Some people think that to earn Olam Haba
One needs to do kiruv,
Or write a sefer
Or be a martyr,
Or do a lot, a lot of mitzvot.
But
A friend invited us over for a Yom Tov meal.
First on Pesach,
And then on Shavuos.
All seven of us.
We are not close.
We are not best friends,
But she sensed my desperation
Being daunted by all these meals,
And all these mouths to feed,
And all the expectations of joy
And perfection.
I don't do perfect.
I do good enough.
Yom Tov looms large in my mind
As I do not have a childhood yardstick to measure it by.
Its expectation of ecstasy
Of facing the Divine
And noticing how
I am empty-handed.
My friend earned her Olam Haba
One casual meal invite at a time.
Please G-d,
When she stands on Yom Kippur
And beats her chest
Remember her kindness.
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