The little black cat is seated on the window-sill next to my desk. She is pawing at the glass and whining softly. An Emperor moth has alighted not six inches from her on the other side of the windowpane. With its dark, bark-coloured wings closed, the moth (...)
Prayer in a Time of Fragility and Uncertainty
How do we articulate our prayers in a time of such confusion, sadness and uncertainty? We mourn the loss of life in Israel, in Iran and in other cities that have been attacked by missiles and drones. Today, Purim, should be a day of light-hearted celebration in the Jewish world – a day of children’s costume pageants, Purimspiels and sending gifts to friends. In Israel, our progressive Jewish colleagues are leading megillah readings online and their days are constantly interrupted as they run between home and bomb shelters.
Here, in the UK, as the morning settles into its rhythm, the cherry blossom is flowering and spring is everywhere evident. But in our hearts, there is a sadness and incomprehensibility about this war and the chaos unfolding for ordinary citizens throughout the Middle East – the innocent people caught up in entrenched hostilities. We may not ourselves feel like rejoicing on such a day. But we are permitted to facilitate the happiness and pleasure of the children in our communities to enjoy their own world of celebration and fun.
In our own bewilderment and grief, I think of Yehuda Amichai’s poem ‘Wildpeace.’ Let it sit with us in these days of anxiety and sorrow as we think of those most deeply affected by this war.
Not the peace of a cease-fire
not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,
but rather
as in the heart when the excitement is over
and you can talk only about a great weariness.
I know that I know how to kill, that makes me an adult.
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.
A peace
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
without words, without
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
light, floating, like lazy white foam.
A little rest for the wounds - who speaks of healing?
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation
to the next, as in a relay race:
the baton never falls.)
Let it come
like wildflowers,
suddenly, because the field
must have it: wildpeace.
Translated by Chana Bloch
Alexandra Wright
![]()
![]()
![]()


