Reading Between The Lines

 Reading Between the Lines

The Torah comes quiet, it don’t shout or shine,

But it slowly starts draining what once felt like “mine.”

The strength that felt solid begins to feel thin,

Like a war you keep fighting but never can win.

You sit with the pages, the words feel so deep,

Yet something inside you just wants to go sleep.

The body gets heavy, the thoughts start to roam,

The will to receive says, “Just leave it, go home.”

But Rabash is whispering under the sound,

“It's not your true strength that is being worn down.”

It’s the pride that is cracking, the self standing tall,

That strength has to weaken so love can be called.

You read and you read but the letters don’t say,

The real work is hidden in what fades away.

The harder it feels, the more empty you stand,

The more you're being shaped by a higher hand.

Alone you grow tired, your fire burns thin,

The battles feel heavy, you can’t seem to win.

But sit with the friends and the air starts to change,

A power appears that you cannot arrange.

The Ten holds the current, the Ten holds the flame,

You borrow their strength though none say a name.

A look, a word, or a silence that stays,

And suddenly strength comes back in quiet ways.

The Torah exhausts what was never meant to last,

The armor of ego, the walls from the past.

It weakens the part that insisted “I can,”

To make room for the work that is built through the Ten.

Between every sentence, between every line,

There’s a breaking of “me” and a forming of “we” over time.

The words tell a story, but the silence explains,

Why losing your strength is where real power remains.

So when you feel empty, worn down to the bone,

That’s the place where no one can stand on their own.

And right there the secret Rabash gently sends:

The strength you lost alone… returns through the friends.