(A poem written in unity with the 224 hostages being held captive in Gaza)
When Hannah prayed to God for a child, her lips moved with no sound emerging.
Her prayers were heard.
Her prayers were answered.
Their voices are hard to hear.
Their prayers pierce, tear, pummel our souls.
Revealing gaping holes.
Mouths moving.
No sound.
We hear their prayers.
May their prayers be answered.
Mothers, fathers, grandparents, friends, teenagers, children, babies.
Deepening pools of pain.
Despair.
Unbridled angst.
No one sleeps.
Longing to hear their voices yet again.
Cries emerge from the darkness.
Silent cries.
Silent, screaming, echoing cries.
Weeping for a parent’s embrace.
Whimpering for favorite pajamas.
When do I get to go home?
Silent, screaming, echoing cries.
When can I sleep in my bed?
See my sister?
Eat my grandma’s challah?
Play at the park?
Go on a date?
Listen to music?
When do I get to go home?
Silent, screaming, echoing cries.
When can I feel the warmth of the sun?
Go swimming in the sea?
Sing?
Dance?
Laugh?
Dream?
When do I get to go home?
When will my voice be heard?
God, do you hear me?
Will you answer my prayers?
Their Cries.
Silent to the ear.
Deafening to the heart.
We hear your prayers.
Shared, linked, prayers intertwined.
We hear your prayers.
Hearts joined as one.
We hear our prayers.
Cries that God can’t ignore.
God, hear our prayers.
May our prayers be answered.
Amen.
In partnership with The Jewish Journal, you can also find Rabbi Guzik’s blog post HERE.
