On this night of truce
may time slow,
this day lingering until it is endless.
No pressing engagement.
No war anyone is racing to resume.

On this night of truce
may time slow,
warriors becoming sleepy, bored, and out of practice,
while captives – every one of them –
return to familiar homes,
where they are held and healed.

On this night of truce
may time slow
so hearts can grieve in a luxury of time
and strong-rooted trees grow from tear-filled graves
bearing lustrous flowers and heavy fruit.

On this night of truce
may time slow,
guns growing rusty,
bombs forgetting how to drop.
May homes be rebuilt, with gardens around them,
scent of jasmine kissing onions and cumin
at the balcony’s open window.
May time slow
and walls crumble,
because no one cares to maintain them
or even remembers how.
May lost children become holy guides
and living children grow to old age
telling a story of the truce that came
and forgot to leave.

Rabbi Irwin Keller, Nov. 24, 2023