חג הגאולה

Almost robotic we danced in circles. Outside the winter chill was on its course, but inside the warmth took presence as the singing and dancing became livelier.
To my right a teen with side curls gripped my shoulder as we jumped up and down. To my left an older gentleman without a beard used one hand to hold his cup of vodka and his other hand waved wildly in the air. Surrounding us, men with pained faces and worried eyes sat heavily and watched. Starving for information they quietly waited.

Finally, news. Men ran in with cell phones in their hands. Pointing to their phones, shouting in jubilation “They are alive…. Both of them alive!”

Instantly the dancing grew increasingly more intense. The news circled. Announcements were made. My side curl friend was now on the floor somersaulting. My other friend was getting a refill. I closed my eyes as sweat and tears irritatingly mixed. Until our lungs became sore over and over we repeated in song “For your miracles, for your wonders and for your salvations.”
The horrific news that engulfed us all day, now escaped from every pore of our bodies.
We were threatened but we withstood. We were attacked but we survived. G-d and good prevailed.

That night I slept. I dreamt of how the rejoicing had only begun.

The next morning I woke. My throat was dry and my legs ached.
All turned black and the world stopped. “They are dead…. Both of them dead!”
I tried to ignore reality, but it was too true. The previous night’s elation was now a rumor of the past.
The world began to move again, but ever so painfully slow.
What else is there to say?