Nitzavim-Vayelekh
it is not in heavens or across the sea, it isn’t impossibly far beyond your grasp it is here, in my hands--see how I’ve spread them before you. my heart: see how it has unfolded petal by petal these forty years, how I speak to you with love and weariness, how I have strived and perhaps, sometimes, failed to be better. take these words from me--I can no longer carry you, that impossible weight, but I can gift to you these words, light as a feather, that transfer from my palms to yours with the slightest puff of air. look at this: it is in your grasp. to be good, to be good, to listen and love and be good, it is in your grasp. I can almost see double, see it sifting through your fingers like sand, but all I can do is hope you cup these letters in your palms, gently; that even once I’m gone, you’ll hear the great earth-shattering call and return, you’ll return.