Lord of the world, if we speak openly
Sometimes I don't have the strength in your world to be...
You came too hard on me this morning with that attempt.
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Yes, I know it's nothing new that those who call on your name are being slaughtered.
It has already happened in Pharaonic Egypt, in exiled Spain, in "renewable" Germany. And here too. More than once.
And we've already seen this strange mix of red tallit (I don't remember tefillin being chopped up by axes, but let's not get caught up in the small stuff).
You came at me hard this morning.
It always comes strong to me in the morning.
Because in the morning I am still filled with faith.
In the morning light. In the morning I thank you again for restoring my soul to me.
Yes, I know I say "compassionate and kind" and then immediately "terrible and awful.".
I know. I know I only see part of the picture, not the greatness of the holy souls of the murdered, not the supreme intention that prescribes for us a heroic redemption free from all the ills of exile. I know. I know that you will sanctify your relatives and that you chose the martyrs who were murdered this morning with tweezers.
And you came to me strong this morning, not because the burden was heavy on me (and it is heavy), not because my spirit was short (and it was short), nor because my soul was at its limit (oh, how limited). This morning you came to me strong because of you, not because of me.
Why should the nations say, "Where is their God?"
Why would the detractors say, this is prayer and this is a reward? Why specifically in a synagogue? Why specifically in the morning? Not for me, Lord of the world. This is for your honor.
How?
