Dear G-d,

5,778 years ago You gently handcrafted each being, each blade of grass, each solitary piece of sand.

I know time means nothing for You. For You, space is as wide as it is small. I know that You have The Master Plan. But surely, even You could not have foreseen it getting…this bad.

Everywhere I look, there is destruction – if not of physical buildings than of people, families, values.

Those who are desperately desiring peace cannot get through to the protesters, the protesters cannot understand why there are people who seem to be passively allowing the world to crumble around them.

There is so much pain, so much hatred, so much of the ability for us to forgive has been lost.

Costs of basic necessities have skyrocketed, religions are mocked and looked down upon. The rushing oceans are thick with pieces of our lives we forget to be grateful for, beautiful animals are becoming extinct. The world quakes in fear of the next disaster, the next time mankind will strike out against their own.

Hurricanes ravage small islands, earthquakes split the very land we walk on.

It’s as if even the depths of the earth are crying out “enough! Enough!”

Our nation seems to be in shreds, never before so divided, never before so wary of each other.

It is a terrifying world to grow up in.

Yet when I shared this sentiment with a friend, who can always be relied on to see the glass half full, she shook her head.

She disagreed.

She said, “Look how far we’ve come!”

She said, “We have been dealt many unfair cards, yet we persevere as a people.”

G-d, this Rosh Hashonah, greeting You in synagogue will be an exhausted people. Your children are broken. Many have lost loved ones. Many have lost homes. Many are battling wars in their bodies and in their minds.

All are searching. All are searching for You.

You, G-d, who 5,778 years ago, handcrafted each one of us.

You, G-d, who lovingly wrote each word of The Master Plan.

Look upon us G-d, and see Your people. See how we still stand before you. See how we have not let the ravaging waters steal our faith, even when there was every reason to let go.

G-d, You came to us, You were in the fields. Have you not wept each day? Have You not tenderly looked at us, moved by our convictions, touched by our dedication?

As You leave the field, pockets filled with tear-stained prayers, as You climb upon your throne again, allow Yourself to be rid of whatever is holding You back.

Look down upon the earth You promised to never destroy, and stay true to that promise.

We are the people who You so desired.

We have given our all, we have scratched the bottom of the barrel.

We are here, G-d.

And doesn’t that just say enough?

With deep prayers for a better tomorrow,

Sincerely,

Yours.

Blog Post: 2/52

---

Featured Image: Photo by Jack Hamilton on Unsplash