Tashlikh: The Sniggle-Fish
The Sniggle-Fish

Uncle Eli Down deep underwater,
so far, far, below,
where it's murky and mucky,
and nice fish won't go--
in the depths of the lake,
where it's cold and abysmal,
the only fish found there
are dreadful and dismal.


The sniggle-fish dwell there,
in slimy old caves.
Their green-glowing eyes
can be seen through the waves.
Their razor-sharp fangs
fill the flounders with fear.
But sniggle-fish eat
only one time each year.


When the other fish feast,
sniggles pay them no mind.
They're not tempted by seaweed
or things of that kind.
The patient old sniggle-fish
just swim and wait,
though it's been a whole year
since the last time they ate.


If you ate so seldom,
you'd gripe and you'd grumble.
But their once-a-year tummies
do not even rumble.


But as Rosh Hashanah season
starts to draw near,
there's a flexing of jaws
and a twitching of ears.
They sharpen their fangs
and their mouths start to drool,
and they start to wake up
in their sniggle-fish pool.
On Rosh Hashanah
all the sniggle-fish know
that some tasty new treats
will soon plummet below.


For that's when the Jews
who live up on the shore
will gather for Tashlikh
as in years before.
They'll gather in groups
at the start of the year,
and stand by the lake
where the waters are clear.

Mommies and Daddies,
and even small kids,
are sorry for all of
the bad things they did.
So they throw all their sins
where they'll never be found,
cast into the depths
where they'll sink way, way down.
The meanness, the lies,
the anger and troubles,
get tossed to the waters,
to vanish in bubbles.


These sins might seem ugly,
uncouth and malicious,
but sniggle-fish think that
they're truly delicious.


But this time let's try
to be so good, my dear,
that the sniggles have nothing
to feast on next year.

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