A Prayer for Minyan

This tent, our tent,

It’s big.

Not grand.

Not elaborate.

Just big.

And also cozy.

And . . . ma tovu.

So good. 

This tent, our tent,

has no understanding

of borders,

of distance,

of separation.

In this tent, our tent,

we pray, we learn, we sing,

and we hold each other.

When we are weeping,

there is always someone asking,

How best can I hold your hand?

Your sorrow isn’t the same as mine,

and,

I’m here.

It’s likely I have known a sorrow, too.  

We are together,

here,

in this tent,

as we feel

and grieve,

and remember.