My soul has been battered by storms,
desert sand blinding her eyes, 
plagued by pain and sorrow.

I built my soul a sanctuary
with walls of stone, gates of iron
guarded by archangels armed
with flaming swords.

My soul would not reside there,
she is a daughter of the wind,
studying Torah under the stars,
seeking the source of Miriam’s Well.

My soul knows standing on holy ground 
is dangerous, to seek unity with the divine 
can burn and consume.

Still she wrestles with angels,
takes off her shoes and trembling 
reaches out to hold Shehinah’s hand.




©2024marthahurwitz