On this small, fragile world--

a pale blue dot adrift in endless dark--

we still cry for the children of Abraham,

for all who bear the image of G-d and the burden of grief.

How many times must the earth drink tears

before it refuses to yield blood?

Isaiah dreamed of a day when we would melt the blades,

hammer them into ploughshares,

and till the soil of our shared future instead.

When nation would not lift up sword against nation,

neither learn war anymore--

because at last we would remember

we were never meant to be enemies,

only neighbors beneath one sky.

Let the sparks of mercy outshine the fires of rage.

Let the children of Jerusalem, Gaza, and every shattered place

wake to the same morning light

and know it was made for them all.

Let our voices echo like waves meeting at the shore--

not to conquer, but to join.

May we look again from the distance Carl Sagan saw:

this speck of blue, suspended in a sunbeam,

the only home we have ever known.

May that truth humble us,

and bring us, trembling, to peace.