The Kotel in Jerusalem is Filled with Cracks
by Debbie Feit
He flew thousands of miles to
daven in his beloved Yerushalayim,
collapsed before hands
touched limestone, before paper prayers were
housed in hallowed halls amidst kindred wishes.
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he
bought for his grandchildren, the gold Chai he
wore every day, the one that was
formed by their names: Yael, Moshe, Maya, Liviya; its chain had
been broken and would need to be
put back together,
not unlike
us.