Between Aleph and Tav

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 Feldstein