I like to think that there is Tisha B'Av in heaven.
That all the tears and screams
and questions that are too big for their answers
of every woman who slit her baby's throat
or felt it die of hunger as it tries to nurse
or ate its flesh
or caught its blood in her skirts
and every maiden who mourned a slaughtered groom
and every groom who held his bride as she collapsed
and every woman raped
and every husband and father forced to watch
and every priest burnt alive
and every elder whose corpse was spread like dung across the streets
and every blind man stumbling in blood
come before G-d.
And they say
You know what the worst part was?
Beyond the pain and shame and loneliness and sorrow?
It was You.
Behind every sword and gun and flame and knife
and hunger and rapist and disease and massacre.
It was always Your face,
looking down like an abusive father.
And G-d says Yes.
And the tears and anger and questions
look at Him and say And?
And G-d says nothing.
And all the angels look scandalized and shout
You have answers! You have a plan!
You have rationales and explanations and larger pictures
and greater goods!
And G-d says Not today.
And then He sits down among the victims
and cries in pain.