Your cloud, the one that led our ancestors forward
Was a blanket of protection, a warming source of hope and guidance.
Where are You, in the heavy gray that envelopes me today?
Your cloud was luminous and pregnant.
My cloud hangs, limp and leaden, over me and my garden,
Draping the dying plants with dew they do not need.
They, and I, are ready for sleep.
Please, please don’t water me now.
I need to lie down,
I need to curl up.
Don’t fill me with inspiration, don’t hand me a cup of coffee!
Just let me sleep.
But You,
You won’t let me off so easily.
Your light, the divine light within me,
Wakes me full in the middle of the night,
Fires my imagination.
I unfurl my blanket,
Uncurl my limbs,
Stagger among the dark furrows by the sagging cornstalks.
Some clouds scud silver across the waning moon, and
I see my shadow in Your light.
Look up. There they are — Your stars!
I cannot count them, but You can name them.
They are signal fires, pillars of possibility.
Kislev will darken, darken, darken
And then, in Tevet, once again, You will
Let there be light.
The dancing candles, the rising sun, Your voice in my soul,
Will tickle seeds and roots, and doubts and dread,
Burn away my inertia.
I will rise, at dawn,
To praise You again.
