A Poem for Tisha B’Av

The Ninth of Av

–for Maggid Yitzhak Buxbaum, z”l

In the rhythm of the year our temple fell. We sat low. As if we might fall again but not as far. We sat low closer to the ground. We had fallen also in the heat of August in the month of Av. Although “I know I am august” I sit low now for I know something fell and broke. I sit low and wail in half a chair. Something broke and hurts chunks of wall and pride of towers. I know I am august in August and know I am small. The broken wall and the shame. I will rise slow from my low chair and lift my head. I am only one of us watching for a new moon.

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