Tag Archives: shofar

September 26, 2025 · 7:30 am

Unetaneh Tokef

by Theresa Werba (Spring City, PA)

Oh God, I am so afraid.

The future looms before me, unknown.

I fear what I do not know,

cannot know.

I fear your power over my fate.

You’re going to judge me, so I must speak of the

sacred power of this day.

I pray for mercy and truth,

because you are the judge

who knows, and sees all.

What will you write, and seal?

How will you record, and count?

What will you remember, of all 

I have forgotten?

I love books, but the Book of Remembrance

I fear, as it reads itself aloud.

What will I hear?

What has my hand signed?

The sound of remembrance!

The shofar— loud, penetrating,

piteous, strong, strange,

elemental, earthy, and

yet of spirit— but within myself

will I hear your still, small voice?

Will I rush forth with angels,

seized with trembling and terror

as they proclaim, “Behold, The Day of Judgment”?

Will I be judged as angels?

Will you judge me as a shepherd does

his sheep, passing, counting, numbering,

decreeing my living soul, my nefesh,

its destiny?

B’Rosh Hashanah yikateivun,

Uv’Yom Tzom Kippur yechateimun.

Oh righteous God,

will I live? Will I die?

Do I have an appointed time?

Will I drown? Will fire consume me?

Will I be stabbed? Will an animal destroy me?

Will I starve? Will I die of thirst?

Will the earth shake? Will malady decimate me?

Will I be stoned? Or burned?

Will life be peaceful, or will I suffer more?

Will I be poor, or rich?

Will I be brought low, or raised up?

I worry about all these things, and yet,

You give me some control over my fate,

because I can turn to you, pray to you,

and do good in the world,

wherein you may alter the course,

alleviate the punishment,

change the decree of my future.

And so I stand, expectantly,

in the New Year,

knowing that I have atoned,

trusting in your judgments,

though I do not understand them, or you, or why.

And I try to be less afraid of the future.

B’Rosh Hashanah yikateivun,

Uv’Yom Tzom Kippur yechateimun.

Theresa Werba is the author of eight books, including What Was and Is: Formal Poetry and Free Verse (Bardsinger Books, 2024), Finally Autistic: Finding My Autism Diagnosis as a Middle-Aged Female (Bardsinger Books, 2024) and Sonnets, a collection of 65 sonnets (Shanti Arts, 2020). Her work has appeared in such journals as The Scarlet Leaf Review, The Wilderness House Literary Review, Spindrift, Mezzo Cammin, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, The Art of Autism, Serotonin, The Road Not Taken, and the Society of Classical Poets Journal. Her work ranges from forms such as the ode and sonnet to free verse, with topics ranging from neurodivergence, love, loss, aging, to faith and disillusionment and more.  She also has written on adoption and abuse/domestic violence. Werba is the joyful mother of six children and grandmother to seven. Theresa holds a Master of Music with distinction in voice pedagogy and performance from Westminster Choir College and is known for her dramatic poetry readings. She is a member of Beth Israel Congregation in Eagle, Pennsylvania where she will be singing “Aveinu, Malkeinu” for the high holidays. 

You can find more about Theresa Werba and her work at www.theresawerba.com and on social media and YouTube @thesonnetqueen. 

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September 24, 2012 · 8:24 am

Silent Meditation

by Natalie Zellat Dyen (Huntington Valley, PA)

The earth spins
Through hours and days and seasons
To a time of stillness
When the shofar sounds
And we reflect on the dark nights
Of angry words and stricken souls
Of broken bodies and broken promises
Of empty spaces left by those who are no more
And we reflect on the bright days
Of birth and breath
Of music and miracles
Of kind acts and loving arms
And the gravity that keeps us firmly grounded
As the earth spins.

So we reflect
And repent
And look ahead
And promise to do better
And give more
And love more
As the shofar sounds
And we turn to face the new year
And the earth spins
And we go round again.

Natalie Zellat Dyen is a freelance writer and photographer living in Huntingdon Valley, PA. Her work has appeared in Philadelphia Stories, The Willow Review, Global Woman Magazine, Intercom Magazine, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and other newspapers and journals. Links to Natalie’s published work are available atwww.nataliewrites.com.

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September 10, 2012 · 8:01 am

Me, George Herbert, and the High Holidays

by Mel Glenn (Brooklyn, NY)

What do I, little Jewish boy from Brooklyn,
have in common with George Herbert,
17th century metaphysical poet and priest?
A lot more than you might think,
he in italics, me in Times New Roman.
I Struck the board and cry’d, No more.
How many times have I abandoned
the temple, the service, and my God?
But as I rav’d and grew more fierce and wilde
at every word….
How many times have I rebelled
at droning words, incomprehensible to my ears?
…Me thoughts I heard one calling, ‘Childe.’
And I reply’d, ‘My Lord.’
And so, when the shofar sounds this year,
for reasons I can’t fully explain,
I will be sitting in my usual seat, Row U, Seat 4,
saying “God, I am here,” despite, or maybe
because of, all questions and doubts,
looking to find the exquisite moments of
wonderment and epiphany
I suspect are there.

The author of twelve books for young adults, Mel Glenn has lived nearly all his life in Brooklyn, NY, where he taught English at A. Lincoln High School for thirty-one years.  Lately, he’s been writing poetry, and you can find his most recent poems in a new 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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January 3, 2011 · 9:53 am

First Day of Religious School

by Arlyn Miller (Glencoe, IL)

A new beginning, possibility born
from the holiness of Ne’ilah.
The gates have closed –
the gates have opened.

Families walk, children skipping or dragging along.
Cars pull up surrounding the synagogue,
a staccato symphony of doors slamming shut.
Wide open, the door to Am Shalom
welcomes her people of peace.

The New Year is ushered in
with the annual pilgrimage
to the first day of religious school.

The Rabbi sings to the children –
abandon and zeal on the heels
of a not long broken fast.
The children sing back,
sparked and spirited.

How can we deny the Divine?

Yesterday, during Yom Kippur morning service
the ominous sky decreed  torrential rain.
This morning, sun lights the world anew
radiant as the children’s voices –
ruach resounding
like the shofar’s call
announcing the New Year.

This poem is Arlyn Miller’s first installment in her project this year to chronicle the life of her synagogue (Am Shalom in Glencoe, IL) as its Writer in Residence.   A writer herself, Arlyn teaches creative writing in schools and in the community through Poetic License, Inc.  You can find out more about her and her work at www.poeticlicenseinc.net.

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