Type: Poem

Democracy was like weather // on those rare days when it’s so // right, so not-too-anything, // its goes unnoticed.

Our offering: // cakes baked in the shape of her womb. // Poppy seeds populate the holy center, // gifts of gratitude to the goddess of fertility; // this, our devotional expression— // cakes for the Queen of Heaven.

Small acts that counteract the sadness and despair // Rituals that contain the pain

I saw their names in our tree, but never // looked further. As a child, I knew // a few of them, but only a few.

My friends will stand // among the trees // saying Kaddish.

What begins as a tangle of threads in my hands becomes the connection to creation, forming visions behind my eyes, images within my heart, sounds inviting the sacred.

I dry her hair // gently, squeezing over her scalp // as she used to do for me

We know how to protect a child // from hostile eyes, // and there will be more deliveries on this journey.

At sunset the oryx finds water inside shrubs. // Magician of the desert, it links its straight horns to the sky.

He confesses his family’s sins to whom all praise is due // He requests divine forgiveness, then declares TITHARU! // The kohanim and the people who witness what was said // Declare “Baruch Shem Kavod Malchuto L’Olam Va’ed.”