All the lyrics to Blow Ye Winds

Blow, Ye Winds

Traditional - Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord


'Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
Five hundred brave Americans, a-whaling for to go, singing

Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-i!
Clear away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!

They send you to New Bedord, that famous whaling port,
And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.

They send you to a boarding-house, there for a time to dwell;
The thieves they there are thicker than the other side of hell!

They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
And say you'll take five hundred sperm before you're six months out.

It's now we're out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow;
One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.

But as for the provisions, we don't get half enough;
A little piece of stinking beef and a blamed small bag of duff.

Now comes that damned old compass, it will grieve your heart full sore.
For theirs is two-and-thirty points and we have forty-four.

Next comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you go!"

The cooper's at the vise-bench, a-making iron poles,
And the mate's upon the main hatch a-cursing all our souls.

The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
When up aloft the lookout sights a school of whales.

"Now clear away the boats, my boys, and after him we'll travel,
But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"

Now we have got him turned up, we tow him alongside;
We over with our blubber-hooks and rob him of his hide.

Now the boat-steerer overside the tackle overhauls,
The Skipper's in the main-chains, so loudly he does bawl!

Next comes the stowing down, my boys; 'twill take both night and day,
And you'll all have fifty cents apiece on the hundred and ninetieth lay.

Now we are bound into Tonbas, that blasted whaling port,
And if you run away, my boys, you surely will get caught.

Now we are bound into Tuckoona, full more in their power,
Where the skippers can buy the Consul up for half a barrel of flour!

But now that our old ship is full and we don't give a damn,
We'll bend on all our stu'nsails and sail for Yankee land.

When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailing,
A winding glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whaling!

"I Come for to Sing"

Folksinging in Woods Hole always began the same way:

Some come to dance/some come to play/others come just to pass time away
Some come to laugh/their voices do ring/but as for me/I come for to sing

Some kids join in/others do not/
some like to talk about what I ain't got
But I don't care/it don't mean a thing/I'll keep on coming, coming to sing


Phyllis Switzer Goldstein z"l led folksinging at the MBL club in Woods Hole for 45 years. She was a shining light in my life, and living proof of how much influence one person can have through song. January took three wonderful Jewish women who loved singing from the world - Debbie Friedman, Felice Yeskel, and Phyllis. Phyllis was the one I knew longest - from my childhood through the incredible privilege of taking my daughter to sing with her in 2006 and 2008.

The photo is of her in recent years - take off 40 years or so and you'll see how I saw her as a child - she was beautiful. She always wore the same outfit to folksinging when we were kids - a navy blue shirt and white pants. The other place I would see her was on the tennis court - tanned and athletic, looking anything but femme in one of those cute tennis skirts women wore (wear?). I saw her with the adoring eyes of a child - she was larger than life - funny, charismatic, brilliant.

Phyllis taught us American History through music - sea shanties, spirituals (like Follow the Drinking Gourd), union songs, along with lots of humor. And she made up songs about Woods Hole. This is an old favorite of mine that she stopped singing the last 15 years or so:

Good to be in Woods Hole (to the tune of 'Tom Dooley')

Good to be in Woods Hole/I will never roam
Good to be in Woods Hole/I'm never ever going back home

Every day that's sunny/reckon where I'll be
Down at a beach called stony/swimming in the wide wide sea

The MBL club is our place/we make the rafters ring
On Mondays some of us come to dance/on Tuesdays we all come and sing

Last night I went to Joe's to eat/I wasn't wearing shoes
The sign said no bare feet allow/now I'm singing those fried clam blues

Another old favorite:

Take me back to Woods Hole, Take me back to Woods Hole, Take me back oh take me back oh take me back to Woods Hole
Oh to be in Old Woods Hole, that's where I'd rather be, than be bound in New York, suffering from humidity

One I've been thinking of lately that came with a story
A way down south in the yankety yank/a bullfrog jumped from bank to bank
just because he'd nothing better for to do
Well he stubbed his toe when he fell in the water
You could hear him yell for a mile and a quarter
Just because he'd nothing better for to do

Like much of Phyllis's teaching, that story came with a moral, which was about the pride of the bullfrog and how it got him into trouble.

Phyllis did a story and song Abiyoyo - I only later found out it came from Pete Seeger. This also had a moral, one we kids loved, that a boy with a guitar causing trouble could wind up saving his community.

When I was very young, we got to choose if we wanted Abiyoyo or Stewball. Here's one version of Stewball - there are a bunch online.

With my kids, I find myself singing more of the silly songs Phyllis sang in the last 2 decades: Black Socks, Slam the door on the doctor's nose, There was a man who had a goat. There were also gospel favorites like Good News, Chariot's a comin We sang this in a bunch of parts. And there were nonsense like songs or songs in languages that we did not understand - a ram sam sam

Phyllis directed musicals in Woods Hole and Falmouth for a number of years. You had to be a certain age, 8 or 9 maybe, to audition. When I finally reached the age I went to the audition. I had to sing something for Phyllis and I was very nervous. The song I chose to sing was one we sang at folksinging: Hey Ho, Nobody Home. I guess I must have seemed very nervous - afterwards Phyllis asked me how old I was and shook my hand. It was a big let down because I really wanted to be in the play but she clearly thought I was too young. And after that she stopped doing the plays, so I didn't get another chance. I remember though the production of Iolanthe she put on - it was beautiful.

Folksinging always ended with This Land is Your Land. There was a special harmony the cool teens sang: This land is your land, this land is mine, from Maine to Montana, desert to the shore, we sing that this land is your land, this land is mine, this land is made for you and me. And then "one last time"!

I had occasion to reflect on this song in one of my "driving questions" meditations, when I heard Bruce Springsteen on the radio singing it as I was driving home through the West Bank a few years back. The few times I was with Alen at folksinging, this song kind of stuck in our throats as we made our way into exile from the US. Phyllis taught me so much about the American dream and about how America could be a country for all of us - for Jews, for African Americans, for New Englanders.

I was surprised when I grew up and Phyllis treated me like an adult - I always felt like that small child in her eyes. I remember seeing her in 2002 and telling her I was living in Israel - it was the height of the intifada. I don't remember what she said but I remember her look - I came away with a sense of her pride in and love of Israel and understanding of the difficult and complex situation here. When I was a pulpit rabbi, especially when I got to work with children, I always felt that she was one of my true role models for how to be.

If you are reading this, don't hesitate to be someone in the life of a child. I read in recent years that people who consider themselves successful in life know who their role models are. Phyllis Switzer Goldstein was a role model for me, my siblings, and countless other young people. May her memory be for a blessing.

carrot kugel & lace cookies

It's about time for more recipes.

I made this carrot kugel for a pot luck last week. I wish I had made two. No one in my family except me wants to eat it, but I thought it was great. I used a few different recipes I found online and elsewhere and did not measure much. There is a souffle version where you beat the egg whites, but I did not do that either. There are all kinds of versions, one where you cook the carrots first, etc., but I did it the easy way.

About 8 carrots chopped fine in the food processor - most recipes say 3 and a half cups - I think I was kind of heavy on the carrots, which might explain why it took so long to cook.
2 eggs
3/4 cup brown sugar was in the recipe, I used only about 1/4 cup. It could have been sweeter.
1/4 cup oil
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
juice of 1/2 lemon - or more
cinnamon to taste
some vanilla

Mix it up, put it in a pan and bake it for a long time at around 375. I think it took like almost an hour. Cut it in squares and eat it. I think it's pretty healthy, does not cost much, and it definitely got eaten at the potluck.

I also made lace cookies on Friday when I was feeling low which were not very lacy but were delicious. Then coincidentally my mom send me a recipe for them. My mom's friend said she made them parve, but that sounded blasphemous to me. Here's what I did, modified from Fanny Farmer cookbook:

1 1/2 cups uncooked oatmeal
about 1 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp salt
2/3 cup melted butter
1 egg beaten
1/2 tsp vanilla
I added some craisins (hamutziyot as they are called here) - about 1/4 cup

Mix all this and bake at 350 on greaseproof paper. Hide them so your family won't eat them up.

If you've read this far, I will tell you that the life of a Fanny Farmer cookbook in my house is about 10 years or less. Judy K. kindly gave me a new one when we were making aliyah to Israel, but it is now broken into two pieces. If you are coming my way and have room in your suitcase, please consider bringing one!

Comments on Sisterhood

Comments that came to me from a reader via facebook got me thinking about this wonderful piece by Bernice Johnson Reagon and because of how the world works these days I googled her and when I couldn't find it I wrote to her and she wrote back (which is amazing, because she's one of my role models) and told me how to find the piece which is printed on someone's blog here, and found in an easier downloadable word format if you google Bernice Johnson Reagon Coalition Politics, and published in a wonderful anthology called Home Girls, which is a must read, and if you never read this article, read it now. It relates exquisitely to what I wrote in my last post but please don't think I am comparing myself to this amazing woman - she is light years ahead of me and her website is here.

Sisterhood, Coming out again, and lesbian mainstreaming

Here's a song I learned at the Seneca Women's Peace Camp in 1988 - suitable for Parshat Beshalach

Come come sisterhood, come joy eternal
Our love is mystical, our love is carnal
I'll dance nimble steps, I'll be a Miriam
Leading my people across the water

It's a rewrite of a Shaker tune. The Shakers, along with my grandparents pictured on the post below, roll in their graves when I sing it.

I came out in 1987, while working in the Battered Women's Movement. I was surrounded by women's community and much influenced by a close co-worker who considered herself a separatist. With her and a bunch of other women, I went to Michigan, the mythic women's music festival, in the summer of 1988, a life-transforming experience. I joined a women's mystery school around that time and went on six retreats with a group of women. I joined Achyot Or, a Jewish women's group that meets every memorial day weekend. I was surrounded by sisterhood.

This week Felice Yeskel, a guiding light and spirit in Achyot Or, a tremendous woman and role model for me, died. You can read more about her here.

On the day of Felice's funeral this week (and the day of Debbie Friedman's funeral), I went to give a talk to a small group of North American volunteers about same-sex Bi-national couples. I made a power point presentation and told them about Alen's and my story, as well as about how immigration is part of our family's stories. It was the first time I had done anything like this and it was very well received.

On the way home, I picked up a soldier who was on his way to Beitar Illit, the Haredi settlement near us. I said I wanted to support anyone from Beitar who serves in the army. As we drove up the hill I considered what I would tell him about myself, and eventually told him I have a female partner. He checked my language in Hebrew to be sure I meant Bat Zug and not Ben Zug. I could almost feel the change in him as he sat next to me. For him, an ultra-orthodox man, it's probably the first time he's ever met an out lesbian. We had a wide-ranging discussion that included his asking me some questions like how we had our children. Did I open his eyes? Does this make change? I don't know.

In 1990, a few years after I came out, I went to hear Starhawk talk on Valentine's Day. Those of you who know anything about her and anything about me know that our religious lives and directions are very different, but I definitely felt at this presentation that I was in the presence of a Holy person. One thing she said I remember - that it was time to work together - for women to work with men. I found that hard to accept, but in some level I took it as true, and have worked with men almost ever since, and for the past ten years, intensively. It's been a hard change for me to swallow, based on where I came from, but shortly after that time I let go of whatever separatist direction I might have gone in.

Yet and still. I miss sisterhood. I miss the intensity of the world I came out into. Alen and I ordered DVDs of the L word and we've been watching it. It's nice to connect with lesbian identity in some way. Our lives are SO mainstreamed - to the point where we have to work to find and be part of any kind of gay or women's community.

This is written in love for all my friends of all the years - especially in my heart are all the women who supported me when I came out, Lisa who went to the Starhawk talk with me (can that be true? On your birthday?), Felice's partner and daughter, and all my sisters from Achyot Or. Your thoughts and feedback are sincerely requested!!!

Grandpa moves in!

This is for my newly found cousin, Andrew, a 25 year old with a keen interest in genealogy who knows more about my grandfather Julius's family than I've ever heard.

I had one grandparent for 22 years. My grandmother Nellie died years before I was born. My grandfather David Edward, known as Teddie and Eddie, died when I was 6. That left me with no maternal grandparents. I was lucky, however, that I still had a whole bunch of great-aunts, great-uncles, and many of my mother's 25 first cousins. My mother still has two aunts - her aunt Lena just celebrated her 100th birthday last week.

I've always known a lot about my mother's family, helped by family genealogists such as Herbert, z"l, and his wife Rosalie, and now my mother's cousin Lola. Then last year we happened to find online a connection to someone here in Israel who is married into my mother's mother's family. We were able to supply him with details and he told us things we didn't know about the Diamonds, my maternal great grandmother's family from whom I took my last name.

Meanwhile, back to the paternal side. My Grandpa Julius, z"l, died when I was 11. My Grandma Zena, z"l, lived another 22 years. And though she died 15 years ago, most days it still feels to me that she lives in my house. That's partly because her furniture is in our living room and bedroom, items from her home hang on my wall, and just a few weeks ago Alen knocked down a picture of her at 13 or so with her own mother, Pearl (Antine) Pezrow, my great-grandmother.

But the other way Grandma lives here is inside my head. Two weeks ago Alen was frustrated by how our kids write on the walls, break things and lose things. Not to mention the moms who, while we don't write on walls, still manage to do our share of damage around here. We were looking for the thing that fits inside the top of the food processor to push down the vegetables onto the grater for making latkes. It was a stressful Friday as we tried to get ready for my brother and his family to visit - clearing out two guest rooms, tidying, cleaning and cooking. Alen said, "We need to take better care of our things." What I heard her say was, "You are completely worthless" or something along those lines. It's a voice I hear pretty much every day, the voice of Grandma's disapproval echoing off the walls as I look at any item of clutter or dirt that I find here, or when the kids misbehave.

It's worse than that though because were I to become a tidy, uncluttered person, I would be betraying my mother and father, as in the statement of Grandma's I remember best, "Your father was always a tidy person; I don't know why he married your mother."

I lived the first 33 years of my life in that middle space, balanced between my grandmother, the consummate homemaker, and my mother, her unacceptable daughter-in-law, and my father, who believed "the modern woman's dowry is her earning power," and supported my mother in her quest for a PhD, tenure, all the way up to her deanship.

When Grandma died, I felt something loosened, and I spent 15 years trying to honor her memory, acknowledging openly the positive aspects of her legacy - her homemaking, her sweet tooth, her love that I felt very strongly when I was very small, the many gifts she gave constantly. See how she looks in the photo above. She was a charming woman who cared deeply about others.

But at Hanukkah dinner I decided enough is enough. Through tears I told my brother, "I want Grandma to move out of this house. It's been 15 years. I want her to go."

Later that day I saw her picture with Grandpa on the refrigerator. I wasn't sure what to do - take it down - leave it there?

Then this Friday my father sent me a message he got from Andrew. We never talked much about Grandpa's side of the family. It wasn't a pretty story and we never knew much. With few descendants, the Burstyn line seemed to have faded away other than us and our first cousins. And there wasn't anyone holding up that end.

So I figured Andrew finding us is a message. Grandma isn't moving out. Grandpa is moving in. I have a chance to learn a whole lot more about him, his family, where he came from. Maybe through this blessing I will find some balance. Stay tuned.

Countdown time!!!!

Well I heard from KBY today that at least 10 of you have contributed to my $49 from 49 friends (acquaintances are also welcome!) campaign for my 49th birthday. The countdown is on as the birthday is coming right up. So please....your donation will make such a difference to our community and you'll have the joy of knowing you are supporting progressive Judaism in the Judaean Hills! Make your donation here and THANK YOU!!!!