“The Rope and the Heart”
I reached for light with hands of clay,
But grabbed for self along the way.
The rope You threw I failed to keep,
It burned my palms, I fell too deep.
You gave me Torah—fire and thread,
To stitch the soul the ego bled.
Each Mitzva done for love, not gain,
Becomes the cure for all my pain.
I was a limb cut from Your chest,
Beating alone, without the rest.
But when I give, the pulse returns,
And every wound inside me burns.
To serve my Rav, to love my friend,
That’s where the walls begin to bend.
Their greatness feeds the flame in me,
Till “I” dissolves in unity.
I shrink below, they rise above,
And crush my pride with holy love.
In multitude, the King is crowned,
His glory shines where hearts are bound.
Bestowal kills what pride defends,
Yet lifts me higher when self ends.
The rope is fire, the climb is pain,
But each scar sings—He lives again.
So take me, Lord, and tear apart,
This will of stone that guards my heart.
Make all my giving burn and start—
Till I am You, and You my heart.
