robinson (Pittsburgh, PA)

We live the days

between the days

of awe and lamentation.

Down to the river’s edge

the pale rabbi treks, arrives,

sways, raises a fist

plump full of crumbs

to cast into the sparkling

current of hope.

Where are the fish?

Where are the fish big enough

to swallow these sins?

To eat our sins

and swim off, swim off, fish!

Take our sins with you!

Purify us, save us, 

let us begin again

souls washed clean again,

we pray 

       we pray 

             we pray

one more year 

         one more year 

                one more year.

Judith R. Robinson is an editor, teacher, fiction writer, poet and visual artist. A summa cum laude graduate of the University of Pittsburgh, she is listed in the Directory of American Poets and Writers. She has published 100+ poems, five poetry collections, one fiction collection; one novel; edited or co-edited eleven poetry collections. If you’d like to learn more about her and her work, visit her website: www.judithrrobinson.com

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August 24, 2026 · 7:30 am

Zayda’s Kiddush Cup

by Janice Alper (San Diego, CA)

The small silver cup was stowed
in steerage, it sailed across
an ocean to a new home. It
overflowed with red wine
every Friday night. Zayda’s
hand never trembled as he
mumbled the blessing to usher
in Shabbat. Now I hold it in my
hand carefully, as the wine spills
over to the sixth generation.

Janice Alper writes poems, personal essays, and memoirs. Her work has appeared in the San Diego Poetry Annual, Bristlecone, and California Bards, and other places. She is the author of Sitting on the Stoop: A Girl Grows in Brooklyn, 1944-1957. Janice is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry, from San Diego State University. Follow her at www.janicesjottings1.com

Editor’s note: “Zayda’s Kiddush Cup” was originally published on OftheBook (https://ofthebookpress.com) and is reprinted here with permission of the author.

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August 10, 2026 · 7:30 am

My Name is Chaim — Life!

By Herbert Munshine (Great Neck, NY)

We were Jewish when I was growing up,

American-style, New York-style Jewish,

the way our nearby kosher deli was kosher

but not kosher enough to be patronized by

the more religious Chasidim.

We patronized our local Temple Beth-El annually

on the High Holy days and smiled at all the strangers

in the fully seated congregation, pretended to

listen to the Hebrew prayers, imitated davening

with the others and nodded greetings of the day

when we all left to comfortably return to our

secular homes and apartments.

We knew that we were Jewish by the way we rooted

for the new-born state of Israel to survive the cold-

blooded attacks on its inchoate survival, by the way 

our friends celebrated holidays that others didn’t recognize, 

by the pride we felt when we noted the success of Uncle Miltie, 

the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers and Danny Kaye, 

Red Buttons, Tony Curtis and Kirk Douglas — and rooted 

hard for Sandy Koufax (even as we privately kvelled 

in the memory of the grand accomplishments of the player 

and the man named Hank Greenberg, who, I later found out, 

had attended the same high school as I did).

My father didn’t make a big deal about religion,

never spoke about his European youth, and called me

Chaim (never once using my American name).

It wasn’t till my own old age (sixty years after he

found his forever home in Jewish Heaven)

that the wisdom came to me to comprehend

my Jewish-Yiddish name.

He had escaped the hell of his Polish ghetto and

had married a Latvian beauty of a similar escape and,

after they thought they were done filling our home

with loving girls, ten years later, I appeared, a son, 

to be loved without condition, a son who somehow 

represented life, a promise of the continuation, 

not so much of our Jewishness but of our name 

and our mystical — more than mythical — connection 

to Moses and David and our new heroes of the decade 

of my birth, with names like Herzl, Ben-Gurion, 

Eban, Dayan, Allon and Meir.

We Jews know well how to survive and thrive.

We understand the holiness and the value and vitality of life.

Herbert Munshine grew up in the Bronx and graduated from C.C.N.Y. with both a B.S. in Education and a Master’s Degree in English. You can find his baseball poetry on Baseball Bard where he has had more than 100 poems published, and where he was recently inducted into that site’s Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife in Great Neck, NY.

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July 20, 2026 · 7:30 am

Immigrants All

by Miriam Bassuk (Seattle, WA)

I come from wandering Jews,

merchants, lawyers, teachers,

grocery store owners.

I come from those who rode steerage

slept above deck in turbulent seas,

walked miles as young teens

to depart from Bremen, Germany

leaving all they knew

speaking Russian, Polish, Yiddish,

carrying only brass candlesticks

and a few coins.

Born from a mother

who labored long,

the only one in her family

to be born in a hospital.

All the others were born at home,

assisted by midwives.

I remember flowers, bloated

peonies on dining room wallpaper,

lilacs and lilies of the valley

gathered in large bouquets

to grace our table. I remember

my mother as a lion,

my champion at school.

When teachers were difficult,

she sang for me.

Sang sweet songs

in a kitchen, her haven,

spoke Yiddish to her father,

a frequent visitor. I remember

hot nights, looking out 

my bedroom window.

Scents of honeysuckle and roses,

haunting train whistle,

far in the distance.

How we might stray far from our roots,

escape the cloistered life

of segregated neighborhoods,

only to return, imprinted

on some cellular level

by those early risk takers.

Miriam Bassuk’s poems have appeared in Snapdragon, Borderless, 3 Elements Review, and The Jewish Writing Project. She was one of the featured poets in WA 129 project sponsored by Tod Marshall, the Washington State poet laureate. As an avid poet, she has been charting the journey of living in these uncertain times.

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July 6, 2026 · 7:30 am

613 Bursting Seeds

by Lillian Farzan-Kashani (Santa Monica, CA)

Here I am

Watering the memories

Of reunions & separations

Love and grief

And surely all in between

While some have been able to exhale

Following October 8th

I fear it’s a facade

Tension lives here, still.

Some hostages freed, but horror flashes through me yet

On this walk, momentarily

I’m soothed by the sight of a pomegranate

Bursting with life above me

A living reminder of sacred potential. Multitudes of good.

And dare I say, of Peace

Soon, again, bewildered

I pass through olive branches

What an ironic symbol to bear

Knowing our neighbors are being terrorized

Amidst their ancient tradition of harvest

How is this OK?

How convenient for the self righteous ones on the hilltops to forget

Perhaps the most important out of the 613 seeds

We are to love our neighbors as ourselves. 

Far from it. They destroy themselves while tormenting others.

Time to overthrow.

Enough of the corrupt. The systemic injustice

Making a fool out of us.

Invest in the people on the ground

Return to tending to one another

Can you recall that far back?

My soul knows it’s true

We weren’t meant to live like this

Instead, we can invest in the land together

Holy, some say fruitful

An abundance, if we treat her right

In harmony

We can share the bounty, collectively contributing

We can come to rely on one another

Share the olives, the pomegranates

My mother had casually mentioned

Children are the fruit of love

And so we ought to protect

Even the smallest of seedlings

A whole universe therein

Writer by day and therapist by night–depending on the time zone–Lillian Farzan-Kashani is a bit of a digital nomad and much of her work as a poet is rooted in being a daughter of Iranian Jewish immigrants. Relatively new to all of this, her recent and forthcoming work can be found in Songs of the Earth by the LA Public Library (2024), Verse Virtual (July and November 2025), and Silver Birch Press (July and August 2025). Read more about her professional and creative pursuits at https://www.lillianfarzan.com/

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June 29, 2026 · 7:30 am

It’s Been My Experience

by Herbert Munshine (Great Neck, NY)


It’s been my experience 

that various congregations 

often feel they are the true Jews

and look down upon other divisions

of Judaism as not being holy enough. 

I find this disappointing, given 

the abundance of non-Jews

throughout history — Romans, 

Egyptians, Russians, and so many 

Europeans (from the Inquisition to 

the Holocaust) who have unjustifiably 

hated Jews of any and of all

denominations.

What I am saying is that

we have had enough enemies 

without attacking each other’s version

of our faith and the practices 

we share in our altered ways.

Why can’t we respect and cherish

each other’s version of Judaism 

instead of tearing it down

and learn to live with the varieties 

of Judaism, not just one?

Isn’t G-d’s synagogue large enough 

for all of us?

Herbert Munshine grew up in the Bronx and graduated from C.C.N.Y. with both a B.S. in Education and a Master’s Degree in English. You can find his baseball poetry on Baseball Bard where he has had more than 100 poems published, and where he was recently inducted into that site’s Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife in Great Neck, NY.

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June 22, 2026 · 7:30 am

The Pantheon of Brides and Grooms

by Barbara Krasner (Somerset, NJ)

On the marble and wood credenza I inherited

from my mother and Melray’s mid-century

modern furniture I’ve arranged an altar

of the wedding portraits of my ancestors: 

two sets of grandparents, one set 

of paternal grandparents. There are 

no existing photographs of the other grandparents—

either because they believed photography

would steal their souls or their images

drowned in vulnerable cardboard boxes

placed too close to the basement boiler.

One framed photo is of me, walking down

the aisle with my son at his wedding.

There is no wedding portrait of me.

Even in my mother’s dining room,

a gallery of wedding portraits 

of my sisters and their grooms,

mine was removed after the divorce,

subject to basement floods thereafter.

This curation at the altar reminds me

of where I came from, a reminder

of Yahrzeit candles to light

according to the dates I’ve registered

with HebCal, a reminder I’m alone

and yet not alone.

Barbara Krasner holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and a PhD in Holocaust & Genocide Studies (HGS) from Gratz College, where she teaches in the HGS graduate programs. The author of two poetry chapbooks and three novels in verse, her work has appeared in Jewish Literary Journal, Tiferet, Minyan, Jewishfiction.net, Michigan Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She serves as Director, Mercer County (NJ) Holocaust, Genocide & Human Rights Education Center.

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June 8, 2026 · 7:30 am

A Convenient God?

By Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

In times of trouble and surprise

people are apt to exclaim,

“Oh, God,” or “OMG”

to the heavens,

as if God is at their

personal beck and call.

I, being an agnostic Jew,

would like to believe, and

have often used the same expressions.

In a recent and regular cardiology

visit, I was told to immediately

get to the emergency room.

“Good thing you came in today.”

the doctor said. “You could have died

within weeks.”

““Oh my God!” I said, reflexively.

“Thank God,” I added, and was soon

implanted with a brand new pacemaker.

Now and for the immediate future

I can believe in God and (surgery)

and sing a psalm of gratitude

and hope to dwell in the house 

of the Lord forever and ever.

Mel Glenn, the author of twelve books for young adults, is working on a poetry book about the pandemic tentatively titled Pandemic, Poetry, and People. He has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years. You can find his most recent poems in the YA anthology, This Family Is Driving Me Crazy, edited by M. Jerry Weiss. If you’d like to learn more about his work, visit: http://www.melglenn.com/

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May 22, 2026 · 7:30 am

I Am Here Because

by Claudine Nash (New York, NY)

once I was standing

at the foot of the mountain

with every Jewish soul

who ever lived,

with whoever touched

the words of Torah

with silver yad

or daily deed,

because

no matter my age,

everyday

can be Shavuot,

everyday a re-receiving,

a re-reading of the world

through an ethical lens,

everyday

a new connection

to the Eternal,

to generations lost

and present,

to an ancient and

enduring chain

to which I am

a part.

Claudine Nash is an award-winning poet who lives and writes in New York.  She has authored five poetry collections, most notably Beginner’s Guide to Loss in the Multiverse (Blue Light Press, 2020) which won the 2020 Blue Light Book Award.  She has also edited three poetry collections and is a practicing psychologist. Widely published, her work has been nominated for the Pulitzer, Pushcart and Best of the Net prizes and briefly travelled through space as part of the Writers on the Moon time capsule of contemporary writing. 

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April 20, 2026 · 7:30 am

How My Father Shaped My Jewishness

By Herbert Munshine (Great Neck, NY)

My father never called me by what I call

my American name.

I was never Herbert, Herbie, Herb or even,

as a Scottish fellow teacher used to call me

during my time in West Africa for the Peace Corps,

Bertie. To my dad, I was always a very guttural “Chaim.”

I never questioned his choice.

(A Herb by any other name….)

To my teachers, my friends, my sisters,

I was Herb or Herbie but to my dad, I was consistently

Chaim. It was good and even comforting to be addressed

that way by him. In mature retrospection, I realize that

his use of the Hebrew name gave me my Jewish identity.

It’s as if he used the name to remind me of who I am:

a Jewish male, a descendant of a proud people,

a member of a not-so-massive group who love peace,

education, community, ambition;

a never-ending congregation whose members

represent the sacred holiness of life —

even in the face of constant enmity.

All this emanated from a name that has always

carried with it a truly deep meaning in the simple

yet complex translation: “Life!” In my final maturity,

as I reflect, even against my will,

I occasionally stumble onto wisdom

and realize the gentle options which

he offered up to me: Temple Emanuel visits

for major holidays, after-school Hebrew culture classes,

public school Hebrew language classes

(I won the Golden Ayin and was President

of the Hebrew Culture Club), two agonizing visits to

Jewish cemeteries. Even in the presence of death, I —

Chaim (my soul hears echoes of my father’s voice

together with a whisper of assurance from my mother) —

even in the midst of humbly resting Jewish souls

gone from one kind of community to

a much more peaceful one —

I am my father’s Chaim.

I am my lifetime definition

of a Jewish life!

Herbert Munshine grew up in the Bronx and graduated from C.C.N.Y. with both a B.S. in Education and a Master’s Degree in English. You can find his baseball poetry on Baseball Bard where he has had more than 100 poems published, and where he was recently inducted into that site’s Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife in Great Neck, NY.

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