Who will make the chicken soup?
For the alien
And the dejected
And the poor?
The ones who want to taste Jewish life but, by community, have been denied a seat at the table let alone a bowl?
Ki Va Moed (כִּי-בָא מוֹעֵד)
For a new meal.
Ki Va Moed (כִּי-בָא מוֹעֵד)
For a new table.
And Ki Va Moed (כִּי-בָא מוֹעֵד)
For a chicken soup recipe of the ostracized’s making.
Will we abandon the comforts of our fine china and cushy dining room decor?
And will we seek out the flavors of Jewish lives far from home?
Risking ourselves.
Risking everything.
To get to back to the ingredients of our grandparents’ chicken stock?
