Welcome Home
Winter has been heavy. Bleak. New York gets tender in the cold. A melting pot of lonely people with frost wedged between their bones.
Grey days where the world feels extra fragile, encased in a delicate dome, resting on G-d’s nightstand. But this morning, we woke up to two big, strong hands, shaking us awake. Cradling us in His palms.
I stepped off the subway and anxiously refreshed my feed after losing service underground. Three familiar faces filled my screen with life. Three of our sisters, our daughters. And finally, I felt my lungs release a bit of the thick air I’ve been carrying for the past 15 months. Tears clouded my vision and spilled down my cheeks as the world stopped spinning for a brief, bearable moment.
I watched and rewatched the reunion, oblivious to my loud, frenetic surroundings. Emily blanketed in a huge Israeli flag. Romi’s sister jumping for joy. Doron’s sobs. Each mother gripping their daughter with such fervor, such tenacity. Flooded with solace and sorrow and gratitude and grief. Snow flakes pirouette under each lamp post in a winded dance, creating tornado’s of light, casting shadows of glitter and grace onto the wet concrete. A beautiful blizzard of heart break and healing.