BUT I CANNOT EAT THE MATZAH

A poem for those who are not able to eat matzah.
 

I came with you from Egypt

in the middle of the night,

when we left.

I mixed the flour and water in a bowl. 

I carried it on my back.

On our journey,

the matzah baked.

I witnessed miracles,

tasted freedom,

and hoped for the future. 

But now I cannot eat the matzah. 

I sit and mourn, 

tears in my eyes.

And then I remember the walk to freedom.

I still saw the miracles.

I am still part of the Jewish nation. 

I cannot eat

the matzah.

But I still

carried it out of Egypt.