At the Wall

And so it is that I am
at the Wall. Ha Kotel.
The old cold stone beneath my hand,
alive with the prayers of a million living
Jews and six million and more no
longer living. Alive
with the breath of God.
And so it is that I am called,
called, called home and
home again to where the stone grows
warm against my forehead though
it is December and we wear wool
against the cold.
Called back through my soul
through the souls of the ones before
all of us in Egypt
all of us at Sinai
all of us
in the heart of God.
I lean on the Wall and God
holds me. I lean on the Wall and God
breathes with me.
The day falls away and I
stand in the wind on Masada.
Desert fortress
besieged by Rome
for over a year then
breached by ramp
to the death of all but a single
witness and child.
Never again.
Not just never forget, but
never again .