Type: Poem

Vast floods cannot quench love; // rivers cannot drown its life-weaving power.

Only Torah, our tradition teaches, is sweeter than honey, // its aroma and taste more desirable than gold, // its devarim eternal

From sea to shining sea, each one meant to be // blessed, possessed, with life and liberty // But between the premise, the promise, and reality // there exists an abyss of inequality

I reach to you, stumbling // on stones, on translations.

One day it was all too much, // the princely façade cracked at the sight // Of overseers doing what they really do // when no one is looking. // The lash laid fiery welts along the back of a slave // And Moses felt the burn.

Were you there, in wisps // of dreams that eluded me? // Maybe you’re off doing whatever // soul work awaited you. Or poof, // evaporated.

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.