I’m in the air, maybe a thousand miles from
where it happened – from the room where it happened –
The room with the orbs of light hanging from the ceiling.
The room with the perfect sound.
The room we returned to after years in the diaspora.
Where once there were tacos
now there is a cheese castle
The tacos were good and I’d eat them again
but they don’t match the neshama of Oconomowoc.
The Neshamonowoc…if you will… Where, praise God,
there are finally public bathrooms in the lodge, Hallelujah!
ThIs is the room where the crazy freaks
do our crazy freaky thing.
The room where we moved and blessed
and sang while Wisconsin rain reminded us
we don’t always have the control we want.
The room with voices from our past
commingled with the voices of our future.
The room where the melodies of absent friends
shacked up with new assemblages of notes and syncopation
that lifted us from our seats if we were willing and able.
The room where everyone told me what an amazing human being
my son is and how his hugs are the stuff of legends. L’dor valor.
I can’t remember a room I wanted to leave less than the Rotunda.
I know our voices are still in those walls.
I know that your voices are still in my ears and I will spend
the year releasing them into other ears inside other walls.
This is what we do after receiving blessings from the people
who blessed us the moment we arrived
Long before they vocalized them.
The people who let us take their gifts and make them our own.
This the room where we learned to resil
in a year where we need that strength so bad.
This is the room with the long intentional silence
after the final amen.
The room where we learned we are a blessing.
We are on our way.