Holding the Child

I cannot pry my hand from her hand. Her hands are my hands

I will never leave her whose greatest joy is singing out to G-d and dancing before Him. She is always the precious child. She is the being of light. Beloved. She is me.

I am the precious child, created by He who never leaves me. I am the child alone who is never alone. I am the woman who is the child who is never filled with darkness even when they weigh and measure me with their instruments of darkness. I have never stood still long enough to be measured and weighed. My heart is heavier than the greatest sea boulder and lighter than the smell of sea at the center of my being.

I cannot give me away, or give me up for grabs, or give me in to the authorities. I have been hidden in the smallest attic at the top of the highest tower. I have been hidden under floor boards and felt the thud of their steps as I peered in through the skylight. I can slip in and slip out, but I will never be found because I am never lost. I have lived many lifetimes in many worlds and places, but I will always be the eternal child.

           Varda Branfman