Snow falls in the Diaspora.
Is each flake truly unique?
The shattered shards of creation settle together.
The droplets become the sea.
The sparks return to One.
This snow laden Diaspora.
The view is magic– but are we too disparate?
Does He watch the 613 from the 518, or the frenzied 212?
Akiva dances into mind, but he is distant.
“Sh’ma Yisrael…” as he left the tangible.
He ruled Rome as he settled into One.
Did he ever see the snow?
The last blade of green fades into whiteness.
O! To be inching up a ladder in Luz or Bethel…
Do you hear brakhot traveling up through the flakes?
An icy ladder crunchy with salt is treacherous to climb.
Could You divide a frozen sea?
The ground feels cold for Ezekiel’s bones to emerge for listening.
The Chanukiah candles emanate a glint of heat.
It warms my arm.
Diaspora distance, not distance at all.
Remove your snowshoes.
Wherever you stand is Holy ground.
Home is HaMakom.
Akiva dances in the snow.