An Open Letter to My Beloved

Dear Beloved,

It is that time of year again when my heart calls to you Beloved. I hope You feel the same.

I smile when I see the apples of autumn in the stores because it calls to me of our time in the orchard, and our special time together in the shade of the trees. Can you still smell my perfume the same way I remember how your gentle black curls framed your face?

I’m writing, my King, my Beloved, because I know that this is the time of the year You go out into the field to see the people. I know that You must be thinking of us, and I needed to say how much we are thinking of You.

It’s been a hard year my Beloved. In some ways, it was reminiscent of that time I was searching through the city, calling Your name, and for whatever reason, the guards of the city beat me and pulled my hair. At that time, they certainly didn’t realize how special I was to You. And this time again – it hurt. I hurt not only because each blow was a world of pain. I hurt because the whole time we had to keep telling ourselves, again and again, I am the one whom the King loves! It was me under the chuppah with Him. It was me in the yichud room on the day of His coronation. I have his love letter! I might be sullied, but I am the beautiful one He loves. But it’s hard to keep saying it, when they keep punching and jeering.

In the middle of all of this I had a realization; something clicked for me. Over the years you’ve called me by beautiful pet names. You called me, “my bride,” “my perfect one,” “my dove,” and those all made sense to me. But sometimes you also called me, “my sister,” and if I’m being honest, that one always was odd. I didn’t say anything, of course, but I wondered. But I get it now. You mean the way siblings look alike and reflect the same heritage. You mean the way that sometimes a person sees one sib and because the mannerisms are the same and the speech style is similar that that sib is the other one. You called me “sister” because we’re so alike. You said I’m your dove because I’m faithful to your love and I’m your bride because You remember those days of my youth when we had nothing but I trusted in You so lovingly, and you called me perfect because even if I’m not really, I long to be. And you called me sister because we’re so incredibly alike. I understood that this year because it’s more clear to me now than ever before that when people look at me, they see You, they see our relationship, our love. They hit me because they hate You, my Beloved.

In this moment of closeness, I feel the need to offer some honesty. All these years that I’ve been waiting to be called home back to the palace, I spent a lot of that time looking to you and hoping instead of looking in the mirror and helping. I remember with deep shame that time You actually came to me, You came and knocked on my door! You came to get me! But for whatever reason the slumber took me too hard. I was already showered, and I did my skin care routine, and I was in bed, and I heard you knock, but I didn’t come. I could pull myself out of that stupor. When I finally realized the chance I was being given I ran to the door but, OY! It was too late. In the time it took to fumble with the lock and the door the moment passed and all that was left was the scent of Your cologne. I’m so ashamed.

My Beloved, in these great moments, when even though we are so far, You are so close, I hope you think of me still, your precious rose. There was a time when we sat together in the garden and you fawned over my eyes, my lips, my smile. You gifted me honey and cream and wine, and You were so joyful when I enjoyed them and perfected them. You talked of my perfume, and I longed for your embrace. My Beloved, it’s been a hard year. I just wanted to say that we know you still love us. There were moments we could see you watching us from behind the curtain just as you saw us peeking from behind our veil. We know You still love us and we hope that soon You’ll bring us home, in royal fashion and in victory.

With hope in our eyes and love in our hearts,

Your Perfect Dove