Day 268

This poem was referenced in a post the other day. It was written right before an Erev Rosh Hashanah service a few years ago.

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Days of Awe

As the holy days begin,
as the gates creak open,
I find myself drifting in the crowd.
The sanctuary teems with life,
the young scurrying about,
the old reminiscing,
“Happy new year!”
“Shana tovah!”
And I sit here.
Alone, flipping through the machzor,
barely holding back the tears,
steeling myself for the service.
The gates are opening,
there is no doubt tears will fall,
itís only a matter of when.
Will they be joyous, full of hope?
Or will they be of sorrow, ashamed to be here alone?
The gates are opening
and the crowd is rushing in,
but I hold back, fearful of being where I do not belong.
It takes a great act of courage to even inch towards the gates,
to even peek into that holy space.
But the gates are only open for a short time,
I cannot be unsure any longer,
I cannot worry,
I cannot let the fear engulf my heartís desire.
The gates are open
and as I walk in,
there is no doubt this is where I belong.