My husband took the name, Ivri,
The Hebrew;
The border-crosser.
He took it because
in his life he’s crossed
many a border.
So too, have I.
So too, am I crossing now.
So too, did my crossing begin
October 7th–
a day my world changed,
and forever.
What is a border,
if not a boundary?
What is a boundary,
if it is not a limit?
What is a limit,
if not a line?
What good is a line
if it is not compassionate?
The mystics teach that compassion
is the result of unending chesed
contained within discerning gevurah.
Every human life is sacred;
Every human life
a spark of the Divine.
There is a line
drawn by darkness,
emboldened by Evil, itself.
Compassion–rachamim–
fruit of the womb of Shekhinah, Herself.
We are stretching because of this birthing;
We are pained because of this blood.
