🗣️ The Voice of the Jews
We are far from the land we were promised. Far from the temple. Far from the priests and the fire of sacrifice.
We live beneath blue domes and golden towers.
In Susa.
In Babylon.
In places where our names are hard to pronounce.
They call us exiles, but we are not wandering.
We have made homes.
Learned the market hours.
Taught our children two languages.
We keep our Sabbath in whispers.
Light our candles behind curtains.
We remember Zion in the quiet between business and bread. We are not citizens here. But we are not strangers to survival.
We are a people who have lost much, but we have not forgotten who we are.
Even if the world no longer sees us, we remember the God who parted seas.
Even if His name is not spoken aloud here, we speak it in our fasts, in our lullabies, in our bones.
🕊️ The Voice of God
You are scattered, yes. But not lost.
You are far from the altar, but not far from My presence.
Do not think exile means absence.
I dwell among the displaced.
I walk with the misunderstood.
When you sit by Persian gates, I sit beside you.
When you trade in foreign courts, I write your names on My hand.
You see yourselves as scattered like dust. But I have planted you — like olive shoots between marble columns. Like myrtle trees beside palaces.
You are rooted by promise, even in foreign soil.
🗣️ The Voice of the Jews
We hear the names of kings more than we hear the name of God now. Xerxes rules. His statues rise. His banquets thunder.
And we?
We are quiet.
We do not protest.
We do not draw attention.
We survive.
Our children ask us why we live so far from the city of David. We tell them stories, then we tuck them in with tears they don’t yet understand. We have grown used to living between the lines of empire.
But still, we fast.
Still, we pray.
Still, we hope.
For we know the God of Abraham is not bound by geography.
And even in Persia, He sees.
🕊️ The Voice of God
You do not see Me in the palace.
But I am there.
You do not hear My name in the scroll.
But I am on every turning page.
You think silence means I’ve turned away.
But it means I’m working in the quiet.
I set things in motion long before you feel them move.
You light Sabbath candles behind curtains — and I write deliverance in the shadows.
You name your daughter Hadassah.
You raise her in secret.
You whisper your faith over her while the empire watches from above.
And I… I am shaping a queen.
🗣️ The Voice of the Jews
We do not know yet what the future holds.
We only know we are still here.
And in the hidden corners of Susa, among bricks and scrolls and silence — we believe.
Even if no one says His name aloud… we know the God of our fathers has not left the story.
