In the laughter of childrenwho carry their names

The siren rolls in like an avalanche.

The wailing fills the streets,

so loud it buzzes inside my ears.

I can’t see my neighbors,

but I know, wherever they are,

they are listening too.

Past my city, the entire country stands still.

There is no one who doesn’t hear this cry.

The sound builds quickly

and I feel my knees weaken

and my spine straighten

as I stand in respect.

It’s too much.

Too many faces in my mind.

Too many names on my lips.

I don’t know if I breathe

through the duration.

The blast, like a shofar,

calling for something otherworldly.

Can they hear us?

Those who were sent straight to the heavenly courts

For the sake of this land?

I want them to know

that we still feel them here.

In the wind moving through wildflowers.

In the sunlight that turns everything gold.

In the laughter of children

who carry their names.

In the ground that holds their bodies now,

in the land they belonged.

In the places they should have been,

and the places they never will be.

Rachel says,

That grief is love that continues to grow

even when they are gone.

That love is everywhere today.

Sharp. Immediate.

Too large to contain.

Because it is not only about how they died.

It is about how they lived,

what they lived for,

and who still lives for them, now.

This day reminds us that while we are still here,

we must try to understand what that asks of us.