As I prepare for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, “I can’t help but wonder where I’m bound, where I’m bound, Can’t help but wonder where I’m bound.”(Tom Paxton, Folksinger, Social Commentator) I would substitute “I” with “We,“ WE as a nation.
My matzo balls are simmering away; my son is living in India; my husband, mom and daughter will partake in a familial and familiar Rosh Hashanah dinner. The candles will be lit, peace and good health will be prayed for.
The Progress byGwendolyn Brooks (1971) – – USA
And still we wear our uniforms, follow
The cracked cry of the bugles, comb and rush
Our pride and prejudice, doctor the sallow
Initial ardor, which keeps it fresh.
Still we applaud the President’s voice and face.
Still we remark on patriotism, sing,
Salute the flag, thrill heavily, rejoice
For death of men who too saluted, sang.
But inward grows a soberness, an awe.
A fear, a deepening hollow through the cold.
For even if we come out standing up
How shall we smile, congratulate; and how
Settle in chairs? Listen, listen. The step
Of iron feet again. And again – wild.