When we are ill, vulnerable and in need of care, although our spirits may fade and our viscera may bleed, we are enabled by the agents of our humanity empowered by ancestral song and promise. I intend this program to be a pathway towards healing even when we cannot cure. There remains inexorable suffering which accompanies tribulations not only from inevitable limits of new medical technologies but from pervasive disparities which exist to deny all to have access to and to be recipient of one standard of care; disparities defined by the social determinants of health, limited or no access to care, unconscious bias, lack of advocacy and "avoidance and dismissal rather than involvement and immersion". The works here reflect my career as a physician, an obstetrician, and shares my personal work: my projects, thoughts and poetry which above all enables me to ask why even when we already understand how. Poetry permits me as a Doctor of Medicine, witness to the frailties of our humanity, to abet healing through the very core of what makes us human, our language and our personal emotions. It has been my platform to tell my stories to honor my patients, my friends, my family and indeed, the essence of humanity, the "family of man".

Amare Forlorn, with tears And cries, am I. To lose you to your death Without but even gasp or sigh, Save a wisp of Angels breath; The darkest sorrow I have known. Yet, your image burnt in my Soul is my gift, my grace, And always will I see your face Upon the simmer of Placid ponds And in the clouds where Sunbeams hide And raindrops form, And I will speak kind words And write of you And sing in sweet demure, In early morning's dew And in the crown of daffodils Which bloom amidst the storms Swept cross my brow, In every dream In which it seems You come to me. My love forever Do I avow.

שירה The first song on earth was a child's cry, ageless music of heart-sounds and first breath sighs to immortalize the promise of humankind, and insist our hope… for promised dreams and sanguine visions, for May-time baskets, of floral scents and sights, and smiles upon our faces in the springtime morning’s light, for children when they dream again and cry out golden notes for joys of breaths and heartbeats, to float in silent nights, singing on winds diaphanous, simple passions and delights. for a love that never hides its wonder every day, for frosted tears of winter's cry, succumb to the countenance of promised dreams to be of each child everywhere whose first-breath sigh has sung. Shirah in Hebrew is a song or poem

My mentor, teacher, colleague and friend, Dr. Nathan Kase, died on July 12, 2025. He was a leader among leaders in Obstetrics and Gynecology. He was honored at the Yale Ob-Gyn Society in 2013, and I wrote a short poem for him which I am sharing today. Sinan The compass or "south-governor" Dedicated to Dr. Nathan Kase, Mentor, Colleague and Friend To find our way when night shines black, And life's work struggles to raise the bar; To create a difference for all on earth, At times, you know, we need a star.
The bar of truths that science lends, To souls and thoughts of certain minds; To genius rare -yet here today, A man whose equal none will find.
A granite pillar holding strong, His vision un-roofs mysteries. And heavens to reach with inquiry, To learn what makes us live and be.
An artist etching intaglio, On canvases of academe. Sustaining us his proteges And our collective, purposed dreams.
A Magnet he for his own ilk, Humanists, ethicists, scientists, scholars; Venerable, formidable, leaders and friends, Who trust, revere, respect and honor.
Yes, when our night shines black with doubt, When all seems hazy, uncertain and grey. Nate remains our enduring compass, With prescient wisdom, illuming our way.

הִרְהוּר Reflections "The body, impotent to maladies; thirsts for harmonies of cure by gentle ways and artful skills to dignify countless souls' infirmed and helpless wills..." (From Nadiyb, 2014. Berman). We seek answers for questions which cannot be answered. We grieve at a time when we should be smiling. A moment in a century of years which has come too soon. Among us, there was no better person. Among us, no better Physician. We cry aloud not just to sound our sadness But to trumpet our love. His missions are now our memories. Indelible in our eternal thoughts. We will always hear His gentle tones of gentle words And feel the caring others knew when they, Frightened and ‘sometimes frail, In desperate need, Alighted from their illness, free Of morbid pain and agony. And if we feel richer today, Amidst a drear of funeral and eulogy, It is because we revere A person we strive to emulate. And thus, through death and legacy We will magnify our goals, To unravel every morsel of our souls, And strive to live as Larry lived. הִרְהוּר The Hebrew word for "Reflection".

Let us wish to: retreat from all unjust suffering, banish afflictions, vaporize pain; fashion peaceful harbors and orchards, cultivate gardens, plant trees, harvest grain. dream of lyres' and harps' splendid music, watch beautiful children dance and be gay; never see sadness and crying bear witness, keep illness and sorrow far, far away. abolish the hunger that threatens the fragile, crave for vision and prescient wisdom; nourish each other with love and with kindness, live with bountiful hope and compassion. seek out always life's streaming sunbeams, dissolve each dark cloud in sunlight's way; entwine outstretched hands with one another... ...and turn all tomorrows to halcyon days.

The sun staring upon me has stopped for one immeasurable moment, a lone pause in an infinite journey, a slivered chasm in a timeless wandering.
The sun staring upon me has stopped to embrace and welcome me traveler to the borderless boundaries of Eternity.
The sun staring upon me has stopped to comfort; Its light transcends the darkness of despondency, Its warmth melts the icy crust of mourning.
The sun staring upon me has stopped
to deliver
a quarry
of hope out of hopelessness,
tranquility from turmoil...
...and peaceful dreaming
forever.

For a beloved father Thirsty paths wind about The gravesites in July. Wind gusts arouse the umber earth To clouds of dust. Mourning becomes laborious; Tears spill upon sweat-soaked blouses. A canopy drapes the casket Wedding death to earth to consummate Return. Headstones stand in rows, Grey-granite markers chiseled with Names and numbers: birthdays And death-dates. I hear his voice Amidst the silence That is dreaming, among The voicelessness that is death. I see his image prostrate, his mind, a muted, sightless, labyrinth of thoughts contained within a motionless body ...and me weeping whispered words of love.

Desiderium (Latin: an ardent longing)
In this New Year Let us with all our hope For all our days Bare no malice, anger, Prejudice or harm and Promise a wish to extinguish All searing conflagrations Of our fellowman; their plights of war; Their illnesses and their poverty, Their homeless pain and more.
Let us with all our hope Abet others who be sicker or poorer, Ailing from greater oppressions, and Look beyond the facades of hypocrisy And denial and un-roof the truths, For it is here we may find our naked selves; Minds and souls and physical beings of A human birthright: To live above darkened clouds of desolation; To thrive in tranquility absent hatred and denunciation.

"What grows never grows old." Noah benShea
I am greeted by a softness Of this another day, As my heart collects the Perfumed scents of all my years And at well reveals life"s passions I have dreamed and dream and dream.
Though not alone But with soul astride These years within my flesh and frame Sharing every beat my heart can throw, While gentle breaths unfold Their whispered secrets never told; The scents of youth now freed To call the fervor of the muse, To warm the rains that bathe Some days in sheer delight. Not yet travelling to the mark To where withered petals fall In a dark and ageless night.
To the mark This journey goes alas With my heart besides my soul, And only when what I've loved lies cold, When rains no longer warm And thunders' whine becomes a distant moan Will I like petals in decay Fall to the shadow of the ageless dark And rest, forever, blinded to the pallor Of my then to be vanquished heart.

Prociedo
Going forward (l)
Today are times of great hope To affirm our oath As unfiltered reason and purpose Rush in our blood Every pulse a wave Approaching distant shores To leave our prejudice behind To fade into vapors As common as fog And guide us to plant Roots to bond our humanhood and Vines to grow our brotherhood As we go forth into tomorrow.

Anuraga
Love insists our hope Hidden in winter's facade. The arduousness of these days Crave creative wonder To seek the shining of Next year's springtime. Longing, when our reverence and friendships, Like the very soul of art, Will enjoin; never to be lost or diminished As seasons themselves Endure in cascading timelessness To unveil wonders and Gifts of tomorrow.

I believe the care of a patient whose baby has died tests the very core of our "oath" and incorporates all that is vital in the role of a physician. Becoming involved and taking time from our busy day to provide care to a patient in need will self-serve not only our own need to assuage our inherent feelings of what our limitations as physicians are, but moreover, let our patients know they can rely on us for sensitive, compassionate, and humanistic care, and that we will not abandon them at their most vulnerable moment.

Martyr for Desire for all children, lost You are my quiet darling. Your eyes, like morning burn The minutes of futility To contrite hours, turn Eastward where begins the dance Of ocean tides, and slumbers still The famine of our grief, to hide So deep within my wounded will. A promise, poisoned from the start So brief without reply or song Did graze your spirit in my field. "Return to me" I cry, I long. As chaos prods my anguish, yet Neglecting fortunes in my soul, Tinted hues of destiny Are tender thoughts which sorrow stole From me when first I heard your voice; Each murmur on your breath that sang Like harps converging as a choir, And chimes afar, with passion, rang. You are my quiet darling Within a cold and flame-less fire, And I, a prism in the shadows; A silent martyr for desire.

It is now 50 years since I began my residency in Ob-Gyn, a career to which I committed all my energies and emotions, sympathies and empathies. I would do it again the same way and always encourage it as a career choice to my students. I believe it is only the tasks we learn and do that become mundane- as they should. These tasks represent our diagnostic and treatment and / or surgical skills. In my opinion, we must cherish and fulfill the true privilege it is to be a physician and this privilege must never be taken for granted or considered mundane. We must be emotionally and empathetically present for each individual patient that we metaphorically "stand before" (the Latin root of the word obstetrics is Obstare which means to stand before). We must do this to uphold the tenets of trust inherent in the doctor-patient relationship and the aforementioned privilege which we have inherited from our physician-ancestors. In this way, we can best promote caring and healing especially when our patients are incurable, or their children are stillborn or die. No doubt this is not easy, but I believe, imperative.

"I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a
Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

Do not unveil your face, I warn,
Or the very strength
And resolve of mind, born
Within my soul, will set your permanent demise.
For you, called Prejudice, are weak. Your ramparts
Succumb moment to moment
From the truths enshrined in my heart.
I am the Jewish people.
I have endured thousands of years
Under the laden clouds of your adversity.
Your fears of my interminable survival are
genuine.
Today my heart vows,
Never to allow you salvation.
I have taught my children morality
And caring, tolerance and sharing.
I have eschewed hatred.
Like nectar, my blood is sweetened with rhapsodic
Sounds of kind and gentle thoughts and deeds.
I am at once benefactor and inheritor of ageless
Traditions and celebrations of life
Which renounce your vile,
Salined blood of discrimination.

My work with families who experienced the tragic loss of a pregnancy or newborn is founded on a model of care I have practiced throughout my career; the use of language to help the grieving and healing process: words we write, words we read, and words we say and hear to serve as an invaluable source of solace and hope. I believe our words are songs from our hearts: "songs of hope and songs for hope." I have written and continue to write words and thoughts in letters of condolence when my patients, family, friends and colleagues have experienced a pregnancy, newborn or infant loss- or a childhood / adult death-and includes a personalized, original poem which I either send to them and / or read at their memorial services / funerals. I have many years of experience doing this and the responses have been universally positive and "healing". This has enabled me to foster deep and lasting relationships with them. I have been fortunate to have presented this work at local, national, and international meetings and symposiums and it is currently a core element in my lecture series to third-year medical students at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai and prior, to the students and house staff at the Yale School of Medicine. A signature feature of this program offers the opportunity: - for families who have experienced these tragic losses to individually request a personalized poem dedicated to their child or their friend's or family member's child. - for Physicians, Nurse-midwives, Nurse Practitioners and / or other Health Professionals to download an appropriate poem and to send to their patients as a personal, empathetic thought when their patients endure these losses. I believe the impact of words and thoughts at these difficult times of loss are powerful and of universal need. I have written scores of poems but only include at this time first-lines of five poems each written for a particular but universally common reason for loss. Each poem addresses the universality of loss and the promise of hope. When a poem is selected, it is dedicated to and personalized with the child or parent's name and signed by me as the author. It will be suitable for framing or to place in a "memory box" that many families have after their loss. It will be sent to you in PDF format and can be printed or forwarded electronically. It is my hope that by sharing these poems at this very difficult time along with a brief personal note, a healing process can begin even when there is no "cure". This program is available pro bono.