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NOTES

Sacred Transitions focuses on the four primary life passages—birth, marriage, sickness/age, death—(however, Rabbi Schulweis's book also embraces bris, coming of age (bar/bat mitzvah), conversion, and even divorce as important life transitions that require consecration).

"In reading them, I find a personal, intimate quality to these meditations, as if one person is speaking to another with deep love, compassion, and awareness. That is why I've set the texts as arts songs, the most intimate form of chamber music." - Russell Steinberg

The songs of the four parts are as follows:

Birth—From Where Did You Arrive, Touch My Heart, Whose Am I

Marriage—Mirror Eyes, Yet

Sickness/age— Playing With Three Strings

Death—Holding On And Letting Go, It Is Never Too Late

TEXTS

(Note: The texts have been abridged from the original meditations by the composer)

1. FROM WHERE DID YOU COME?

From where did you arrive?

Out of the womb of Eve and the seed of Adam.

Angels showed your unborn soul

The secrets of heaven and earth.

Your soul pleaded with God not to push you

From the comfort of the womb.

And God answered:

Do not cry,

Do not be afraid,

The world you enter is a better world

You have lived in innocence.

Here, you will be My ally, My witness,

My co-creator, My co-sanctifier.

Here is your place,

Here, confirm My name,

Here, bring strength to those who inhabit the world,

Here, offer testimony of My goodness.

Welcome to this world.

2. TOUCH MY HEART

Child

Touch my nose, my lips, my eyes

with your small hands.

Touch my arms and chest.
Feel their shape

how real they are.

Now touch my love.

No, not my chest or arms or lips.
You are puzzled.

How is one to touch love

and where is its place?

Love is not here or there

But who would

deny its reality?

Where does love reside

if it cannot be pointed to?

Is it less than my chin?

Now where but when.

But when is love

When is God.

Recall the meeting

the moment, the time.

3. WHOSE AM I?

Not "Who am I?" but

"Whose am I?"

In belonging lies the secret.

Who belongs to me?

To whom do I belong?

Who accepts me?

Whom do I accept?

Who has claims upon me?

Upon whom do I lay claim?

Who knows my failings?

Who knows the meanings

Of my angers, my ambitions, my fears.

My cries for love sometimes hidden past recognition?

Whose am I?

Not "Who am I?"

But "Whose am I?"

In belonging lies the secret.

Not "Who am I?"

But "Whose am I?"

My name, my people, my God.

4. MIRROR EYES

The mirror is not neutral.

A cool, silvered covered surface

reflecting me impartially.

No two mirrors are alike.

Some mirrors make me look

Hard and gross.

However I fix my smile it reflects

A grimace.

However wide I set my eyes,

It appears a squinting mean-ness.

Other mirrors see me differently

And raise me up to

New confidence, new trust.

No two mirrors are twins.

I choose one to find my own image.

Your eyes are like mirrors.

And like them are not neutral.

In your eyes I find my self.

I choose eyes

Not focused on blemishes alone

Eyes that do not blink away my crooked nose

And twisted mouth

But wink encouragement and hope and love.

Mirror eyes.

5. YET (For Malkah)

You are not me,

And I am not you.
Yet—

The say—we were not born together.

We come from different families, different schools, different associations.

You are not me,

And I am not you.

Yet—

You know me better than I know myself.

You complete my sentences, fill in the pauses,

Read between the lines.

You are not me—and I am not you.

Yet when we are not together

My sight, my hearing, my touch are different.

The joys of nature, the amenities of life fade.

If you and I are not one,

Why then in your absence is my joy so dependent upon yours?

Why does your sadness throw me into despair?

Why is your ache mine?

We are separate, we are not the same.

Yet—

You know me with the mind of the heart,

My strengths and weaknesses,

My dreams and angers.

You know me in the marrow of my being.

They say five decades is a long time in marriage

And yet

How brief it is

How much yet to grow,

How much yet to discover about ourselves

Through each other.

We have reached the harvest of many years.

Children and children's

Children now

Dance and play before us,

And in their eyes we see yet another part of ourselves.

The best is yet to be.

6. PLAYING WITH THREE STRINGS

Yitzhak Perlman

Walks the stage with braces on both legs.

On two crutches.

Takes his seat, unhinges the clasps on his legs.

Tucking one leg back, extending the other,

Laying down his crutches, placing the violin under his chin.

On one occasion one of his violin strings broke.

The audience grew silent,

the violinist did not leave the stage.

Signaling the maestro,

The violinist played with intensity on only three strngs.

With three strings he modulated, changed, and

Recomposed the piece in his head

Retuned the strings to get different sounds,

Turned them upward and downward.

The audience screamed delight,

Applauded their appreciation.

Asked how he had accomplished this feat,

The violinist answered

It is my task to make music with what remains.

A legacy mightier than a concert.

Make music with what remains.

7. HOLDING ON AND LETTING GO

Hold on and let go, two sides of one coin.

Hold on—death is not the final word

The grave no oblivion.

Every kindness,

Every embrace has its afterlife in our minds, our hears, our hands.

Hold on and let go

Sever the fringes of the tallit of the deceased.

Hold on and let go

Lower the casket

Return the dust to the earth

Not to bury hope but to ressurect the will to live.

Hold on and let go

The flow of life, gives and takes

yesterday and tomorrow

Both in one embrace.

Hold on and let go

Old and new,

yesterday and tomorrow,

Both in one embrace.

8. IT IS NEVER TOO LATE

The last word has not been spoken,
The last sentence has not been writ,
The final verdict is not in.

It is never too late
To change my mind
My direction
To say "no" to the past
And "yes" to the future
To offer remorse
To ask and give forgiveness.

It is never too late
To start over again
To feel again
To love again
To hope again.

It is never too late
To overcome despair
To turn sorrow into resolve
And pain into purpose.

It is never too late to alter my world
Not by magic incantations
Or manipulations of the cards
Or deciphering the stars.

But by opening myself
To curative forces buried within
To hidden energies
The powers of my self.

In sickness and in dying, it is never too late
Living, I teach
Dying, I teach
How to face pain and fear.

It is never too late—
Some word of mine,
Some touch, some caress may be remembered.

Write it on my epitaph
That my loved ones be consoled
It is never too late.