Shabbat IX

(Written on a Wednesday, in the dead of the week.)

Delight in the day—
Do not hold back.

Rejoice for peace
And know that freedom is here.

The gloaming turns to night,
But then it is burst by the bright dawn.

So tired in the evening, sleepy in the night,
How could we awake?

The beauty of creation calls us,
And it is only a shadow.

All the while the strings play out a song—
A song of love.

Not the kind of love
That makes us chase things.

Not the kind of love
That gets in my head and pushes me to pursue lust.

Not that kind of love.
Not the love that pulls me through the week.

Instead, the kind of love that makes me weep
And makes me dance.

That kind of love
That chooses the poor and the broken for the feast.

See, the one you love is caged.
Have you found the key?

See, the one you love is bound.
Do you have your knife?

Have you set the captives free?
Have you forgiven your debtors?

Are you washed by the water?
Because there is pain in me.

There is only one rest now,
And it is not about the ceremony.

That is not the sort of fast I want.
I don't want a show.

I want the things I hope for,
The things that are more than I have ever seen.

Let me count up these costs.
Let me build something real.

And may I sing for gladness—
May I delight in the day.