Like Manna from Heaven

I remember standing outside the bakery after Passover —

waiting on line with my brother for the first batch of bagels —

and how we could smell the bagels baking.

And then, once the front doors opened, I ordered a dozen and

carried the hot bagels in a brown paper bag under my arm,

and when I took that first bite, it was like heaven on earth.

Everything melted away except for the taste of warm dough

and the salty reminder that we all come from the sea and

are nurtured by grains of the earth.

The bagels were like manna from heaven,

which wasn’t the name of the bakery

but could have been

because that’s how it felt to bite into a bagel

after eight days of matzah, eight days of dust-filled mouths

chewing on brittle crumbs of freedom.

Who could have imagined as we crossed the sea

to wander in the desert for forty years

that at the end of our journey

we’d reach a promised land filled with milk and honey

and with bagels that we’d bite into with such joy,

remembering our sojourn in the wilderness centuries ago.

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