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Not This Year

embers
I usually find so much joy in Simchat Torah.
Not this year.
I usually get excited when autumn arrives.
Not this year.
I usually love taking pictures of the beauty around me, and sending those pictures to friends as I wish them happiness, joy, good health.
Not this year. All the wishes seem to have disappeared.
That well of joy I hold in my soul,
the one that radiates from me,
the one I love to share
seems gone.
Dead. Doused. Ashes have been thrown over my fires.
I have lived enough to know there are probably embers glowing
that lie beneath the debris
that if I can clear the debris
and blow on them,
feed them twigs
and dried branches.
If I put my heart into it
I could feel that joy,
that life again.
But the death toll keeps rising,
the land rings with laments pain.
The fear for hundreds held by Hamas.
Not this year
Not this year
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