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| Children in Hebron |
A poem by Lori Rivera
From Nazareth in the Galilee
As a child I was told that the Inuit People
had over a thousand names for snow,
And yet we are left alone
with only one word to describe this myriad of feelings - Love.
The same word that we use
to talk about our children, our pets, ice cream and God.
Now don't get me wrong, all of these are holy in my eyes.
But I want a different word for each.
In a language and a culture
that has split the atom,
we are left with adjectives and Greek to make our distinctions;
filial, romantic, platonic, agape and eros.
What is the name of that love
that overtakes me
staring into the enormous hazel eyes of a toddler on the olive oil pressing floor?
Shouldn't there be another
for the impulse that causes me to reach out to hold the sturdy crone's hand,
knowing full well that her footing is secure
but just wanting to feel the flow of her wisdom and experience?
And what of that giddy glow
on hearing fearless laughter
echoing though alleyways of terror and torture and tears?
That laughter that has known pain and discrimination
and yet still chooses to reach out and to wonder and to heal.
And surely there is a holy name
for that flutter in the heart that hears guitar strings
that are somehow unique in the world because of the hands that strum them
even without the oh so familiar voice that travels with them.
They say there are 99 Beautiful Names of Allah,
613 Mitzvot
and thousands of angels that can fit on the head of a pin.
I would need all of these names and more
to describe this Love that I feel
going out and coming in.
I would need all of these and more
to answer these questions -
What is Holy?
What are we doing here?
I would need all the Inuit People's
thousand names
for snow.
