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

right here.