We lift up our eyes and look through the branches
the stars are there, but we cannot see them,
human fear of night has covered the heavens
with lights kindled in vain to dispel the darkness.

The scent of the etrog is citrus, so sharp, 
the lulav is fragile and beginning to unravel.
We shake in all directions, say traditional prayers,
yet still our souls wonder, are you even there?

We hear echoes of far distant days long before 
our ancestors came to rely only on you,
bloody sacrifice to ensure a good harvest,
dancing in the night to appease angry gods.

We’re not sure who to invite into the sukkah, 
ancestors and gods now have feet of clay,
who understands what it all really means,
do you really care for the words that we pray?

So many hearts are broken and hardened, 
sources of comfort are weakened and fragile,
we need new stories to leave to our children
so they can find peace and harvest in joy.

©marthahurwitz2023