Waiting for an Uber after Rosh Hashanah services, maybe this is where I feel closest to God
by Shelby Edison
Because the honeycrisp air kissed me
and for a moment I forgot my melancholy.
The street is autumnal feels like a new year
and a mother whispers shana tova to a daughter.
Not me This is not my mother and I’m not the daughter
yet my mother’s voice rings in her syllables.
The couple in front of me lock eyes,
squeeze hands during the mourner’s kaddish. I read
the English transcription of the Hebrew. My parents mutter
the prayer, no text of any language needed. I never asked them
when they learned it by heart When I should learn it by heart.
My father counts the pages left in the prayer book during the service.
My mother frantically tries to stop him This happens every year.
Even if I am not there to watch the scene unfold.
The elderly couple next to me hold me close during the benediction
as if I were a grandchild and we pray for a year
happier and healthier I count the pages left in the prayer book.
My uber driver doesn’t know it is a new year talks
of podcasts. His joy is contagious a celebration
of sorts. Maybe we are all celebrating
each other’s holidays even if we do not know it.
Maybe this is a manifestation from God to show this year
will be something special. Maybe I am searching for an excuse
to forget this celebratory sorrow. My parents pray together
in a sanctuary not unlike this one. I wonder
if the air is honeycrisp If it kisses them too.