Had I been brought forth
Had I been brought forth
a’isha min ha-rechem
,
with the body they bless without question,
with the name that would’ve sat
easily on a Shabbat table,
I would have lit the
nerot
without trembling.
I would have sung
Shalom Aleichem
not to an empty chair,
but to guests who knew my name
before I had to carve it from stone.
I would have said
Shehechiyanu
and meant it—
not for surviving,
but for
arriving
.
I would have sat at the seder
beside women who called me sister,
passing the
maror
with a grimace,
not a history.
I would have joined in singing
Dayenu
without choking on the syllables.
Ha lachma anya
—
this is the bread of affliction,
and I eat it alone
not for lack of love,
but for love that is yet unseen.
And still, I whisper
bo’ee kala
to the mirror,
dress in white
as if I am awaited.
I pour Elijah’s cup
and Miriam’s too.
My table is small
but it holds a promise:
zachor v’shamor
I remember, I guard.
I bless,
and no one stops me.
This, too, is holy.
— Chaya Hazani
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