The Prayer Every Jew Should Know

My Jewish identity is

built of books spines

stolen from inside novels

found in the curve of a pen and stroke of a brush

I am not sure who I am

Or what it means to be

"chosen"

or how to find meaning in Hebrew

or hold my hands open to a heavy God

and say 

the prayers every jew should know

I do not know where to face when I pray

or who to face

I am not sure why I become silent in old synagogues

or hold onto my grandmother’s silver chain so tight

I cry sometimes when I hear the stories

feel my spine arch, my insides are weighted

I do not know why I am so drawn

to this side of me I barely know

this side I love with a fierceness I do not understand

I do not know why I find solace in shabbos candles and prayer shawls

I do not know why I hold onto my name so tightly

I do not know why I hold this word or idea or maybe religion

Jewish, Judaism, Jew

why I place these words on my tongue so reverently

so much gratitude, so much respect

that I am part of this something, this culture, this identity

that is spun around the wheel of history

that is weaved in ways I do not understand

I do not understand

who I am

or what it means

so I keep collecting

collecting my identity

through books

and paintings

and dust and stories and songs

through old bibles and old hands

constantly seeking instruction

looking for direction

Hoping to learn the way I must go

Hoping to understand the part of me

that cries out

at the sight of ancient psalms

and old scrolls

hoping to understand what parts of me belong in this gallery

what parts of me are hung on these walls 

                         By Janis Yerington (My Mother-from her Max's Bible exhibition)