Dear Hebrew Women,
Shalom, yafa sheli. Your beauty of holiness is the only way to describe the miracle behind your glory, being fearfully and wonderfully made. I find traces of your perfection wherever my heart follows, even as the blessed warmth of God that surrounds us. All I need is to close my eyes to feel your blissful presence, and in thoughts of you are where my Sabbath may finally be observed.
And it came to pass; I saw your pretty face on an early afternoon. You were chopping up vegetables into matchsticks, and while dicing them into tiny cubes, they reminded me of your adorned nature. Somehow, your radiance shines through more and more every seven days. When I discovered the cut upon your elegant finger, it troubled my bowels with envy. I wanted nothing more than to be the Band-Aid that kissed your affectionate touch, and make it kosher again.
The truth remains, I fell in love with you when I was just a little boy. I witnessed scenes of the Holocaust and cried for real for the very first time. Without knowing the outcome of your fate, you continued bathing with smiles and laughter, the kindest I had ever seen. Crystal-clear droplets anointed your body, and tears rolled down my cheeks. It was then that I promised a place inside my heart, to love and protect you, from then until evermore.
Alas, my physical limitations are a hindrance to a great many things. I can’t even protect myself, let alone you when I’d be smote in less than two seconds. But the angelic caresses you offer unto me are worth every injury and bruise. Your touch is where salvation lies; a pathway towards your Edenesque romance. As the softness of your fingertips leads my eyes to your alluring dovelike gaze and lips sweeter than new wine from the cluster, they reunify the three extensions of your heart. In them holds the key to unlocking the secrets of love, for yours is eternally chosen, and the essence of every womankind upon earth.
It saddens me, when you feel less attractive than your White and Asian sisters, as if your delicate features aren’t finely crafted like theirs. O daughter of Zion, my bundle of myrrh and frankincense, I’ve harkened unto your silliness and it tickles me so. I hope to touch away your beautiful heart cries and reveal the Promised Land outlined by every sensual curve of your flawless physique; the exquisite landscape defined by the silk of your skin resembling that of milk and honey.
And you might think the only reason I want to lie between your breasts of twin young roes is because you’d make a comely wife. You might even think it’s that I want to boast the ease of breaking glass with my solid rubber wheels. Well it isn’t the reason why.
My beloved Israeli princess, you’re the epitome of my damsel in distress. Your meekness in sadness inspires my heart to utterly discover and rediscover yours, for to love you is like the gathering of manna; an ongoing voyage of giving and receiving. I humble myself before you with garments rent, wearing only sackcloth and ashes. I vow to never do what Abraham and Isaac did in transgressing against the sacredness of our romance. Mingle with me like fine flour and beaten oil, I pray you, for our marriage shall be a statute forever, and we’ll multiply as the stars of the heaven exceedingly.
Dear Hebrew Women, while Passover has gone, your fair countenance continues to make me pass over, time and time again. I can probably only drive in my wheelchair for forty minutes straight, and on ground as I don’t want to get stuck in sand, but I’d carry on my journey looking for you until the battery runs dry.
For you I’d give up ham, my darling matzah ball. Selah.
Your Gentle Gentile,
Ricky
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