We thank God—

she­hechiyanu,

for keep­ing us alive.

Us—

we’re taught to pray for all,

even in private 

moments,

sink­ing naked in the mikveh waters

or savor­ing the season’s first juicy

bite of per­sim­mon, kumquat, 

or prick­ly pear.

She­hechiyanu,

we say,

with rolled-up sleeves,

thank­ful for the painful

prick of needle.

Then we wait two weeks,

or three or four

to be sure, before

ven­tur­ing out

to hug our children

or share a meal

with friends.

We pow­der our noses,

paint our lips.

We share a bot­tle of wine,

but maybe not

a bowl of chips.

Who flew to Florida

to vis­it their mother?

Whose col­lege kids

are home on break?

We still cov­er our mouths

when we laugh.

Did you know

the rab­bis of the Talmud—

some­time between the flaming

destruc­tion of the Temple

and the arrival of the Black Plague—

planned a prayer

for reunit­ing with old friends?

After thir­ty days:

she­hechiyanu.

But after a year?

Baruch atah Adon­ai,

blessed are you, our God,

m’chayeih hameitim,

who revives the dead.

This piece is a part of the Berru Poet­ry Series, which sup­ports Jew­ish poet­ry and poets on PB Dai­ly. JBC also awards the Berru Poet­ry Award in mem­o­ry of Ruth and Bernie Wein­flash as a part of the Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards. Click here to see the 2020 win­ner of the prize. If you’re inter­est­ed in par­tic­i­pat­ing in the series, please check out the guide­lines here.