From old to age
Of innocence
The mishpat that
He did dispense
It’s hard to speak
It’s hard to write
For poetry
Is simply trite
To cast reflection
On the night
I’m no prophet
Nor a sage
I lack wisdom
I lack age
Yet in my years
I’ve walked this ground
I have not seen
Such din repeat
In ways profound
Babies suffering
For years
Pass amidst their
Parents’ tears
And young boys, vibrant
Full of zest
Snatched away
At His behest
Week after week
Our light goes dim
With news of losses
Harsh and grim
From every mosad
Around the world
The news of losses
Round us swirled
Rav Don, Rav Dov
Rav Nosson Tzvi
Each month
We hear
Another three
Rav Yitzchok Dovid’s
Life so pure
Eight years of suffering
And yet his eyes
That could not see
Would harmonize and sing
And revel in the Torah
His children came to learn
And though his body hardly moved
They saw his soul did yearn
Rav Nosson Tzvi
In agony
His body racked in pain
Would never cease
To just increase
Kevod Shomayim’s reign
Around the world
He would traverse
And never once complain
The leaves
Are stripped
Our tree
Lies bare
We stand unsheltered
Wait in fear
What next?
I ask
Will we soon hear?
Accidents and drownings
And sudden news that dazed
We listened with
Our heads turned down
Or eyes reddened and glazed
A rov mistaken
And then shot
By those sent to protect
A tragedy that
Makes no sense
No way to introspect
What lessons did
Each one of them
Give us through their lives
And though the guf
Has left this world
So much indeed survives
The chessed of the bochurim
The kiddush Hashem they brought
The parents of the tiny babes
For whom their lives they fought
I’m awed by all the tragedy
The range, spectrum and scope
Despite despair
And awe and fear
There always will be hope
I’m sure that wise men
Will have their say
And tell us what to do
But for myself
There’s but one thing
Just be a better Jew