I held the Torah today
wrapping my arms
around our story.
Such a strange day
for a holiday,
Such an odd day
for dancing.
I was holding you–
my sisters in Tel Aviv
my brothers in Ashkelon.
I was holding you–
my siblings
murdered in the kibbutzim…
my children,
My aunts, my uncles
kidnapped, forced into Gaza.
And I was holding you–
my cousins
born into a strip of
hell at the border.
I hold all of you
All of you,
the Torah tells me–
You are each my family.
Listening to the last lines
of the Torah today,
I saw the last piece of
parchment tied to the
wooden roller.
For the first time
I thought
What if we never
read the beginning again–
What if this last piece of
parchment was the end
Where would my family be?
Who would I hold?
Who would hold me?
—written the evening after Simchat Torah, two days after the attack on Israel, 50 years after the Yom Kippur War
