From the midst of constellations

and the distance of the ages

A Maccabean miracle unfolds

How does this story get told?

It’s all about the olive and the oil.

She was crushed and beaten

humbled and pressed

a distinct purity

it’s my nature, she said.

I refuse to penetrate

as I rise above

the waters and the others.

I am the oil.

Between oppressions and dedications

Between the destruction and commemoration.

I am the oil.

From a vessel into the light

The kindling for eight nights.

I am the oil.

I don’t assimilate integrate

Our sparks will hold

We are humble not arrogant

A spiritual reach- over and beyond

You and I an eternal bond.

We won’t be consumed nor nullified

We’ll burn and spread a victorious warmth

From yesterday’s past to tomorrow’s future

As our generations have seen

the dead and the living

dreidel souls in a spin.

I am an internal oil

From confusion to retribution

Awakening and reinvigorating

From childhood to old age

I am the oil

A source for the menorah-like branches with candles

We stand upright multi-colored to ignite.

Arms reach and ache

Towards the eternal never-ending Eight

The Ohr (light Hebrew) the miracles

Your brilliance re-creates.

Chaya Rosen

Orcas Island