Between Us

 Between Us 

We were born in a story we didn’t write,

Thrown into the day, pushed into the night.

Parents, towns, and roads we roam,

Chasing a feeling we call “home.”

We grind, we build, we laugh, we fall,

Buy the dream, then outgrow it all.

New car shine, leather seat thrill,

Till the hunger returns—unpaid bill.

Anger flares when the road cuts tight,

Ego jumps up ready to fight.

“I'm right, you’re wrong,” the old refrain,

Same old script, different pain.

The heart ain’t flesh, it’s want and need,

Two vessels pulling at top speed.

One grabs pleasure, never full,

One waits quiet, barely a pulse.

That spark don’t grow alone, no way,

It needs resistance, needs the fray.

Friends collide, egos scream,

And in that mess—a higher dream.

We don’t fix ourselves, that’s the lie,

The Light shows up when we try

To hold the goal when we can’t stand,

Leaning hard on another hand.

Arvut ain’t words, it’s law and fact,

Fall alone? You don’t come back.

But together we bend, together we rise,

A place where the Creator opens His eyes.

The Campaign Between lives

“The Campaign Between Lives”

We stand between the lives we’ve known,

Between the seeds already sown,

Between what died, what comes alive,

Between the will that won’t survive.

We see the states both dark and bright,

Called death by day, called life by night,

No place to run, no camp to flee,

This war is waged internally.

Persistence pulls us thread by thread,

Through all the living and the dead,

Each step returns us to the flow,

An endless path we come to know.

I pray for you, you pray for me,

No self remains, no “I,” no “he,”

Each works the other’s broken plea,

Till all are answered—eternally.

Who Presses Send

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Who Presses Send

I didn’t wake up holy, I woke up late,

Phone buzzing debts, another sealed fate.

Coffee tastes bitter, mirror won’t lie,

I ask what’s wrong, but I don’t ask why.

I try to be good, I try to be strong,

But every intention bends itself wrong.

I say “Creator, help,” then rush my day,

Forgetting the words before they decay.

I think I decide when to finally pray,

When pain gets loud or hope runs away.

But the cracks showed up before I could choose,

Like a script already written, I just read the cues.

The what wasn’t money, or peace, or relief,

It was seeing my heart as a professional thief.

Stealing the moment, the credit, the light,

Calling it freedom while losing the fight.

The when wasn’t planned, wasn’t marked on a chart,

It came when the ego ran out of smart.

When excuses collapsed and the mask finally slipped,

That’s when the prayer got honest, not scripted.

The where wasn’t church, or lesson, or room,

It was inside the wreckage, the dust, the gloom.

Between who I wanted to be and who I became,

In that narrow space where nothing’s to blame.

And the who… that one shattered my pride,

Because I wasn’t the author standing outside.

I didn’t start crying because I was wise,

I cried because Someone removed my disguise.

The Creator didn’t wait for me to be clean,

He built the mess so I’d finally see.

He caused the lack, the fall, the delay,

So the prayer would be real when it found its way.

I thought prayer was words, said right, said well,

But it’s the scream that escapes when the ego fails.

Not spoken by lips, not polished or neat,

But born when desire admits defeat.

And the Ten—God help me, they weren’t the crowd,

They were the mirror that spoke too loud.

Every friend reflected what I wouldn’t face,

Until my prayer lost its personal place.

Because the prayer wasn’t for me, that’s the crime,

It was for us, in this broken time.

For one heart stitched from pieces and scars,

Not asking for comfort—but resemblance to stars.

So who causes the prayer?

Not the mouth, not the mind,

But the One who breaks you with surgical kindness in time.

He pulls every string, every fall, every bend,

Until your heart finally presses Send.

One Shared Heart

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Traveling through the city day after day

seeing the lost love in every way

wondering what’s next for those who don’t see

how to relate to them the way things should be

I watch them rush with eyes cast low

carrying weights they’ll never show

phones in their hands, hearts locked tight

chasing small comforts to get through the night

I’m no better, I bleed the same

wear different masks, play the same game

thinking I’m whole ‘cause I study and pray

while ego still whispers, you’re fine—stay this way

So how do I love them, cracked as I am

with shaking knees and an empty plan

not fixing their lives, not preaching the truth

but standing beside them in borrowed youth

Maybe it’s silence, maybe a glance

maybe just giving the heart a chance

to feel their burden as if it were mine

and beg the Creator to stitch us in time

No speeches, no flags, no winning the fight

just choosing connection in plain daylight

city keeps moving, lost love still stays

but one shared heart can redeem our days

A Clean Slate Between Us

“A Clean Slate Between Us”

We come to the Ten with a tired face,

Dragging the week, the doubts, the race.

Each one certain he’s failed again,

Silent despair tucked under his skin.

We sit together yet guard our pain,

Speaking of storms, of loss, of strain.

Not seeing how every careless word

Can drain the life from a friend unheard.

We say we came to give, to unite,

Yet carry the night into the light.

We forget the charge placed in our hand—

To raise the hearts, not help them sink in sand.

Because a friend does not need my truth

If my truth strips him of strength and youth.

He needs my fire, my borrowed breath,

Not my poetry dressed up as death.

The work is simple and cruelly clear:

Bring life into what’s trembling with fear.

Not wisdom, not depth, not clever lines—

But hope that says, “You’re doing just fine.”

To sit in the Ten is not to confess,

It’s to cancel myself for the group’s success.

If I leave him heavier than before,

Then I robbed the society at its core.

I must walk in like dawn after rain,

Even if inside I’m screaming in pain.

Because the slate is wiped—not by time—

But when I lift him, and he lifts mine.

Yesterday I faced a mountain too tall,

Ego roaring, ready to let me fall.

Today the same mountain shrinks to dust—

Not by my strength, but the friends I trust.

They didn’t argue, they didn’t explain,

They didn’t echo my doubts and pain.

They gave me a mood, a pulse, a start—

They believed for me with a borrowed heart.

This is the crime we repeat each day:

We come to receive, then get in the way.

We forget the law written sharp and plain—

The society lives or dies by what we bring.

So I stand accused—and I stand in love,

Because this demand descends from Above.

To be a place where a friend can say:

“Now I begin—today’s a new day.”

Not because the path suddenly cleared,

But because the Ten made courage appear.

And if I fail, then let this be true:

I will fail trying to give life to you.

And when we do this—man to man—

The mountain bows, the work begins.

The Creator smiles, unseen yet near,

Because hope walked in—and He followed here.

Standing for The Creator

Standing for the Creator

We work all day in this corporal life

Pulled between hunger and heavenly strife

Never asking, what’s the game?

’Cause every blow feels just the same

Everything sent us is meant to mend

The shattered will the heart must send

Not to escape, not to defend,

But face the place where cracks must bend

No running off when strength runs thin,

No holy mask to hide the sin

When faith goes dry and hope feels dead,

We stand on what the sages said

No bargain struck, no deal for light,

Just choosing truth in endless night

The work is done where no one sees,

Between the fear and bent knees

Each breath a vow we never said,

Each step a prayer the ego bled

Not crowned below, not marked by fame,

But known Above—by standing in His Name

Not seen by day, not praised by way,

Yet lighting worlds by how we stay

“NOT THE PAYCHECK — THE HANDS”

 

 “NOT THE PAYCHECK — THE HANDS”

 (English)

We don’t move unless there’s rest at the end,

We won’t lift a finger unless something bends.

It’s not laziness, no—this goes deeper than that,

We’re built from a Root that never once had to act.

Creation was born with a hunger inside,

A will just to take, to be filled, satisfied.

So why’s the table set, but the feast locked away?

Why’s the Light knocking softly, but we can’t say “stay”?

Because taking feels rotten when form’s not aligned,

Receiving for self leaves a bad taste behind.

So the Light pulled back—not from lack, not from fear,

But to teach us how to receive without shame in the mirror.

So what’s the reward? Not pleasure, not gold,

Not blessings stacked high or stories retold.

The paycheck is this—say it slow, say it true:

Give me the hands that know how to give You.

Not the feast—give me hunger that’s clean,

Not the wine—give me vessels unseen.

Give me screens, give me reflected flame,

So when I receive, I don’t feel the same.

There’s lines in the road—some you don’t cross,

Some you can walk but you feel the cost.

Some deeds are holy even done half-blind,

And some are empty if self’s on the mind.

Lo Lishma still walks toward the door,

Slow as hell—but it gets there for sure.

But Lishma? That sticks like bone to bone,

Each step tighter—till you’re never alone.

So don’t ask Heaven to spoil your plate,

Ask for a heart that can carry the weight.

Because when bestowal becomes who you are,

You inherit the table, the Light, and the star.

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שִׁיר – עברית (Hebrew)

לא זזים בלי מנוחה בקצה הדרך,

לא פועלים בלי שכר שמרגיש בטוח.

זה לא עצלות—זה שורש קדום,

בורא בלי תנועה, בלי שינוי, בלי שום פגם.

הרצון לקבל הוא כל מה שנברא,

אז למה האור מחכה ולא נכנס כבר?

כי קבלה לעצמי צורבת בפנים,

בלי השתוות הצורה—זה נשאר חסר טעם בפנים.

אז הצמצום בא מאהבה מדויקת,

לא להסתיר—רק ללמד איך מקבלים באמת.

אז מה השכר? לא עונג, לא אור,

רק כלים להשפעה—וזה כל הסיפור.

לא האור—תן לי מסך יציב,

לא התענוג—תן לי לב שמקריב.

אור חוזר, כוונה זכה,

שאקבל רק כדי לשמח אותך.

יש אסור, מותר, ויש מצווה,

יש בלי כוונה ויש לשמה.

לא לשמה—זה לא אבוד,

אבל לשמה—שם נדבקים בייחוד.

אז אל תבקש תשלום מהשמיים,

בקש ידיים שיודעות להשפיע באמת.

כי כשיש כלים של נתינה בלב,