A burning ball of orange light
slips into sleep
in a darkening blue sky
as trucks roar by on Doremus Avenue.
We have gathered — strangers and friends —
on a patch of withered blades of grass,
yards from the barb-wired detention center,
feeling the presence of the innocent souls imprisoned
in Delaney Hall.
We are here to share
on this Tisha B’Av
our ancestors’ lamentations and
our people’s collective sorrow for those
ensnared in a web of suffering today.
Our voices — drenched in pain — fill the air…
By the waters, the waters of Babylon/ We lay down and wept, and wept, for thee Zion/We remember, we remember, we remember thee Zion.
Ko haolam kulo gesher tzar m’od v’ha-ikar lo l’faheid klal
The entire world is but a narrow bridge; the most important thing is not to be afraid.
Olam hesed yi-bineh. We will build this world from love.
We sing the Sh’ma — Adonai is our God, Adonai is One!
We are one human family.
We hear the ancient words of Jeremiah born from utter despair,
once again alive, flying through the air, sparks that ignite
in each of us anger, grief, remorse
for the cruelty and iniquity that plague our lives today.
We sing a song written by children:
I sing from here, you sing from there,
together we’ll sing down the walls everywhere.
Yo canto acá, tú cantas allá, juntos los muros vamos a tumbar
With love in our hearts like the waves of the sea,
Together we’ll sing until everyone’s free.
and make our way closer
to the brick container of brutality,
“with love in our hearts like waves of the sea,”
singing to the men and women behind those walls,
hoping our voices seep through the cracks.
We take a breath
in silence and then
a shofar blower
pierces the summer night
with a wailing cry
for justice, for wholeness, for redemption
and release.
And then,
out of nowhere,
a white ICE van appears, cuts
a sharp turn
into the entrance
to Delaney Hall, picks
up speed,
drives
beyond our sight
to deposit
new detainees.
The night ends
in terror and heartbreak.
We must do more.
