When the sky falls, leaving us in the dark,

Do we remember where we parked?

As the showers begin, like Binah’s flow,

What is it we need to know?

What is the purpose of life

When it’s filled with so much strife?

It’s to bind our hearts, to give and to share,

To rise above self and learn how to care.

To turn every shadow into a spark,

To build a beacon within the dark.

To feel the Creator in friend and foe,

To drink from His river and let it flow.

For the night may descend, but love is our key—

Uniting as one is our true destiny.

Waste of Granary and Winery

We stumble in fields where the shadows grow tall,

The granary’s empty, the heart feels so small.

A stranger inside, with no light to defend,

The winery whispers, “This road has no end.”

The waste piles high—our failures, our shame,

We curse at the heavens, yet it’s all the same.

The ego will mock, “You are nothing but dust,”

It drags us through filth, through desire and lust.

But hear me, my brothers, the waste is the key,

The trash of the journey builds Sukkah for thee.

What looks like rejection, like rot, like decay,

Becomes Clouds of Glory when we choose to stay.

Above reason we walk, though the night is severe,

We build from the garbage the roof of our year.

The Creator takes waste and He fashions it whole,

Till bestowal’s not secret but etched in the soul.

So don’t fear the failure, the hunger, the fight,

They’re bricks of the dwelling that shine in His light.

From ashes to dwelling, from broken to true,

The waste is the ladder He’s giving to you.

poem from shamati 96

Beneath the cloud where reason dies,

The heart is stripped of all its ties.

No knowledge left, no ground, no gain,

Just faith to walk through night and pain.

The waste of fields, the wine turned sour,

The soul stands naked, hour by hour.

No greatness shines, no guiding flame,

Yet whispers still, “Exalt My Name.”

O thief of Light, beware the snare,

Who grasps for proof finds only despair.

The ear once pierced must learn anew,

“Steal not My fire—it is not for you.”

So low, so lost, yet joy is born,

From faith that rises, tattered, torn.

A servant true, through storm and fall,

Who owns nothing—yet owns it all.

In Sukkah’s shade we learn to stay,

A guest of God along the way.

Temporary walls, yet hearts made strong,

By faith alone we sing our song.

Prayer of "There Is None Else Besides Him"

Prayer of “There Is None Else Besides Him”

Creator, when shadows rise and faith seems dim,

We whisper together: “It’s all from Him.”

No friend, no foe, no force, no flame,

But only One, His holy Name.

When bitterness strikes or joy is near,

We know it’s You who brought us here.

Both night and day, both loss and gain,

Are gifts from You, not random pain.

If hatred stings or love appears,

It’s You who guides us through the years.

Darkness, light, both dance Your whim—

We see at last: There’s none but Him.

No hand can harm, no trap can bind,

Except what You in love designed.

Each fall, each rise, each tear, each hymn,

Declares the truth: There’s none but Him.

So bind us now as one true heart,

That nevermore from You we part.

Our prayer ascends, our song, our limb:

Forever—There is none but Him.

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From Atonement to Joy

From Atonement to Joy

The shofar cried out, a new year begun,

A crown for the King, the many made one.

We trembled and prayed, each heart took its place,

Yearning for mercy, for closeness, for grace.

Yom Kippur arrived, a white day of flame,

We shed all our garments of ego and shame.

No food for the body, no drink for the clay,

But rivers of tears washed the barriers away.

From silence of hunger to fullness of song,

The gates of compassion stay open, lifelong.

For atonement was only the key to the door,

To enter the house where true love can soar.

Now every day given is seed in the ground,

Watered by friends where the Shechina is found.

The joy is in giving, in love’s quiet call,

Advancing together, bestowing to all.

The Generations of the Righteous

The Generations of the Righteous

The fruit of the righteous is not flesh and bone,

But deeds of bestowal the soul has grown.

Not words of the lips, nor rituals wide,

But actions for Heaven where ego has died.

In days of ascent, he is praised in song,

In nights of descent, they condemn him as wrong.

Yet both are his children, both day and the night,

Each fall is a vessel prepared for the Light.

The narrow-eyed man sees the Torah for gain,

The good-eyed reads love in each holy refrain.

The one sows for self, and his fruits turn to dust,

The other for Heaven, his harvest is just.

Two wives walk beside him: the Shadow, the Flame,

Faith over reason, and Torah by name.

Together they crown him, his wholeness they weave,

The generations of righteous—the deeds that believe.

“Tear the Heart, Heal the Soul”

I stand accused in silence, bare,

My lips refused the needed prayer.

I sinned in hunger for my name,

I sinned by never calling Your flame.

The sin was not in lust or gold,

But that I thought my hands could hold.

I swore I’d climb without Your rope,

And drowned myself in empty hope.

Then You broke me, gates all sealed,

My wisdom mocked, my strength revealed.

My faith was shattered, crushed like glass,

I kissed the dirt, no breath could pass.

At last came tears, not mine but Yours,

They split my chest, they cracked the doors.

The gates of tears swung open wide,

I crawled on bleeding knees inside.

“Father, King, no King but You,

Without Your mercy, I am through.

I cannot love unless You give,

I cannot rise, I cannot live.”

Between my friend and me, I plead,

Between my soul and You, I bleed.

Take judgment, twist it into grace,

Bind Malchut to ZA’s embrace.

Make of my vessel a home for light,

Make of my ashes a crown of night.

If death should come, let it be Your call,

If life, then let it be for all.

You do not wish the wicked’s end,

But turn him back, become his friend.

So here I stand, stripped down, undone,

A weeping child, a shattered one.

Tear me, burn me, grind to dust,

But kiss my ruins with Your trust.

Turn failure’s grave to mercy’s dove,

Turn tears of pain to tears of love.

And when the book is sealed above,

Let it be written: He returned to love.

Two Days Lost, One Love Remains

Two Days Lost, One Love Remains

I chase this world, its fleeting prize,
But find it empty, filled with lies.
I crave the crown of heaven too,
And so I fall from You by two.

The body lends, then calls its debt,
Demands reward for what it let.
It whispers, “Who? And what for you?
Why labor hard with nothing due?”

I answer sharp, I will not bend,
I work for Him without an end.
No crowns, no gold, no fleeting gain,
But only joy through love and pain.

The will to take will always fight,
It mocks the path, it hides the Light.
Yet through its hate, His love is known,
For joy is found in Him alone.

So if I fall, I’ll rise once more,
To serve in faith, my heart made pure.
Two days I lost, but one I find—
Eternal love, above the mind.

The Laziness of the Created Being

The Laziness of the Created Being

The soul awoke, yet the body said, “No…

Stay down in the dust, let the river not flow.

Why strain to climb when the bed feels so sweet?

Why run to the King when the chains bind your feet?”

The Ari wrote of circles, of lines drawn so thin,

Where the Light begs to enter—but we slumber within.

Baal HaSulam cries out: “This sleep is your test,

It drapes you in weakness, yet summons your quest.”

Rabash whispers gently: “This weight is a sign,

The Creator Himself presses on your spine.

Not to crush, but to bend, to annul and to pray,

To show that your strength is not yours anyway.”

And Rashbi declared in the dark of the cave,

That the sloth of the flesh is the mask of the grave.

But through unity’s fire, through friends hand in hand,

The mountain of laziness turns into sand.

Rav Laitman reminds us: “Do not curse the night,

It’s the cloak of concealment that births your new sight.

Above reason you rise, though the ego says ‘rest,’

For love is the ladder, and the ten is your chest.”

So I thank You, Creator, for the slowness, the pause,

For the laziness clothed in Your infinite laws.

For it’s only by dragging this weight up the hill,

That I learn it’s not my strength—but Yours that fulfills.

The Saboteur Was Sitting

The Saboteur Was Sitting

The saboteur sits grinning in my chest,

Mocking my faith, saying, “You’ll fail this test.

Your prayers are dust, your efforts a lie,

Your ladder is broken, don’t even try.”

He sharpens his tongue like a rusted blade,

Carves doubt in my soul where trust was laid.

He cackles, “Your friends will stumble too—

Why fight for them? They’re nothing to you.”

I spit blood back, though my strength is thin,

I drag my heart where the war begins.

Each thought is a knife, each breath a scream,

But still I cling to the shattered dream.

“Above reason,” I shout through choking fire,

“In this ruin burns the one desire—

To bind with my brothers, to annul this ‘I,’

To find the Creator, though He seems to deny.”

The saboteur shatters, his laughter fades,

For love has a sword no darkness degrades.

Hand in hand with the Ten, we rise above,

From brutal despair to unending love.