Parshat Va’etchanan is always read after the nine days of Av and the fast of Tisha B’Av, when we mourn many tragic events in our history.
As we enter into Tisha B’Av, we do so with the recognition that this year’s observance is different than in other years, for this year there is a widening gulf that has opened up between communities and people, both in the United States, but most particularly in Israel over the past months.
These poems are meant to underscore that even when times seem dire, there is always room for hope.
“From the Center of the Flame”
From the blue center of the flame
My people call out to me;
their voices not yet ash.
“Lamah azavtanu?”
”Why have you forsaken us?”
“I am here, My children.
I am here with you in the flame,
but you are blind to Me.
Your ears cannot perceive My moans.
But I am here
and, My children,
I grieve.
I weep with you.
I cry over your baseless hatred,
even as I cried with you through the fires of the Chorban,
through the flames of the Inquisition,
the destruction of the pogroms
and the ovens of Auschwitz.
are the creators of
holy sparks.
Oy, My children, we are so broken.
Your voices cry out.
The sounds from
your blistered lips,
are ice on the flames.
Shema
Yisrael
Adon-ai
Elokeinu
Adon-ai
Echad.
Six times the flame
sputters,
but it is not extinguished.
I weep as I gather your souls
to my breast.
I hold them to Me
for you are My precious children.
All that remains now is the future.
The words of history continue to be written
from the blue center of the flame.
“Nachamu, Nachamu, Ami”
May you find comfort, my children.
May the grass be cool under your feet.
May the shade of the trees offer you protection.
May you grow old surrounded by people who love you.
May the earth always offer you her bounty.
May you hear My voice from the trees, from the clouds, from the rain and yes,
even from the fire.
May your limbs be strong.
May your eyes see colors.
May you wake up refreshed in the morning
and may you sleep peacefully by night.
May you find peace among your neighbors
and may you find the value of shared dialogue.
May you hear My voice from the trees, from the clouds, from the rain and yes, even from the fire.
Nachamu, nachamu, ami.
May your tears dry.
Remove the ashes from your forehead.
Remove your mourning clothes.
May your back straighten.
May your fingers uncurl.
May you look up.
May you sing and dance again.
May you smile, my dearest children.
May you hear My voice from the trees, from the clouds, from the rain and yes, even from the fire.
Nachamu, nachamu, ami.
וַיְדַבֵּ֧ר יְהֹוָ֛ה אֲלֵיכֶ֖ם מִתּ֣וֹךְ הָאֵ֑שׁ ק֤וֹל דְּבָרִים֙ אַתֶּ֣ם שֹׁמְעִ֔ים וּתְמוּנָ֛ה אֵינְכֶ֥ם רֹאִ֖ים זוּלָתִ֥י קֽוֹל׃ יהוה
“I spoke to you out of the fire; you heard the sound of words but perceived no shape—nothing but a voice.”
—Devarim 4:12
A link to the song “Nachamu, Nachamu” by Eitan Katz.
Originally published at Words Have Wings.
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