Come, Elijah, Come

Come, Elijah, come.
The door is open.
Your cup is filled with wine from each person’s glass.
We’re serving dessert at the seder
but there’s still plenty of food.

You can stay with us for awhile 
so that you don’t get picked up 
with the homeless, with your long white hair and white beard.
Your home - Tishuba – that’s in the Judean hills,
	It’s not in what we now call the ‘West Bank’, so you don’t
             have to register
		with Homeland Security.
But sooner or later someone will ask for your papers.

No, Elijah, we’re not ready.
	We still spend treasure on weapons while children go hungry.
		Our weapons are larger than in your time,
			and more expensive.
		They can kill people hundreds of miles away.
	Our generals still command respect.
	Our princes still take money.
		Today it's called “campaign contributions.”

Prophets are still unpopular.
We’re not ready for the coming of the Messiah.
Maybe in a few centuries - maybe.
We’re not ready.
	But more than ever we need you.
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