Sacred Time

I watch the match strike the surface,

of a matchbox with Shabbos designs;

this flame designates the beginning

of sacred time, the Day of Rest.

After saying the blessing over the candles,

my mother turns the tablet on the dinner table,

so that my view is now of her chair and place setting;

as we begin the prayers, the Shechinah joins us.

Every Friday evening, we’ve been meeting,

closing the distance of 2,300 miles in an instant,

after connecting our pixelated selves,

via the blessings of technology.

Who knows whether or not,

these high tech wonders

exist specifically for times like these,

in order to bridge the gaps between us all.

I take comfort in sharing this moment,

sanctifying the day with kiddush and motzei,

standing upon an island in time, suspended

in between the week days.

poem: The Bridge

Photo by Harmy on Unsplash

A journey, across this bridge,
between belief and practice,
from the mind to the heart,
spanning heaven and earth.

Reaching out towards G-d;
then, returning to the self.
Climbing towards the sublime,
descending to the mundane.

Appearing before His throne,
only with prayers that glisten,
like dewdrops on the leaves
of the Tree of Life in Gan Eden.

Welcoming the Sabbath Queen,
in the evening, in all of your finery,
while dining with the angels,
in expectation of the Kingdom.