When only two of ten spies returned with
a report filled with bravery, forty years were
added to the march to the Holy land.
We did eventually get to the Holy land.
When the first Temple, Solomon’s finest achievement,
was knocked over by a man whose name we still
have trouble pronouncing, a generation left home
and wept by a river.
We did eventually return home.
When the Romans, who perfected roads and
the ability to move water from one place to another
leveled the second Temple, a structure one of
their own built, the diaspora was invented.
We set up shop elsewhere and learned of
the temptations of driving cars on Saturday and
also our hair was cut short like the gentiles
who we called neighbor.
We haven’t rebuilt, and now they act like
we never had the permits in the first place.
When the Romans were still a thing and
the Christian savior a recent memory
a half million of us followed a man named
Simon to the unreachable hope of
lighting candles when we wanted to.
A half million candles never lit.
When Bar Kokhba was down and
permanently out, they went back to the ruins
of our Holy place and ruined them more.
We’re still digging up what they did.