The Speed of Light

A boulder slipped from the stars last night. It hurled through the universe at the speed of darkness, knocked the air from our heaving lungs, and left us pleading at an open, shaking sky.

We had hope. We had hope.

There was hope.

A boulder slipped from the stars last night. It hurled through the universe at the speed of light, knocked the air into our empty lungs, and left us pleading for some sort of reply. For some sort of sign.

For an open, shaking sky.

Hersh, Eden, Carmel, Ori, Alexander, Almog. We were introduced to the six of you under horrific circumstances. But we got to know you nonetheless. Your heroic families, what you were like as kids, and your lofty goals and dreams sat heavily on my tear ducts as I watched funeral, after funeral, after funeral. The grief is tangible. Baffling. Sticky. A familiar substance that’s been holding this nation together for the past eleven months. (For the past 5,000 years).

We’ve been here before. It hurts, I know.

But from these devastating tears, a forest will grow.

There still is hope. Claw at its embers and do not let go.

To our brothers and sisters who had to bury theirs- we are entrenched in your pain. Until you gain some sort of impossible balance, tiptoeing amongst the ashes, we are holding your hands. Creating footprints in the sand. Carrying you on our backs. As we always will, as we always have.

Until you feel steady enough to stand, 

until your feet stop bleeding from the glass,

your cosmic wounds are ours to wrap.

Am Yisrael was built to last.