Is this the Sukkah that I desire,
open to the blue skies and the emerging
hues of Vermont leaves on a crisp October day?

Which ancestors do I invite this year?
  the great grandmother of Hersch?
  the great great grandfather of Shani?
  our Ima Rachel, who still weeps for her children?

How can I sit here, wrapped in Divine Protection,
when starved and broken bodies lie in darkness
wrapped only in suffering and death?

We have held desperately onto this
dissonance for seven hundred and thirty days,
seventy years, one hundred generations.
Must we hold on forever?

Where are you, Shehinah, Breath of Life?
In this fragile hut, in the concrete tunnels?
Please sit down and talk with me.
Help me understand.


(c)marthahurwitz2025