next to us, an abandoned car adorned with na, na, nachma, nachman…
we had seen them around, read their slogan plastered on alley bricks
those crazy men, with their joy and certainty and sabbath cheer
we brushed them off, extremists, as we peered into our phones, searching for meaning
on friday nights and the extremists peered into each other’s eyes, having found it already…

they came through the streets, white caps topped with string, yelling
they were drunk, elhanan said, they used drugs and called it religion
the men jumped and ran in circles, grabbing each other and holding on
they made their way down mahane yehuda, through the shuk,
their bodies expressed their joy, their voices rose up in unison

the men were happy. the wome—

we had heard the na, na, nachma, nachman hasidim camping in the judean
mountains, that night.
we had pitched our tents, shaken ants from our pads and pillowcases
clutched each other in the dark, listening to their chanting

they clamored for hours, screaming and whooping
they had set up camp in the mountains, their cars adorned with graffiti,
parked by their encampment. they set up speakers, heavy with bass and whining with treble,
blasting rhythmic music
into the mountains of their quiet ancestors
we’re back, they screamed, without words, their beat shook our tent
their hopes have their home in the hills.
they danced and sang as i truly wished to dance and sing
i fell asleep, longing.

•••

the mystics descended to the mountain spring
the night had shaken with the breslover beats
we wiped sleep, little of it, from our eyes
we made eye contact with the men at the spring

g-d’s breath, a flash of sunlight too bright

a brief nod, a smile
at this spring, this ancient mikveh, i washed the fatigue from my body
the men took off their knit kippot, leaving them on folded trousers
they stood in the sun, immersing one by one in the frigid waters