The Minyan

Driving through shadows,

The world asleep,

Some trudging to the  toilet,

Splashing  stored up urges

Into unknown paths of darkness

Flickering  amber

Dancing along charcoal coated streets

In the distance a red thread cuts 

Across the sky, a reminder of sun yet to rise.

I head toward the harsh light

Piercing the blackness around it

Blinking I step into a space awash with 

The white  glare of fluorescence ,

A blank page inscribed 

With black circles of leather straps

And black  boxes, holding tiny gems

Of holy letters.

Some stand, waiting silently,

Some sit, waiting with eyes shut

Relishing traces of tucked in warmth

Some peer at prayers, preparing,

Lips limbered up for the race to God.

Silence is broken-“I have Kaddish to say 

For my father”- almost tearfully,

Pleadingly, “will there be a minyan?”  

Amidst the chorus of assurances 

Footsteps are heard , the arrival of the morning messiah.

Chanting begins and curls along

The  white walls of  this miniature sanctuary,

A tiny chapel to fit the smallness  of the crowd

Its crannies cramped with the drone of ancient words

Words centuries old.

Some sway, some simply sit,

Frozen in a far away stare into

A distant past-

Some sing, 

Bringing a lilt to morning’s awakening.

One is wordless, his prayer-

 His presence, passing along alms plate,

And when aging , shaky hands, barely able to hold  hymnal

Are summoned to raise the weight of Torah scroll

He praises with powerful arms lifted on high-

And all can see the black on white, like waves of the sea

Flowing over beds of dry land, watering thirsty mouths

Parched  by time’s irreversible passage.

Yisgadal v’yiskadash-

Sons praise God, purging guilt

Preserving  memory

Sustaining the soul somewhere

Widows weep, sitting patiently,

Wondering what to do,

Now standing , the center of attention,

Whispering  sounds of loss and loneliness,

Letters mispronounced, love grammatically correct.

I step into the sunshine of a new day

And above, draping the world in hope

Is a canopy of blue, unfolding, outstretching, from 

The  single  thread of  a humble  prayer shawl.