Galut. What a terrible word. Exile. But not forgotten.
Sitting in the sukkah it is easy to forget. The Divine Presence engulfs you. In every meal, in every psalm, in every act. You feel Him.
How much more so in Your Land? I meditate on. Show me Your Temple, show me Your City.
For 40 years you enveloped us with Your Glory. Despite our complaints, our rebukes, our forgetfulness. You never forgot us. Even as we wandered the Earth, You never forgot. So this week we sit and remember.
The cries of the multitudes, generation after generation, to take the Four Species in Your City, Your Holy Abode. Show us Your Glory, show us Your Peace.
The blood spilled outside Your Land. To keep it pure? I wonder. How much more so the blood spilled inside Your Land. Still pure. For the blood of Your People is sacred. So much more so in deference to You.
The culmination of the Harvest. We yearn to give You our first fruits. To dwell on the thought, a Temple in Yerushalyim. It’s so clear. It’s so beautiful.
Bring us Home, my Father, and let us rejoice on Your Festivals. All of B’nei Yisrael. Bring us back.
