One Tiny Seed There is a lullaby that says your mother will cry a thousand tears before you grow to be a man. I have cried a million tears . . . We all have. And I know that way over there there’s another woman who looks just like me because we are all so very similar and she has also been crying. All those tears, a sea of tears they all taste the same. Can we take them gather them up, remove the salt and pour them over our desert of despair and plant one tiny seed. A seed wrapped in fear, trauma, pain, war and hope and see what grows? Could it be that this woman so very like me that she and I could be sitting together in 50 years laughing without teeth because we have drunk so much sweet tea together and now we are so very old and our faces are creased like worn-out brown paper bags. And our sons have their own grandchildren and our sons have long lives . One of them without an arm But who needs two arms anyway? Is it all a dream? A fantasy? A prophecy? One tiny seed. Rachel Goldberg-Polin Her son Hersh was killed in captivity
A poem by Rachel Goldberg Polin, shared here: velveteenrabbi.blogs.com/blog/2025/08... #TishaBAv #Israel #Gaza
