a community mourns.
But what redeems the loss?

Eight Words of praise
chiseled by the wind of time
carved by years of human loss

the Kaddish stands
on the hill asking
mourners to stand

always on the hill
crafted to mend broken hearts
uplift fragmented spirits

Its rhythm anchors
ships tossed at

Each syllable
adds the needed weight
to moor each boat to shore

— Abraham Menashe
© 2017