Teshuvah is a dance. Not a stately waltz
with its designated leader,
steps laid out carefully
for dancers to progress
around the room.
I do not fault sages who struggle earnestly
in the intimacy of question,
debating the order
of the dance,
seeking instructions with
binding specifics.
But for me it is enough
to have been invited to the dance.
The One who invited me is already
there. We stretch out our hands and
begin the dance.
My heart beat becomes the rhythm of the clarinet,
my breath the flashing bow of the violin.
Guilt and confession,
forgiveness and redemption
dance a fiery polka.
Feet stomping, heart racing,
spinning and turning and turning, breaking
the bonds of earth.
I am forgiven because I dance.
I dance because I am forgiven.
