Tag Archives: grandmothers and granddaughters

Shabbat

by Penny Perry (Fallbrook, CA)

My six-year-old granddaughter

comes home from school

and declares, “Jesus saved me.”

My four-year-old granddaughter

echoes, “Jesus.”

“I need to tell them who we are,”

my daughter says.

My daughter found Judaism on her own.

I’m a Jew with Buddhist tendencies.

I pray to God and escort live spiders

from the shower to the grass.

My daughter gathers flour, honey,

eggs, oil, sugar, and yeast,

pours them in a mixer. The mixer hums.

She hums, lets the dough rise,

rolls the dough out.

She’s beautiful in her pink dress

and shawl, her hair tied back,

one loose curl.

She shapes the dough into four braids

and weaves them into a loaf.

She brushes the loaf with an egg wash,

bakes the bread to a golden brown.

She tells her daughters that all over

the world at sundown on Shabbat Jewish women

light candles. The candles she picks

are small with tiny flames. She places

each candle in a glass and puts them

on the cupboard. Each girl will have a candle of her own.

My daughter shows her daughters her book

of prayers, her Hebrew name embossed

on the cover. She says a prayer

in a language her girls have never

heard before. She asks them to close

their eyes and picture God,

says God loves them and will keep them safe.

I don’t tell my daughter that a friend

carries her flour and honey,

eggs and oil to the synagogue, 

where police in uniforms holster

their Glocks, guard the temple,

so my friend can bake and worship

in peace.

My granddaughters stand in their dresses,

their eyes closed.

I picture them as grown up mothers praying

in their kitchens at sundown.

I wipe my eyes, breathe in the scent of baking bread.

Penny Perry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize six times, by six different publishers. Garden Oak Press has published two of her poetry books, Santa Monica Disposal and Salvage and Woman with Newspaper Shoes. Her poetry has appeared in many publications, including Earth’s Daughters, Lilith, Poetry International, San Diego Poetry Annual, Paterson Literary Review, Mid-Atlantic Review, and Limestone Circle. Her novel Selling Pencils and Charlie was a finalist in the San Diego Book Awards. She was the prose editor at Knot Literary Magazine for ten years. In the early 1970’s, she was one of the first female screenwriting fellows at the American Film Institute; a screenplay she wrote there became a film on PBS. 

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Filed under American Jewry, Family history, Jewish, Jewish identity, Jewish writing, Judaism, poetry

History

by Hamutal Bar-Yosef, translated by Esther Cameron (Jerusalem, Israel)

In the year 1939 my mother,

who lived on a socialist kibbutz,

got a letter from her bourgeois mother

asking whether, in her opinion,

it would be worthwhile to move to Palestine.

Not worthwhile, my mother wrote back with roughened fingers.

Here you would not have servants.

Even jewelry, which you love so much,

even your wedding ring, would be frowned on here.

In the year 1949 my mother,

recently bereaved of her only son,

volunteered to help in a transit camp for immigrants.

What kind of help do you need? my mother asked

the woman from Iraq.

Can you polish my nails? asked the woman

and held out to my mother

long, delicate fingers adorned with rings.

Hamutal Bar-Yosef was born in 1940 on Kibbutz Tel Yosef. She studied comparative literature, philosophy and Hebrew literature at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. She is professor emerita at Ben-Gurion University. Bar-Yosef has published 17 collections of poetry, besides books of literary scholarship, essays, fiction, and translations from Russian, French, English and Yiddish. She has received numerous prizes, including the Israel President’s Prize for Poetry and the Prime Minister’s Prize for Poetry.  Her poems have been translated into 16 languages. 

Esther Cameron is an American-born poet, essayist, editor and translator living in Jerusalem.  She translated Bar-Yosef’s previous collection, The Ladder, and novel, The Wealthy.  Her own poems have appeared in various periodicals in Israel and America; a monograph, Western Art and Jewish Presence in the Work of Paul Celan, appeared with Lexington Books in 2014.  Her Collected Works are available on Amazon. She is founding editor of The Deronda Review.  

Editor’s Note: The poems are from Bar-Yosef’s and Cameron’s book The Miraculous Mistake, forthcoming from Sheep Meadow Press.

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Filed under Family history, history, Israel Jewry, Jewish, Jewish identity, Jewish writing, Judaism, poetry

The Back of Our Hands                 

by Annette Friend (Del Mar, CA)

My nephew’s afternoon wedding in upgraded

Jersey City— a rose covered Chuppah overlooks

the sun-speckled Hudson River, the jagged NYC skyline.

My granddaughter, six, sits on my lap,

in a flowered pink dress, beige patent leather

shoes with tiny bows, softly touches the back

of my hand, traces brown liver spots, blue veins,

red splotches of skin damaged by too much sun,

baby oil slathered teenage skin at the Jersey Shore.

Her pure, pink skin, unblemished, smooth

as rose petals, in stark contrast to my time splattered

covering.  She maps the spots up and down my arm

as if trying to decipher clues about my life.

“What happened here?” she whispers,

points to a thin white scar on my thumb.

“Cut myself with a knife making latkes.

I’ll be more careful when I come to visit,

and we make latkes for Hanukkah.”

Her pearly fingertips march up my saggy arm,

“Your skin is squishy like Jello, Granny A.”

I laugh, she giggles snuggling against me.

Does it matter if my skin tells tales of time

passing when she’s here with me in the sunshine

smiling on this happy, sparkling day?

We watch the bride and groom parade

back down the aisle to applause, the groom

has finally smashed the glass after five tries.

All Jewish celebrations are tinged with ancient

adversity, the broken glass, some say, a reminder

of the Temple we lost thousands of years ago

When I was young these customs

made me shrug my shoulders, annoyed, we Jews

can never just kick up our heels, relax and enjoy.

Now my skin proclaims me an old relic as I watch

fresh young lives around me begin to bloom, I realize

stories of the past show us our strength, the beauty

and pain all of our history contains, the past

entwined in all the moments that we are alive,

part of a tradition that teaches us how to survive.

In this moment, the past, the present, the young

and the old, the sun sets, yet rises, on a new marriage,

and our two hands, my granddaughter’s and mine,

side by side, woven in gold.

Annette Friend, a retired occupational therapist and elementary school teacher, taught both Hebrew and Judaica to a wide range of students. In 2008, she was honored as the Grinspoon-Steinhardt Jewish Educator of the Year from San Diego. Her work has been published in The California Quarterly, Tidepools, Summation, and The San Diego Poetry Annual.

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Filed under American Jewry, Family history, history, Jewish, Jewish identity, Jewish writing, Judaism, poetry