Friday Morning, before Yom Kippur
"We'll reset the clock," the doctor said,
Describing the surgery that will give me years.
"There's risk of course in a case as complex as yours,
Still, we'll do what we can and trust in G-d."
"Reset the clock" is Teshuvah defined,
The small turning of the soul, compass lost,
Homeward, as far as turning east to west,
For the first shift of legs or eyes resets
Direction - a step, a word, a thought may
Open channels through which flow correction.
So easy to return with home in the mind -
And yet the risk of evil, like a tumor,
Must be met with resolve and more, much more -
(We are metaphors for our souls, bodies
Paradoxes of the Divine concealed,
Yet revealed in a mitzvah, tzedekah,
A surgeon's skill, a teacher's guiding hand,
The still small voice in acts of kindness.)
Shrink, cut, shrink - or the radiation burn -
Sends the tumors of our sins ashrieking
Into oblivion. We are all doctors,
Yet cannot heal ourselves. Still while we have
Trust and faith and joy, the deep, immeasurable
Love of friends and family, then indeed,
Though the channels narrow, the pain's intense,
The doctor's hope, the doctor's prayer, become
So real the clock's reset. Then with blessings
We know the Exodus, and Redemption.