A song for Tisha B'av

On a hill of loving kindness a sparkling precious stone
Stood high above all others in her majesty.
A holy place for pilgrims who gathered at her door
Bearing gifts of love and generosity.

It was a home for all who came to share,
A temple sown from seeds of love,
A holy home for learning how to care,
It was a home, it was our home.

Soon passed the age of princes, the priestly splendor dimmed,
The sacred harp of David was now silent.
Choking smoke curled upwards from endless golden ruin,
And blackened skies that once were blue as sapphire,

It was our home, and now we came to mourn,
A temple scorned - was this our home?
We offered tears, for what was lost we cried:
“Where is our home? Where is our home”?

For centuries we wandered, we scattered like the sand,
Close to our hearts we held the shattered fragments.
The memory within us, of harmony and peace,
Helped warm us during the bleakest winter moments.

We longed for home; our prayers flew to the east.
We cried for home: “Please make us whole”!
So far from home, a distant song was heard,
That echoed from our deepest soul.

Then came the journey homeward, the wounded ones returned.
From farthest corners came the orphaned children.
Seeds with joy were planted; a tree began to grow,
To foreign lands the wind bore fragrant incense.

It called us home, our broken hopes to mend.
It whispered: “Come! Come build a home”!
A holy mansion where all join as one, and call it home,
It is Your home.
And call it home, it is Your home.

© Mindy S. Komberg. All rights reserved. Used with permission.