From high on the bima
I watched the congregation
Chanting responses without feeling
without intonation.

Stand and sit,
bend at the appropriate times
Cover one’s eyes at the Sh’ma
Face to the ark
Where is the god?

And after opening the ark
and seeing the scrolls
written with love and care,
watching the fragile paper being cradled
Like a newborn babe
Words were chanted and read.
A dead language filtered through my ears
A message without comprehension

And yet, I wonder
do I belong here?
Watching the rabbis, the cantor, the people from high
the agnostic among the Jews.

But the truth is, I am at home here
For my salvation does not come
from a book
or a scroll
or a glass of wine
or a wafer of wheat
or a mountain in a far way land

but from those who love me
for the person I am within
not changing for external pressures

but remaining true to myself

 © 2008 Spacemom