Joy and Sorrow in the Same Hand

The wailing siren signals the city to a halt. People step out of their cars on the highway, pause in their steps on the way to whatever is most important and pressing.

This is the call of memory. The call of battles lost and won. The song of the voices of those who are no longer with us.

The ability to hold both deep sorrow and exuberant joy in the same vessel is extraordinary. Israel’s example of being able to do so sets an example for us Diaspora Jews. Israel is a people who brought forth water and abundance from a scarce desert with song and hard work. They are people who live every day knowing the shop they walk past might be the next target of explosives. Yet they still go into the shop. They still get on the bus. They live every day with fanfare and color and light and spectacular dancing and joy, amidst the fear, amidst the loss, amidst the remembering.

We too, here in the states, and throughout the world are trying to hold both joy and sorrow, and fear, and anxiety and happiness and peace- all of these conflicting emotions at once in each present moment. We are in the midst of a great mitzrayim, narrow place, moving one step in front of the other, grasping our footing, singing our redemption song. Maybe taking a step back or two and then moving forward again.

The wailing siren signals the city to a halt. People step out of their cars on the highway, pause in their steps on the way to whatever is most important and pressing. This is the call of freedom, the instant of Independence. Color and light, tears and joy.

MY ISRAEL
THE STILL MIDNIGHT WAS BROKEN BY OUR LAUGHTER AND AMAZEMENT
WE STAND INTO OUR HISTORY,
WHITE STONE GLOWING GOLD AGAINST THE BLACKNESS.
THE SCAMPERING OF STRAY CATS.

WHITE OR BLACK.
GREY IS NOT A COLOR WHERE I LIVE IN JERUSALEM.
CHILONI OR DATI- SECULAR OR RELIGIOUS.
ISRAELI, JEW, ARAB, PALESTINIAN, CHRISTIAN,
NONE OF THE ABOVE
ALL OF THE ABOVE.
human.
THE CACOPHONY OF LANGUAGE PUSHES ME FORWARD THROUGH THE THRONG AT THE SHUK
EXOTIC SPICE PERMEATES MY PALATE ON SHABBOS.
EYES BORE AT MY BACK ON MY SHABBOS RUN THROUGH REHAVIA
IPOD SOUND TRAILS IN MY WAKE

A SETTLER’S BATTLE HYMN,
A SONG OF DEFIANCE
A PEACE ACTIVIST’S PROTEST FOR THE ANCIENT OLIVE BRANCH
IS A PRAYER FOR A SURVIVAL
GROUNDED IN RESPECT, NATURE, AND HUMANITY.

A WOMAN SINGS AT THE WESTERN WALL.
EYES CLOSED, WRAPPED IN THE FOLDS OF HER MOTHER’S SARAH, REBECCA, RACHEL, AND LEAH
SHE HOLDS A TORAH CLOSE TO HER HEART.

THE EXTREMES CAN PRESS IN LIKE THICK HUMID HAIFA AIR.
I BREATHE EASIER OUT OF JERUSALEM’S WALLS, YET I AM CALLED TO HER GOLDEN, HOLY
OUTSTRETCHED ARMS. THEY RESONATE IN TONELESS AND VIBRANT INVITATION.
SWEET SONGS THAT DRAW TETHERING TIDES TOWARD HOME.