for Hava Nashira (and Angela Gold who came up with the phrase “Kibbutz Hava Nashira”)
I just flew back from Oconomowoc
and boy is my soul tired.
I’ve got melodies falling out my ears.
My socks, soaked with tears.
It is a difficult thing to only see your family
once a year.
Even more so when not everyone is there.
But it is worth it.
Until the reality full sets in, let’s, just for a moment
imagine a world where there aren’t flights home.
Where there is a permanence to our harmony.
Where, like a Kibbutz, our time together is the rule
instead of the exception.
I’d like to take my turn in your kitchen
Hava Nashira. Raise my child in your school.
When people would ask where I lived
it would be one of those things you just couldn’t explain.
You’d smile and say
I live where the lake meets the sun
where there are many bodies and one voice.
where everyone is elevated.
In a way this will pass.
Life will become what we call
Euphoria will be the memory
instead of the current situation.
But that is not this moment.
Oh Oconomowoc, oh people of the Book
I miss you. But I know
I will see you again.