You can’t have a Jewish anything without wine.
Even Yom Kippur I’m sure there’s a bottle of wine standing by
in case the Messiah comes.
I’m sure the first thing the Messiah would say if
[insert your pronoun of choice] came on Yom Kippur would be
Alright I’m here. Let’s get out the wine. The sweet stuff.
You know how I like it. Sickly sweet.
Sweet as honey. So sweet we can’t help but
remember the sweetness of the day of rest.
The taste of it on our tongues yearning
for every day to be this sweet.
If there’s one thing having a small child has taught me
it’s that smells exist. Even if I can’t see them.
Oh the holy scents that come out of him.
There should be a Jewish holiday that revolves around them.
This is the lesson of the spices.
We can’t see the smell they make
but we know it’s real.
I don’t know if I believe in God above
because I can’t see [insert your pronoun of choice]
But I know if one thing exists for sure that I can’t see
The scent of the Havdallah spices
Then I’m open to the possibility
that the other does too.
This is how it started
this flame, a day ago
Two separate lights
that had no choice
but to twist together
A double Mitzvah on Shabbat
(what even is a double Mitzvah?)
showing us the way.
bound together like two souls
the last light
of the Sabbath
to not be separated
This is it
The hardest Jewish moment
The one where the flame goes out
The one where we are as far away from the next Shabbat
as we can possibly be.
How can we stand it?
The work week?
The mundanity of the every day
[thank you spellcheck for confirming that mundanity is a word]
See, this is what we try to do.
A little joke to delay the end
to extend Shabbat beyond it’s natural boundaries.
To keep this flame lit just a little more.
Before we extinguish it with sweetness.
That exact moment.
Like a little death.
Shabbat is over
it’s a whole new world
with only one thing certain.
Shabbat will come again.