The synagogues are empty
the walls are blank faces
echoes of the golden age
bounce off the deserted bimah.
The Torahs, abandoned in their dark spaces
wondering whether we’ve all forgotten.
The kiddush supplies, cold, untouched
like a ghost town, a shrine
a museum of things that used to happen.
The homes are rich and warm
the walls absorbing the learning, the prayers, the song
creating, I hope, a new golden age
that bounce off the prosaic furnishings and hand-me-down couches
The Torah, in word and spirit and deed, missing in scroll only (but we haven’t forgotten)
it’s kiddush every day around here, l’chaim!
The creativity and love is just beginning
the home just on the cusp of reclaimed
It’s alive, bursting, with everything my family is and needs and wants