the in-between

Hungry Saturday morning.  Other than bitter tears, last I ate was Thursday sundown.

That was when we sang. Mournful tunes of hope. Songs composed by captive ancestors. We knew they had been delivered, returned to the homeland, so we did not weep as those who wish for death. Yes, we sang with joy.

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
    when we remembered Zion.
There on the poplars
    we hung our harps,
for there our captors asked us for songs,
    our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
    they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

How can we sing the songs of the Lord
    while in a foreign land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
    may my right hand forget its skill.
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
    if I do not remember you,
if I do not consider Jerusalem
    my highest joy.

Yeshua the Messiah, son of David, now in the City of David, now his city. Sent to deliver us from our new captors. Surely this was the time.

“Eat this bread. It is my body. Drink this wine. It is my blood.”

Yes, I see what he is saying now. He is our Deliverer. He will overthrow the tyrant. I will sing. “May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you…”

But I do not understand what he says when he says we will not drink this wine with him again until the kingdom of God comes. He speaks as if it is long in coming. But, if he is the Promised One, it is here. It won’t be long now. I suppose that is what he means. Yes, tomorrow it will happen. Just as our tradition has taught, the army of angels will come from Mount Olives. That is why he taught us about the eschaton each day this week on that Mount. He will bring deliverance and it will come from there.

Who am I kidding? It is Saturday and he’s dead. And I am hungry.

My boat has been moored too long. The nets have become rocks these three years. If I can find even one that’s usable, I suppose I should start working again. Although, death would be welcome, I suppose.

But it is Sabbath. Forbidden to work, so forbidden to eat.

Yeshua had worked on the Sabbath. But he is dead now. No. For me, it is forbidden again.

By the shore I sit and weep. How can I sing the songs of Zion? Bereft of hope, I cannot.

I lack even the strength to spit. O, God, hear my prayer.