Holy, Holy, Holy

Holy are the protesters defending
their neighbors with skin tones not white.
Holy are the hands and hearts that bring life
to empty cupboards.

Holy are this flock of angelic
voices in a hotel’s atrium,
reaching perfect pitch, within this tower.
Amidst the fight they sing
with the spirit of Francis Scott Key.
Hoping our country will be.

Holy is the entire world who joins
in the protest march,
intuitively reading ICE is not of God.
Holy is the world that davens to
their own version of God.

Holy are our ancient sages in heaven
wrapped in scrolls of Torah.
Holy is the light of God in everything.
Holy are the ones who carry Her torch,
a small flame in the great cosmos,
of hope and strength.