Musings On Faith

Who are we but our practices, Our ancient food and songs, Who are the chosen few that we meet in the beyond? Where are the lines beneath, From order to chaotic press, Defined by time and creed it seems devoid of holiness. If all glory be to G-d, is that to yours or mine, The differences seem minor through translations over time, Drawing ever closer and yet further apart, Is it what’s in the book, what’s taught or what’s in the heart? If I will start over and trade the Matzo for the date, Would my love be any different, would my humor or my hate? Would I grow up wanting for the festival of lights, Or look forward to a month of eating with family by candlelight. Would I miss the songs of my homeland or the wine, Would I learn new songs and sing them with my brother’s side by side. The similarities between us cut deeper than the land So, there for the grace of G-d go I With my brother’s hand-in-hand.