Rockets (A Psalm for Israel)

Along highway 180,
amidst swerving vehicles

(pushing the speed limit from 65 to 85 mph, angry fisted drivers and crushed steel from the accident on the side of the road)

I pray

Please let whoever was in that car be okay and help me get home without getting hurt or hurting anyone.

Hot air from an open window pummels my eyes, and I squint, stretching my left foot away from the sweaty plastic floor mat.

A sandal slips under the brake pedal and I suck in sharp alarm, adrenaline and ice.

Out of the corner of my eye, heat waves ripple over palm trees.

On the other side of the yellow line, paint flashes and grills rip through my mirage of safety.

A foot closer, and they become Hamas rockets that won’t stop firing

180 projectiles at homes, cars

glass shards, shrapnel, 28 injuries, two pregnant women contracting early.

May the little one emerge at a sha’ah tovah, a goodly hour, an hour of ripeness and readiness for entering this world in health and in joy.

Out the window, the traffic dwindles.

I recover my footing, pass a palm tree, a minivan with a car seat, melt back behind the steering wheel.

Under a Kerem Shalom sun, another Red Alert Siren sounds.

Families jump out of cars, mothers and babies run for shelter, grandfathers hide in stairwells and uncles throw themselves on the mercy of the asphalt, covering their heads.

When the wailing stops, those who survive, come out of hiding to resume their lives.

Walk on ice.


*Rockets are being fired at Israel, even as I type… please pray*

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