And think and think and think

Each like an onion

We are all multilayered

Some think more of it

The week's been filled with pranks, parties, and parting for seniors. I don't teach senors this year, but had many of these students over their HS career. The senior art class had a party and one of the students, since she knew it was coming, baked a cake. What a beautiful cake. I wonder how many works of art have been made portraying pallets? This reminded me of this post and its comments, which I cherish.

Shabbat approaches

tiptoeing through the sunset

the queen that she is

How Are You?

Talking, relating; paying attention, face to face, while presenting a steady expression and demeanor - these things are a key to life, according to Shamai in Avot 15:1 (sever/panim/yafot). There's also the saying that silence is a fence to wisdom, as explained by Rabbi Abraham Twerski: When a friend has a problem the temptation is to offer fix-it style advice and if that doesn't work then you're out of there. In such a situation, the precursor to wisdom, is to listen. Then comes true wisdom in the form of being by your friends side with or without words, simply sticking around an other in need can be most profound.These ideas were on my mind, as is often the case, but even more-so than usual, and then I woke up and the first thing I saw was this poem by Robert Frost:

A Time to Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road

And slows his horse to a meaning walk,

I don't stand still and look around

On all the hills I haven't hoed,

And shout from where I am, What is it?

No, not as there is a time to talk.

I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,

Blade-end up and five feet tall,

And plod: I go up to the stone wall

For a friendly visit.

g

- Robert Frost

Then Silence

Like the previous post this one's in real time, the only way old school bloggers say to do it. It's ten minutes to class, in theory. It's senior prank day and the seniors emptied all the classrooms of chairs and used said chairs to barricade all the hallways except for the senior one. So, even though there's a narrow path to my class, it's empty of chairs. I guess we can sit on the floor and learn, or play gaga. A sweet senior just saw me and said I looked really upset over this prank. Good excuse. If only. As always, my world is more in than out, more there than here, more yesterday than this moment. I look forward to relating and teaching today. I will be meeting, among others, with one dear student of four years to say goodbye. Sigh. I imagine we're expected to be in class no matter what, so I'm on my way. it's hard to know because the PA system seems to have been tampered with so it keeps sounding like an announcement is about to be made, then silence. This has a familiar ring to it.

Take Wisdom Where You Find It - Rambam

This poem is from the book Walking Down The Street, by Malky Farkas Treitel, given to me by a dear friend.
d

The Silent Ones

h

Protect me

from those who

walked away

hurt

from something

I said or

didn't say,

carrying a grudge

for some real

or imagined pain

which I inflicted or

just didn't help

avoid.

k

Protect me

from those

who feel

deeply

but don't

communicate.

Hopeful Along The Way

;
Hello G-d, hello Margaret, it's me - Neil.

Sometimes I write out my schedule here, what I've done today or lately. Why? I don't know. Am I trying to prove that I do good, that I am good? Am I out to impress? Am I selling an image of myelf? To myself?

Where does time go? Scientists have still not solved the mystery; neither have I. Sigh. Since I wrote the paragraph above I bought some paper goods and toiletries, which involved walking and thinking and breathing.

I posted a poem that a student shared with me today. Under my advisement he changed the "but" in line three to "and." I wonder if the final word "it" might be better as "her." The author wanted to say that it's better to never achieve perfection. I found another meaning in his words; we can't can't possibly become perfect, yet our purpose on earth is to try to journey in the direction of perfection. And though we can't reach it, we need to realize that that the incomplete attempt at perfection is something whole as well, and we should stay hopeful along the way.

For many years I got many ear and throat infections and took antibiotics several times a year. I can't prove it but I believe I'm paying the price now with stomach discomfort that I never had when I was younger. I've been poking around the net on the topic (here, and there), having started here.

With most people is what you see what you get? Are most people layered? Why did I sigh when I typed those two questions?

I found this thirty minute film (available free online); I'm Here, by Spike Jonez to be intriguing, haunting, beautiful, disturbing, thought provoking big time. I'm just saying.

The song that plays before you push play on the website, as well as during a pivotal point in the movie is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever hears. For a while I just left the site open and let the tune loop again and again.

Is "hopeless romantic" an offhanded expression or is there something deep to it?

How much difference can real support and love make? May I answer this one? A lot.

How many people hold back from going to movies during the Omer? How many of those people work on the sefirot of the days, or the way that Torah is nikneit, or learn one of the two masechtot that are 49 blatt, or give any thought at all to the fact that this is - according to the Ramban - one long period of chol ha'moed, sandwiched between the Pesach (providing the first days of yom tov) and Shavuot (providing the last)?

How happy are most people? Was Lincoln right, that people are as happy as they want to be? Do you think he really said that? Do you think Lincoln was happy? Do you think he wanted to be? Do you?

Is there such a thing as souls that are meant to be together as soul mates? No matter what?

Pro Facebook or anti? I'm ambivalent. I apologize to several people who read this blog for not becoming their Facebook friends. I do Facebook my way, and my way is hard to explain. I don't become a Facebook friend with someone I have not met face to face. That rule - one of many - was brought to me by my place of employment's director of educational technology.

Since my mother passed away, four months ago, I haven't linked to any music here. Seems right. Sort of.

"When I was a child, winter didn't feel so cold." - Opening Line of Departures

Do you think that different people bring out different things in different people?

Is what you see what you get? Did I ask that already? Is it reasonable to expect anyone to change? How do you draw the line between changing and getting along?

Is insecurity normal? Is breathing? Is hyperventilating? Is everything a matter of degrees? Is normal just a word for someone you don't know very well yet?

I feel like this is my first quintessential post in a while.

jGood night and G-d blessk

;

He wrote, feeling quite alonel

And not quite lonely

h

If you know how to even out the spacing on the haiku, please step forward.

Perfection

By Mathew Alexander

h

We should all strive

for perfection

and hopefully

never achieve it

Teitzei Rucho Yashuv LeAdmato

It dawned on me this morning that a pasuk may mean something different than I always thought. Al tivtechu binedivim, biven adam she'ein lo teshuah - trust not in princes, in men that have no salvation/hope. I thought that it was saying trust not even in princes, not in any man - because all men have no redemption from death. It hit me that the second half of the line is reflecting back on the first in a way I hadn't caught before. It's saying trust not in princes for they are men who have no salvation. The idea is that nobles and politicians are least likely to have salvation after death because they are generally corrupt.

"There's Nothing More Whole Than A Broken Heart"

Elusive results

Trying to reach completion

Trying is trying

Perhaps with acceptance key

A broken heart may be whole

"Still Me, Ma"

My cousin, my mom, myself - June, 1993

Four Months

Me, my mom, and her mom, circa 1987.

More Improv Club

Improv Club

This Was Written On Friday - Due To Computer Going On Fritz Right Before Shabbos, Posted Post Shabbos

Soon Shabbos. I have been balancing life lately with more action than thought/writing. I have mixed feelings about it. I'm holding back here, much as it may seem to some that I write a lot. I miss my mother. The Hebrew four month anniversary has passed, in English it's coming up. Sigh. What a vacuum. For me aveilut and mourning are different, sacrilegious as that may sound. I'm not competing or racing in a kind of kaddish/ba'al tefilah check list, though I've been keeping up in that department. I'm missing and mourning my mother. A thunderstorm has suddenly stopped, and the sun's not shining either. Nature has changed in way that it will never be the same and it is revealing in every second what was once that was taken for granted, unnoticed. Ah, the unnoticed, such a large part of this life, along with the way it becomes noticed in its absence. Heavy sigh.

would that there were a world of words

would i want to live there?

do i live there already? do i want to move out?

what about feelings?

could i, would i live in a world of only feelings?

and what of thoughts, i wonder?

and what about actions? nooooooo!

and what of a balanced world?

that's what i write and pray and feel and think and act for.

l

This is not a blog, I just decided. It's a collection of writing. Yep.

3:39

It's been a rich day and week, many classes, much listening and talking with students. Soon, home. Three minutes to catch a bus. I just posted on parshapost. Feeling busy, maybe a bit more-so than I wish in terms of time for writing. I gave a Skype shiur last night which I thought I would be too tired to do, but which went well - thank G-d. Parshapost is up. More later. Maybe. Please G-d.

My Bloodstream Speaks To G-d

I want to be loved by people who love themselves

I want to love myself first, then somebody else

I want to be one, find another one, be two

I want to merge organically without a big to do

I want my soul to yearn for G-d in a way that I feel

I'd give so much to simply be real

I want now to be now to be now

I want to be here, to learn how.

p

I don't generally believe in explaining poems, hope poems rise above that. And yet, I want to say that I'm pleased with the way this poetic declaration/prayer flowed out from my blood/heart.

Answer In Full Sentences

I am proctoring a test
I am questioning my own questions
As kids tell me my wording is unclear
This is hard for me to understand

How can they have trouble getting
What is crystal clear to me?
But isn't this - like all classroom dynamics
Just a microcosm of all life interactions

The questions don't stop;
the need for clarification
for handholding
affirmation
validation

Makes it almost impossible
For a guy to write a poem
How am I supposed to write a poem
With all these questions?

Twitter-esque

Just met with one student to work on his recommendation and discuss life. Two other students who are free just popped in. One of them keeps asking repeatedly, "Rabbi, can you test me?" Um, no. I'm giving a test next period and at this point it's sink or swim. Another student is here starting the test early due to the need for extra time. She has a question on my question. I can't give away answers but I don't mind some metaphorical hand holding when it's needed. As we hang Led Zeppelin sing Black Dog. The bell rings and one of the students announces, "I have a test now." I know. Off to give a test.

Once you've paid the price of time, how cheap is anything?

Sweet dreams, sweet mistakes

life's not simple as she seems

short, right; like haiku

I was looking for a post that I thought may be relevant to link to for Yom HaZikaron. Meanwhile, I came across this haiku filled three year old post. I like.

This picture is from the Facebook album of an old classmate of mine. We are not Facebook friends and yet I can see her albums. For those of you keeping count, this marks the second occasion I've posted a picture which I found in someone's Facebook album even though we weren't Facebook friends.

The woman who took this picture - I assume of the front of her house - is a nice person. In sixth grade she asked me if I was having a good time at her house party, while Monster Mash played in the background. The gift I got her were several 45s from Korvette's, including The Carpenter's version of Mr. Postman and Terry Jacks' Seasons in the Sun. Maybe I got her Monster Mash too.

In seventh grade we sat next to each other in the half circle in Mr. Schrek's class and when my leg fell asleep one day she told me that putting saliva behind my knee cap would make the tingling stop. I've been doing it ever since; it's never worked. In eighth grade I asked her to make my graduation kippah and she happily said yes, even though she was already making it for the class jock.

Nice picture. No?

Was something brushed across my mind that no one on earth will ever find?

I spent the last while writing the poem of the previous post. Then, right after pushing the orange publish button I checked my email and discovered the following. Also relevant is this attempt at addressing Frost's ability to be simply brilliant.

A Passing Glimpse
By Robert Frost

p
To Ridgely Torrence
On Last Looking into His 'Hesperides'

k
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

f
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

f
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--

f
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

ff
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

f
Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.

Life: Ki Gaz Chish VeNa'ufah

By Neil Fleischmann

i

like nothing
like everything
like a blink
like a whoosh
like time flies

Staying Up Late On A Rainy Evening

People don't get it;

Was Robert Frost ironic?

Is that the right word?

He was so simply profound,

The way that we ought to be.

A Minor Bird

By Robert Frost

I have wished a bird would fly away,

And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door

When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.

The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong

In wanting to silence any song.

Ki Ha'Adam

Every man

Is a flower

Waiting

To be born

And live

And die

And be born

Again

What Kind Of Job Is That For A Nice Jewish Boy?

About twenty years ago I bought three magnets at the Mid Manhattan Branch of the NY Public Library (actually at the store of MOMA, which used to be in that library, off to the side). They were $1.95 a pop, a great price. I loved what was written on them (I got three of the same) and went home and spread them around my apartment. I recall my young niece commenting during a treasured visit, "You must really like this magnet, because you have three." I just googled the saying and found that there are many designs of it, but none worked for me the way the original magnet I bought does. So I scanned it for you to see, as I remember.

A Man's Requirements

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I Love me Sweet, with all thou art, Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the lightest part, Love me in full being. II Love me with thine open youth In its frank surrender; With the vowing of thy mouth, With its silence tender. III Love me with thine azure eyes, Made for earnest grantings; Taking colour from the skies, Can Heaven's truth be wanting? IV Love me with their lids, that fall Snow-like at first meeting; Love me with thine heart, that all Neighbours then see beating. V Love me with thine hand stretched out Freely -- open-minded: Love me with thy loitering foot, -- Hearing one behind it. VI Love me with thy voice, that turns Sudden faint above me; Love me with thy blush that burns When I murmur 'Love me!' VII Love me with thy thinking soul, Break it to love-sighing; Love me with thy thoughts that roll On through living -- dying. VIII Love me in thy gorgeous airs, When the world has crowned thee; Love me, kneeling at thy prayers, With the angels round thee. IX Love me pure, as muses do, Up the woodlands shady: Love me gaily, fast and true, As a winsome lady. X Through all hopes that keep us brave, Farther off or nigher, Love me for the house and grave, And for something higher. XI Thus, if thou wilt prove me, Dear, Woman's love no fable, I will love thee -- half a year -- As a man is able.

And How Was Your Day?

Matayim

Looking for a word

Just one in a sea of words

Or perchance silence

In Our Dreams

Walking through davening

We sometimes sleep

And dream of our

Prayers being answered.

Late City Edition

Another day, a unique day, today. A rich day, a long day, my day. I like to breathe and look back at my days. I like to write. I wish I could find time to write up each of my days as I fold them over like just read pages. Today? My 7:00 ride came down at 7:15. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I woke up at 5:30 to clean for my cleaning person, and to work on grades. I was hungry so I ate some Dr. Prager's Fishies. One day perhaps I'll write a book about what I've learned from my rides. This friend and colleague who drives me is great. I enjoy talking with him. I don't usually worry about a ride home, but morning is crucial. Tonight (I'm jumping ahead again) I thought he might be in school still at 5:30, along with many of us finishing up grades. It turns out he was home napping and thought it was 5:30 AM and I was calling to tell him school was cancelled. Cool.

Tonight in the library (where I started writing this post) I bumped into a friend and former student and he introduced me to John Sloan, who painted the work at the start of this post and the self portrait below.

It's getting late, so I'll switch to headline mode.

FLEISCHMANN ENJOYS LONG TALK WITH FATHER (HSLABW)

ON YOM HASHOA: CLASS LISTENS ATTENTIVELY AS VETERAN TEACHER TELLS THEM ABOUT HIS TEACHER RABBI FEIFER, A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR

AFTER STAYING AT WORK TILL 7:3O PM ENTERING GRADES, CHATS WITH FATHER ON WAY HOME (SEE PAGE 1)

AT LAST MINUTE RABBI FLEISCHMANN STEPS IN TO RUN MEMORIAL SERVICE: OPENS WITH "A TIME FOR EVERYTHING," AND CLOSES WITH METAPHORICAL INTERPRETATION OF TRADITIONAL COMFORT LINE REGARDING MOURNING OF THE TEMPLE

THE IPAD: A FUNKY ALTERNATIVE TO A SMALL LAPTOP?

INTROVERTS NEED ALONE TIME TO RECHARGE THEIR BATTERIES, SO THE STORY IS TOLD

FLEISCHMANN USES HIS PRIVATE DIARY TECHNIQUE OF HEADLINES IN HIS BLOG FIVE YEARS AFTER THE FIRST TIME HIS DID SO

"One never gets the total impact of what we call 'the thing itself.'"

"One only meets each hour or moment that comes. All manner of ups and downs. Many bad spots in our best times, many good ones in our worst...." (CS Lewis, A Grief Observed pgs. 12-13).

Responsibility

Really not so bad

Except it can feel difficult

So, what's the solution?

Perhaps faith?

Or support?

No easy answers?

So many fears

I am a prayer

But I worry

I beseech you G-d

Let go and let G-d?

I also have to hold on and try

Too much?

Yet G-d only gives us what we can take.

Va'Ani Tefilati?

Prayer in happy times

And when things feel difficult

What of in between?

A Brief Poem About Prayer

Questions of speeches

Answers found from articles

But G-d wants the heart

Yom HaShoah 2010 - Second Annual Guest Poem

REPETITIONS OF OSWIECIM

By Nicholas Samaras

Oswiecim is the original name for the town

later called by its German referent (Auschwitz).

The original name has since been reinstated.

We could not cry here.

A dry land in a fertile field.

History a dry land always.

We could not cry here

and there are porcupines

in our throats. Oswiecim.

Each time we watch the story,

chewed bread chokes us.

Dry-eyed. Each time history

a slow accretion of details.

A slow accretion of silence we

could not cry. Numb magnitude. Eyes

hovering over the book and the map.

A parched country, the mirage of it. Oswiecim.

Open days, we dress in our lives.

Shirts buttoned at the windpipe.

Wrapped nights we go flying, go

anywhere into chronology, drummer

in our wrists, blue veins mapping

the skin--thus tattooed--a dry land

welling—Oswiecim—details of wings

hovering, details of thresholds

in ageing photographs

and the shadows

of doors. Pale ashan rising.

Still picture of a heavy door edging

closed or open. Barbed

ironflake, parchment, ash.

The name of a town

and the name of a town again.

Mutable cartographies.

Crust of bread.

A porcupine.

We could

not here.

Cry.

This poem will be appearing in an upcoming issue of Valparaiso Poetry Review. For last year's Yom HaShoah poem, by Blu Greenberg, click here.

The Third And

I put my fingers to the keyboard, wondering what will be, what I will write. I reminisce about the week that past: part Yom Tov, part back to work. On Friday a colleague got to my blog accidentally by way of google. He asked if I've been writing more than usual lately. I've been holding back. What do people expect of a blog? What judgments do they make? Why? I like when my posts get gotten, as this one did. I like when I'm prompted to explain more, as I did regarding the incident in My Most Favorite.

Sleep and tomorrow loom. Responsibilities. And and and. It's that third and...

G-d willing tomorrow I'll see Sally at a memorial service.

I was thinking of writing about my mom in one long piece at the four month mark, which is coming up on April 26. But I can't hold back from posting now and then. The nurses convinced me mom couldn't understand me. I trusted them. I spoke very softly so they wouldn't catch me. But I think there's a soul language that hears even words unspoken.

I've been thinking a lot lately about INFP me. We tend to always be thinking, always wanting to improve ourselves and the world...

My lunch hosts alerted me to this story. To me a wow.

Two years ago today I was in a questioning mood.

I also thought a lot about sleep and asked about that and got many responses and a dialogue.

Good night and G-d bless

the souls of the departed

and us left behind

Gutten Erev Shabbos

Read Shmini thoughts here and here. In class today I also discussed the idea of Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky who raises the question of why it's called the eighth day, if really it's the opening day (day one) after seven days of inauguration. His answer (which some students guessed) is that the point here is to stress the importance of preparation, to remind us that the inaugural day was built on the days leading up to it. We discussed this idea and particularly how it relates to Shabbos and the difficult but important idea of Friday being erev Shabbos, as Saturday is Shabbos. We all agreed that there's a rush whether Shabbos start at 4 or 8. And yet. The idea is a profound one - "Mi shetarach be'errev Shabbos yochal beShabbos."

It is not Friday

It will not be Saturday

Shabbos is Shabbos

Isru Isru Chag

Post Pesach, first day at work.

It's great to be back.

In The Heights

I took this a few weeks ago,

walking home from the bus terminal, after work.

Omer?

1. a. What mood do most people associate with the Omer today? b. What is the main event that caused this mood to be put in place for this time? c. What related fact does the Aruch haShulchan and others say about this time?
2. What element of mourning is built into the counting of the Omer itself today?
3. The counting is described in the Torah as being a counting from what event to what event?
4. We generally think of the Omer as a counting from what event to what event?
5. How does your answer to #3 hint to your answer to #4?
6. Based on your answers to 3,4,5 why would you say that the counting of the Omer is deOraita or deRabanan today?
7. What two things does the Shulchan Aruch say not to do during this time in commeration of the death of Rabi Akiva's students?
8. How has the above been extended today?
9. What words are matched and recited after the counting?
10. What mishnah do people work on part of during each day of this time?

Modern Agadeta

Thirsty beyond thirst

and a bottle just for one

Survival comes first

Yet they love one another

They share the water and live

Harold and Maude

Harold and Maude loved

one another in a strange

real make believe way

She held the reigns of her life

and taught him to be alive

Isru Chag

Did you know that the Gemorah says that you're not supposed to cut your nails on Thursday because the growth becomes recognizable on Shabbos and it's considered disrespectful to Shabbos? I did not know that.

From time to time in this setting I've spoken in questions. Do you remember that? How much are we supposed to think about everything we do? Is that a traditional Jewish approach? How much does clothing matter? Is it appropriate to wear nice, sporty. stylish, clothes? How many questions were included in the previous one? What do you think of this piece and the comments on it? You are on the jury, how do you vote?

Are you a fan of NPR? How about that morning news? Hmm?

Hey Soterios

I'm curious about you

I mean your first name

It's an unusual one

Especially with Johnson

The Ramban (whose writings generally comprise Jewish Beliefs 101) says that the point of big miracles is to remind us of constant small miracles, ones that we give names like nature and life. life (last part mine). I'm thinking that the point of Yom Tov is for it to spill over into the long chain of day to day that follows. I hear frum people talking as though they want to shake off Yom Tov and move on and that doesn't sit comfortably with me.

Are you an INFP? Why are you religious/spiritual - if you are? I think the inclination toward or away from a focus on practice or a focus on meaning has a lot to do with personality. What do you think? I think that anyone reading this seriously and more-so anyone that answers tends to be intuitive, feeling, values inclined, possessing one's own compass, wanting to know the meaning of life and make the world a better place kind of person (INFP).

When many Jews I know quote a Chasidish vort, they call it that. They don't know who said it so they say some Rebbe said it. This seems disrespectful to me. It would be like saying an African American man once said, "I have a dream."

I spent Yom Tov praying for many hours in a Chasidish dynasty's satellite shul in Monsey. I'd call it a Shtiebel but that would give the wrong impression because that term is generally used colloquially and imprecisely. The rabbi of the shul is the brother of the Rachmastrivka Rebbe. It was great.

This may seem like an abrupt stop but I need to step out and want to stop and start fresh. Till later, G-d bless.

Pesach Is Gone KeHeref Ayin

9:48 PM - I am still where I was for Pesach. The chag ended here, and we returned from Shul just a few minutes ago. The divrei Torah and experiences are coursing through my brain. I'm writing as quickly after the chag that I can and yet distractions (from what some view as a distraction in the first place) abound. And somehow it's become 9:59. And I'm called elsewhere...

10:08 PM - Helped my hosts a bit in the kitchen, also made them happy by committing to taking some carp home. Win win.

I heard an explanation for the name Shabbos HaGadol that appeals to me, and that I'd never heard before: On the Shabbos before Pesach things are generally cleaned away and you celebrate Shabbos without all the trimmings. It's an extra holy Shabbos because it's pared down to its essence, without all the fanfare, and can thus be a truly big Shabbos.

10:28 PM I have a ride out at 11, better pack. I'm either going home or to a post Yom Tov celebration...

11:59 plus - This post started on Tuesday night and that's how I want it to read, although it's now entering what is technically Wednesday morning. Hoping to close post before it reaches the title of a Simon and Garfunkel album.

On the first of the last days I heard something that I'd never heard before regarding Kriyat Yam Suf. That is the name we use for what happened. The name G-d uses in the Torah is bekiah. The former means tearing asunder and the latter simply connotes that it broke apart, as if on it's own. We use the more grandiose language in order to highly praise G-d. He uses the more modest terminology.

This reminds me of the idea that we call the holiday Chag HaPesach, in honor of what G-d did for us. He calls it Chag HaMatzot referring to what we did. This reminds me of the idea that G-d wears tefilin, which read, "U'mi ke'amcha Yisrael, goy echad ba'aretz." It also reminds me of the idea that G-d asked little of us other than to sigh on by putting the blood on the posts. It also reminds me of something I don't recall learning before this year - that pesach, according to Abarbanel, Ibn Ezra, and the first pshat in Rashi, means not passing over, but mercy.

There's a Slonimer vort I just heard on this past last day of Pesach regarding the repeated prayer of Vehasieinu. They connect it to the mishnah about how Rosh Chosesh was announced by a fires that were lit and passed a message on from place to place. We ask G-d to carry us on from one holiday to the next.

During Psukei DeZimra I glanced at the Artscroll commentary, which cites the Arizal's approach that zimrah means not just praise, but pruning. It is a process of cleansing ourselselves, pruning away impurities pre-Shmah/Shmoneh Esrei.

I am thinking a lot lately about thinking and remembering. It's dawned on me that in the hagaddah we don't say that we need to relive the exodus on the seder night. We say that we are supposed to relive it all the time. A good support for remembering/carrying/learning from our experiences.