The Light

It was late at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Everybody was tired.

The babies, even didn't cry anymore,

they simply slept motionless on their mothers backs.

It was the end of a long day that started early,

when people came from all over the country to Jerusalem,

to celebrate the Light Saturday.

The holiest feast in the year.

On the morning they participated in the religious ceremonies, and prayed;

later the celebrations got more social, community flavored.

Thy sang and danced,

and more than all, enjoyed being with each other, together, celebrating,

remembering the old country,

enjoying feeling happy,

for a change.

 

In their everyday life,

there aren't too many reasons for joy.

They are labor immigrants,

in a country that not always welcomes them so nicely.

They are in a constant defensive, not to say, threatened position.

In the good days,

they work from sun dawn to sunset in hard works,

for the lowest salary.

 

They want to stretch the day a bit more,

before it wanes,

before the miracle ends.

Done