Ma’ariv by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat of Bayit

You mix the watercolors of the evening

like my son, swishing his brush

until the waters are black with paint.

The sky is streaked and dimming.

The sun wheels over the horizon

like a glowing penny falling into its slot.

Day is spent, and in its place: the changing moon,

the spatterdash of stars across the sky’s expanse.

Every evening we tell ourselves the old story:

You cover over our sins,

forgiveness like a fleece blanket tucked around our ears.

When we cry out, You will hear.

Soothe my fear of life without enough light.

Rock me to sleep in the deepening dark.

El chai v’kayam, tamid yimloch aleinu l’olam va’ed.

Baruch atah YHVH, ha’ma’ariv aravim.

Living and enduring God,

you will reign over us always.

Blessed are You YHVH

Who evens the evenings.

Things that have no limit

in this world or any other:

how often I can think of you

and feel my sadness lessen

the comfort that I find in you

from eve to night to morning

how many times I turn to you

to see my best self reflected

the gratitude I feel for you

(how did I get so lucky?)

All of these are infinite --

my love for you is greater.

Hareinu m’kablim aleinu et mitzvat ha-borei

V’ahavta l’re’akha camokha, l’reakha camokha.

Here we take upon ourselves the mitzvah of our Creator

To love my neighbor as myself, my neighbor as myself.

Amidah literally means standing, and we rise to give thanks for having reached the end of another day. This can be a moment for silent meditation to reflect on moments where you stood up, for yourself or your beliefs. Or, a time to simply breathe and be with yourself.

Amidah by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat of Bayit 

The wash of dawn across the sky

reveals your signature.

Cicadas drone your praise

through the honey-slow afternoon.

The angular windmills on the ridge

recite your name with every turn.

And I, who can barely focus on breath

without drifting into story:

what can I say to you,

author of wisteria and sorrel,

you who shaped these soft hills

with glaciers' slow passage?

You fashioned me as a gong:

your presence reverberates.

Help me to open my lips

that I may sing your praise.

YHVH s’fatai tiftach ufi yagid t’hilatecha.

Eternal God, open my lips that my mouth may declare Your praise.

In the traditional text of Hashkivenu, we ask that a shelter of peace is spread over ourselves, our loved ones and people around the world. We ask for restful and restorative sleep, and for the gift of waking up to a new day. As you read, imagine a blanket covering your body and take a deep breath as you move closer to ending your day.

Hashkivenu by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat of Bayit 

The exterior's a little shabby,

could use a coat of paint.

A bit worn after a hard year:

not a lot of curb appeal.

Most people walk right by.

Not you: you see

the mezuzah in the doorway,

the light in the living room.

You see my heart, tender

and afraid no one will ever want—

Tell me again that I'm worthy

even when I feel most broken.

Tell me again that my strength

is beautiful, and makes me whole.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהו''ה, שׁוֹמֵר עַמּוֹ יִשְׂרָאֵל לָעַד:

Baruch atah YHVH, shomer amo Yisrael la’ad.

Blessed are You, YHVH, Who keeps watch over Your people Israel.

Abraham Joshua Heschel. a rabbi who marched for civil rights alongside Martin Luther King, Jr

Wrote that morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings,

That indifference to evil is worse than evil itself

That in a free society, some are guilty but all are responsible

May we continue to practice tikkun olam, repairing the world

May we continue to practice, gemilut chasidim, acts of lovingkindness

May we continue to practice tzedakah, just giving

May we recognize that all beings are created equal, b'tzelem elohim, in the image of the divine

May we walk away today knowing that each of us has the power to create change.

by Deanna Neil