Published and Distributed by Carob Tree Press, 154 pages
First: a word about the title, taken from Tehillim, with
which you have become familiarized from past Yated
submissions by Varda Branfman. She thanks your editor for
having pushed her to put together her [wonderful] writings in
permanent book form and we thank her for having allowed us a
few precious previews over the past years, primarily poems
like: "Cave Dwelling," "Bread", and prose: "Here in Geula"
and "The Voice of Tehillim." You will surely wish to read
those again, pass them on to others, and savor the rest of
the spiritually exotic flavor of her writings.
Second: a word about the publisher: Carob Tree Press. The
book flap tells us about the cave where R' Shimon Bar Yochai
spent fourteen years of study which led to his writing the
Zohar, sustained by a natural fountain and a carob
tree. To this very day, at the entrance of the cave stands
that ancient carob tree producing sweet carobs as of yore!
Carob Tree Press is committed to publishing inspirational
books that express the profound beauty and depth of the
Jewish experience. These are books about the path of Torah,
and they provide a taste of the spiritual sustenance found in
authentic Jewish traditon and observance. (POB 57254,
Jerusalem)
Third: about Varda. Varda Branfman's essays and poems are
essentially songs that celebrate her wonder-of-the- world and
thankfulness at finding the (Jewish) answer to her questions
about life, in big and small ways.
*
A sojourn in a Garden of Eden, not imaginary, but a utopia on
earth that has everything that nature can provide in beauty --
but is missing meaning in life. Arriving at disillusion with
this perfect setting where Varda, a post-graduate, works and
lives as close to nature as possible, sends her off to seek
her soul.
That's how this book begins, and goes on to transport us
through a soul journey of exhilirating vistas, a subtle
roller coaster ride of emotions, ideas, sensations that are
stronger than vicarious through essays and poems.
Light, dance, even something as mundane as bread enter a
fifth dimension beyond the four we already know. I read this
book over Shabbos and was panting to put my reactions down on
paper. This review might have had much greater impact written
right away -- but I guess that is part of the magic of this
book; it is illusive, titillating, defies thumbnail
description. It IS paradisical.
How could I describe that sensation we all share at some time
or other in dreams, of being able to fly?
Varda Branfman captures it: of all places, in a piece
involving people in an old age home -- with the central
character an old woman confined to a wheelchair! Not only for
her, but for us.
And again, a soaring of the soul that sweeps the down- to-
earth up with it, when she describes her urge to dance,
freedance, as an outpouring expression of the beauty in her
soul and her love for Hashem. She does it, on an empty beach
at night -- and I can't begin to describe how she succeeds in
encapsulating and packaging a wide range of emotions, pure
love for Hashem, whose impact and aura linger on in the soul
long after one has put this book down.
Way back, I became acquainted with Varda's works through
various anthologies, as well as from her captivating book on
chessed, The Hidden World, which I had the
privilege to review in these pages of Yated Ne'eman.
When Varda began sending me material, I begged the editor to
expand our section, and have been happily serving up Branfman
bread ever since.
Need I say more? Read and beg for doubles.
A tempting excerpt, an ode to mundane morning
techeiles- blues with a fifth dimension of depth and
beauty:
Morning Song
Hang up the wet to dry
but don't sew on a button
one thing will lead to another
and you'll find yourself mending
everything in the house
Assuage your thirst
but ignore the hunger pains till later
watch the clock
and wake the children
pour the water for their hands
Do what you can to ease
arms into sweaters
sandwiches into side pouches
soft, wet eyes
into clear openings
Make little of the lost bus card
the lonely shoe
the phantom notebook
but find them
by whispering segulahs
and dropping coins in the pushkes
Arouse hope
kiss away shadows
turn the cheek
to their heartfelt revenges
watch the storm subside
Give them real food
and don't panic at the last minute
if the sky suddenly erupts
in clouds
embrace the unexpected
Allow yourself to look each one
straight in the eye
when you say "goodbye"
believe, yourself, that help will come
from Heaven
Then sit, do nothing
drink silence.
[and, afterwards, go out and buy this beautiful little
book.]
