Poem by William S. Becker

I reach for the Light but it slips through my hand,

My heart feels like dust on a desolate land.

They promised me sweetness, a Torah alive,

But all that I taste is a desert that strives.

It’s brutal to face that the fault isn’t mine,

It’s the ego inside me that steals the Divine.

It drains every drop, every hope, every prayer,

Till I’m gasping for life in an airless despair.

But then comes a whisper: “Afflictions are many,

Yet the Lord will deliver, He won’t forget any.”

So I fall to the ground and the tears start to flow,

Begging the Creator to lift what I know.

For I’ve fought every battle, tried all that I could,

But nothing has shifted the evil for good.

And right when I break—when I lose all I’ve been—

That’s when He enters…

and delivers me in.