Weeping

The Place Where We Are Right, Yehuda Amichai

From the place where we are right

flowers will never grow in the spring.

The place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard.

But doubts and loves

dig up the world like a mole, a plow.

And a whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood.

We are in the narrow place, as the days turn from Tammuz to Av. The first day of Av (Rosh Chodesh Av)* begins tomorrow night, and yet, it has felt like Av for ages now.

The moon ebbs and flows, as a mother’s womb, and I wonder, does the moon weep with us, women of desert and stone? We are in the narrow place of war and my heart aches. For the families of hostages. For young soldiers setting out across trampled yards and ruins, and the circles of people who love them.

For the children. Like the angels weeping for the Egyptian army drowning in the Sea of Reeds, the lives lost for our freedom, how can we not weep for the children on both sides of borders and cultures? We mustn’t trample our compassion into yards of pavement and dust. We mustn’t plow our whole, faithful selves into sharp edges. Listen to the whisper of children, longing for peace.

*As the month of Av begins, please join me in donating to an organization I’ve held in high regard for decades, NIF: https://www.nif.org/nifs-campaign-to-address-humanitarian-needs-in-gaza/