365
numbers scribbled on wrinkled bits of masking tape, stuck on shirts and blouses
ascending
362, 363, 364
towards 365
almost a year since the barbaric attack
in gaza
men, women, children, wantonly murdered
maimed raped
100s taken captive
and still war rages on multiple fronts,
the hostages are not free
and their families wait
and wait
even as Israel valiantly defends its people
even as pagers explode
air strikes rout out the terrorist curse
sons and daughters are sent to war
even as Israeli mothers hope and pray
every war will be the last
and parents lie awake at night,
dreading the knock at the door,
a soldier fallen
a husband, a son, a daughter
and fathers keen in cemeteries as their children are laid to rest, and a mother calls out to her son as she buries him, my sweet boy
and so I struggle with the ugly reality of war
the enormity of the loss of human life
of the terrorists intent to annihilate a people
fueled by a depth of hatred of
Jews
and so, as 365 looms
a new year comes
round challahs studded with plump raisins
reminding of the roundness of the year, days, weeks, months, years
one on to another in the eternal cycle
sweet wine and apples dipped in honey,
savoring each sip, each bite
and gladdening us
as we gather to hear the blasts of the shofar
awakening us
calling on us to carry on,
to root out evil
to seek what is good and right
to be the blessing, not the curse
to come together in hope, in prayer
as we mark 365, the end of a year of death and despair
as day dawns
and we begin anew.