Ribono Shel Olam, Master of the Universe,
I pour out to You a torrent of anguish, tangled thoughts jagged and torn, of love and fear, anger and despair. Lead us from the valley of shadows, help me to contain within me all that I feel, for my people and our land and for the horror that is wrought in our name.
Open our eyes to the wisdom that is ours by tradition, forsaken and left behind in our failure to engage the other, however hard the pill to swallow; peace is to be made with enemies, a notion some have scorned.
Help us to learn what seems impossible to learn, that war does not resolve conflict, a timeless delusion sowing seeds of strife to come. Help us not to speak empty words in lockstep when prophetic challenge is needed, when love is called to utter truths that do not want to be heard.
So hard to restrain when might is at hand, responding to pain inflicted by rockets fueled of hate sent deeper to the heartland. Responding then with fury, horrific scale, innocents beneath the bombs that do not distinguish, terror that is ours and terror that is theirs, words of sympathy ring hollow when followed by “We’re sorry, but it’s not our fault.”
From out of the rubble, open our eyes to see, no peace will come, but legions more of those who hate. “Not by might, nor by power,” Your prophet Zecharia said, and give us the courage to heed their truth and find another way.
Help us to see the openings to be made in borders on the ground and in the borders of our minds, that food, not bombs, will create the greater possibility of minds expanding, our own and theirs, to know there is no place for one without the other.
Hear our anguish, Merciful One, and help us to respond out of the place from which it comes, elusive hope so hard to find, hidden in shards of darkness waiting for the light. Knowing that Your truth is not exclusive to one, help us all to clothe in humility our words to each other and to You, and let that itself be a tender step toward peace.
And let us say, Amen.