Recently, partly due to the shutdown in IL, I spent too much time in rageful demonstrations, and too little time taking photos of children full of life
The Children, by: Yehuda Amichai
Every day the children run on the playground.
With the movements of their little legs, they rotate
the planet like in a circus,
they want to be acrobats and magicians.
Every night the children thank us for having brought them
into the world. With beautiful politeness, they raise themselves
in their beds and with tiny future arms
they cling on a stiff-neck, the longing
of their parents are their toys.
Then they lie on their backs
like ceiling painters of prayer-houses
and paint for themselves beautiful skies.
I open the window:
All the outer space passes through the room
and I forgive then to my parents that made me.
I sit next to the children until they fall asleep
and I say seven times
as the closing prayer of Yom Kippur:
“I am not God”,
seven times,
I am not God.
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