THE ROSH DECIDES

 

I came with fish clenched hard in hand,

Certain my hunger should command.

He wanted dogs, another route—

And ego rose with sacred doubt.

I thought the war was food or place,

Not Pharaoh screaming for first place.

I called it “truth,” “concern,” “what’s best”—

But self sat grinning in my chest.

The Ten said move. I wanted still.

The Rosh spoke clear. I fought his will.

Not with fists—much worse than that—

A silent “yes”… while pride fought back.

For brutal is the path of few:

Not proving that my choice is true,

But crucifying inner throne

To build one heart above my own.

What is fish? What are hot dogs? Dust.

What is “my way”? A serpent’s lust.

The meal’s not holy—the work is where

I kill the tyrant hiding there.

Before the choice, I speak my part.

I bring my thought, my mind, my heart.

But once the head has drawn the line—

His path, for us, must now be mine.

Because a body torn by pride

Leaves Light outside with self inside.

A thousand “rights” can break the chain,

While one annulled can summon rain.

So cast the lots. Draw out my fate.

Send me where I did not wait.

And let me bless what ego hates—

For there the gate of Heaven waits.

The Rosh decides. My war begins.

Not out there—no. The war within.

Will I divide… or bend and build?

Will self stay crowned… or self be killed?

For every vote and every meal,

Reveals if what we preach is real.

The Ten is forged when wills collide—

And love remains… though self has died.

So break me, friends. Don’t spare my cry.

Strip “me” until “we” learns to fly.

For only those who choose the whole

Can turn a shattered group… to soul.

The Gift They Spit On

THE GIFT THEY SPIT ON

I came with fire cupped in broken hands,

Not gold, not pride—just what love demands.

A verse, a song, a cry for us,

To lift dead hearts from dust to trust.

But some men laughed before they heard,

Killed the gift before the word.

Called it trash, then shut the gate,

As if contempt could conquer fate.

“Don’t bring your shit,” the body cried,

While Rav’s own words they cast aside.

“We don’t care what Rav has said”—

So ego crowned the living dead.

And still I came.

Still took my seat.

Still dragged my shattered soul to meet.

Not for honor. Not for praise.

But because love must walk through hate.

I watched the numbers slowly rise,

From two cold hearts to seven eyes.

So maybe every stone they threw

Was building something strong and true.

Still—it cuts.

Like teeth in bone.

To give your heart and stand alone.

To bring a gift from love’s own thread,

And have your brothers wish it dead.

But here’s the brutal truth I’ve learned:

The friend who’s crushed is where faith burns.

For if I stay when all reject,

Then love is real—not self-respect.

So let them mock.

Let some despise.

Let ego spit its ancient lies.

I did not come for their applause—

I came because the path is law.

And if the Ten is torn by pride,

Then I will stand where truth survives.

Not perfect. Not untouched. Not free.

But love of friends still lives in me.

Because the hardest gate above

Is loving those who kill your love.

And maybe this unbearable pain…

Is where the Ten is born again.

PEACE IN THE WORLD — HASTEN OR BLEED

 We praise the Light, then crawl like dust,

Begging the fire while serving lust.

The Creator’s great—but not by word,

By what breaks inside when truth is heard.

Two roads were carved before man’s feet:

Hasten the soul—or suffer defeat.

Achishena burns through chosen flame,

Be’ito drags through sorrow and shame.

The whip still strikes the one who waits,

Time don’t knock—it devastates.

Pain’s the teacher when pride won’t bend,

Till shattered bones cry out for Ten.

Society ain’t some social chair,

It’s the forge that proves your prayer.

What you breathe into hearts nearby,

Returns as wings—or leaves you dry.

If I bring fire, they hand me sun.

If I bring self, I come undone.

A man alone feeds death its due,

But Ten makes old creation new.

The world finds peace when each one knows:

The Creator’s greatness is what grows.

Not through fear, nor empty cry—

But lifting friends until self dies.

So damn my laziness, scorch my pride,

Don’t let “in time” become my ride.

I choose the path where brothers strain—

To hasten love before forced pain.

CHORUS

Hasten me now—before the rod

Teach my bones the fear of God

Make me fuel for hearts of men

For peace begins inside the Ten

The Key Is The Ten

 THE KEY IS THE TEN

I came with a mouth full of holy sound,

But Heaven weighed what my heart had found.

Not polished prayers or wisdom’s art—

He reads the hunger behind the heart.

The sages lit what I could not see,

Faith is the road when blind is me.

Not what I say, but what I crave,

Decides if I stay a slave.

The Creator knows the lacking flame,

Before my lips can speak His Name.

He sees if I seek for self—or bend

My broken will into the Ten.

For every thought and every deed,

Is measured by the root of need.

And what I plant in friends today,

Becomes the path or blocks the way.

The Ten’s not friends for comfort’s sake,

They are the gate my soul must make.

The key ain’t mine when locked apart—

I place it whole in the common heart.

So if I hunger, let it be

For faith above what’s shown to me.

For what I give, I’ll one day see—

The Ten unlocks eternity.

ONE MAN, ONE HEART, ONE GOAL

 ONE MAN, ONE HEART, ONE GOAL

No one climbs this mountain alone

A single spark won’t make it home

Ten broken hands, ten stubborn scars

Must choose one fire—not separate stars

Not just to feel… not just to hear

But speak it plain so all are clear

Discuss the path, agree as one

One goal before the race is run

Congress ain’t waiting for maybe or when

The work is now—between the ten

Not one can hide in private thought

The common goal must all be sought

I thought my road was mine to bear

My own small cry, my secret prayer

But Rav struck deep—no soul can start

Till all agree with one shared heart

So gather now, no silent nod

No drifting will can reach the God

Speak it. Hold it. Make it whole.

One man. One heart. One chosen goal.

No one can do it alone—now see

The gate won’t open for only me

We speak, agree, and choose the key

Ten become one… and He will be

לא לבד, לא לבד נעלה

רק יחד מטרה אחת נגלה

כאיש אחד בלב אחד

שם הבורא יהיה לעד

Broken First

BROKEN FIRST

Broken first, I learned to cry

From self to dust, I asked not why

When lack got real, the heavens moved

And through that pain—the heart was proved

I came in full of teeth and pride

A throne of self I held inside

Certain my hands could force the gate

But iron hearts don’t enter straight

So down I fell through reason’s floor

Each answer died, then died once more

The mind grew weak, the body screamed

And all I built came unstitched seams

I cursed the dark, I cursed the flame

Till both revealed—they spoke my name

Not to destroy, but strip the lie

That lives each time I ask “for why?”

The ten stood near like mirrors hard

Not praising wounds, not dropping guard

They showed me what I could not see—

The cruelest cage… was only me

I begged for love but sought control

I spoke of truth while hiding soul

I wanted light to fill my cup

Yet would not break the bottom up

Then exile dug its fingers deep

No borrowed strength, no stolen sleep

And from that pit where pride was slain

A prayer was born that tasted pain

Not “Give me peace”

Not “Make me whole”

But “Take this tyrant from my soul”

“Let me feel the friends as more than breath”

“Teach me love that starves to death”

And there… beneath the ego’s knife

The dust became the seed of life

For when the woman weeps sincere

The male above begins to hear

So now I bless the breaking wide

The crushing weight, the fall of pride

For every wound that made me see

The Creator builds through what breaks me

I walk not healed—but aimed above

A battered horse beneath true love

And every scar the heart went through

Became a gate… where bestowal grew.

THE SYSTEM — PERFECTLY BUILT

 I was born inside a system vast,

So perfect—future, present, past.

A woven force no eye can trace,

Yet every breath reveals its place.

Not chaos. Not mistake. Not chance.

But law so pure all worlds must dance.

A single Thought, a force bestowed,

That built the path each soul must road.

First came the hunger—to receive,

A crafted lack so we believe.

Not curse, not flaw, not shameful scar,

But vessel built to seek afar.

For what is Light if none should crave?

What is the Gift if none can save?

Bestowal formed creation’s sea,

But built the need through you and me.

The will to take—our nature’s core,

The empty knock upon the door.

Yet Kabbalah reveals the key:

The flaw’s not thirst—but “only me.”

For here’s the work most never see:

To shape desire intentionally.

Not kill the will, nor cast aside,

But raise its use, correct its pride.

To take this vessel, cracked and wild,

And aim it like a faithful child.

Not for myself, not fleeting gain,

But to return Love back again.

Through others…

Through hearts that share the same deep ache,

The same great lack no world can fake.

To bond, connect, become as one—

Many vessels… one bright sun.

And in that union something starts:

The Creator breathes through joined hearts.

His joy revealed when we align—

Reception clothed in the Divine.

So yes… the system’s perfect still.

The fall, the climb, the broken will.

For every fragment, every scar,

Was built to show us who we are.

A vessel born through need and night,

Corrected slowly into Light.

Until receiving’s finally shown…

As bestowal returned back Home.