A Poem, 500 Days

Elohai neshama shenatata bi tehora hi- Oh God, the Soul You have placed within me is pure.
What language do you speak, Kfir?
9 months when you were stolen.
Pure.
Can you learn to speak without love?
Do they let you speak at all?
500 days now, and too many others.
Kfir, you are the youngest.
Pure.
Concrete caves are not your crib.
We know you cannot sleep, beautiful Kfir.
500 days without a lullaby.
No goodnight kisses soft on red hair.
Stolen.
Pure
We need you back in the Negev.
Kibbutz Nir Oz.
Someone teach him Hebrew.
Someone kiss his red head.
He is 9 months.
Add 500 days.
It is still 10/7.
He is the youngest
Matir Asurim…
God who frees the captives.
500 days.
Bring him home now.
Bring them home now.
Pure

Rabbi Josh Gray