There was once a woman who had an insatiable thirst
to know the Jewish story so she read all that she could find.
First, she read their story in the Testament,
then books on their traditions,
then their history from ancient times up until the time of her reading.
One night she lay in her bed in darkness
but for a small lamp on the table beside her
reading about the holocaust.
Suddenly she felt a pain like a dagger in her heart
and she cried for the indifference of God over the death of his children.
She cried, she wept, alone,
between her pillows and sheets
until the spirit of God came into her
and looked out at the same pages she was reading
feeling the same pain she was feeling.
Then she had a vision of each child’s spirit
rising from their place of death.
She could see that God was weeping as he gathered them in.
Her tears, she knew were his tears
and she understood then that it was okay to love him.
That was many years ago.
it took many years before the woman could drive out
the vengeful, punishing god that had once inhabited her soul.
The holocaust has returned and the woman remembers the vision,
but now she sees the souls of the murderers rise up.
This cannot be, she thinks.
This is a love too large for me to imagine.
Tears again, not of the woman this time,
but of the Creator God.
For he watches to see what has become of his creation,
what the weight of fear and hatred can do to souls.
He is witness to his own creation
as it crumbles under the weight of fear and terror.
Does he regret, she wonders,
the day that he let the creatures have a will that is their own, not his?
What a sad day this is for God, she thinks.
How does one comfort God?