On October 7t, 13 towns in Southern Israel were brutally attacked. This poem incorporates the Hebrew names of these towns and their meanings in English. They are: Erez—Cedar Tree, Sderot—(tree-lined) Avenues, K’far Azah—Village of Strength, Nachal Oz—Valley of Strength, Be’eri—My Well (of water), Netivot—Paths, Re’im—Friends, Ofakim—Horizons, Nirim—Plowed Furrows, Magen—Shield, Sufah—Storm (named for the sandstorms in the area), Nir Yitzchak—Plowed Field of Isaac, and Kerem Shalom—Vineyard of Peace. The poem was inspired by the rejuvenated unity of the Jewish people in the wake of the attacks and tragic loss of life in our beloved land of Israel.

I reach to you across the tear-filled sea, will you take my hand?

Across the vast plains, across the land, across the desert sand.

You take my hand and grip it tight in yours, “I will never let you fall,”

as we descend together into the valley and scale the mountain wall.

With a tear-filled heart, I embrace you, my brother, my sister, my friend;

Let’s dance together in the lush valley and on the mountain we ascend.

I reach to you across religion, across differences that divide,

Let’s close the gap and repair the breach forever, no matter how wide.

I reach up to each of you, now in heaven high above,

I am sorry it took your death for me to feel this love.

I reach back across time to October the 6th—when you were still here,

Why couldn’t I love you then; I thought you were far, but you were so near.

We would plow the valley fields together and plant our vineyards close to home,

In the peaceful paradise of Nachal Oz and Kibbutz Kerem Shalom.

We would walk together along paths of friendship towards new horizons of hope and brotherhood,

And keep the sun from rising—over Ofakim, Re’im, Netivot, for as long as we could.

But the sun did rise. And the sun did set. And now there is no end to my well of tears,

But from the plowed earth, mightier, the cedar grows, as we have for thousands of years.

I think of Be’eri and Erez and my whole heart aches,

K’far Azah, Nir Yitzhak and my whole heart breaks.

But somehow, my broken heart begins to feel more unbroken than ever before, more complete,

To the healing rhythm of Am Yisrael’s heart and “Am Yisrael Chai” it begins to beat.

Trembling, I reach forward across time—to weeks, months, and years from now,

I fear—will we forget to love each other? Will we forget how?

Because human nature will intrude; discord and dissension will stir awake,

So listen to their silent call—“Zachor et asher asah l’cha Amalek.”

And listen to them whisper, “If ever your love begins to dim,

Remember the burning love in your heart, ignited by Nirim.”

Before the sandstorm engulfed Sderot, Magen and Sufah, I was too blind to see,

But now it’s clear that I will always shield you from harm and you will always shield me.

Let us forever travel together on the avenues of life, in the shade of trees in bloom,

What is that I see ahead?—the people of Israel dancing together with a new bride and groom.