This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

A Star Has Six Corners

What is a star

but a giant ball of gas,

ele­men­tal;

hydro­gen helium

just float­ing mol­e­c­u­lar clouds

of high-den­si­ty pockets

in deep impen­e­tra­ble space.

Col­lid­ing.

Con­triv­ing.

Grow­ing mass and force

as they absorb matter

until grav­i­ty causes

clumps to collapse,

form­ing protostars;

small­er shin­ing star babies—

an inter­galac­tic pro-creation

of stel­lar clusters.

Nuclear fusion;

a squeez­ing of hydro­gen atoms

heats a star

like a hot burn­ing beat­ing heart,

a life source for the many phases,

par­don­ing it from collapse

beneath the force of gravity.


It is the low-mass stars

that live the longest.

The small­er of the mega-stars

whose own size demands a

burn­ing of their fuel at a high­er rate

so that in the end,

the over-inflat­ed burn itself out

while the small­er stars will

out­shine even the universe’s

exis­tence. It is the giants

that suf­fer the quick­er death –

an extin­guish­ment

of an over­in­flat­ed glow,

con­vert­ing into heav­ier elements,

fus­ing itself into iron.

All that wild energy,

futile and frantic,

to keep from its inevitable collapse,

using up all remain­ing fuel

in a mat­ter of days.

But those star babies,

those under­dog hot-gas balls,

pul­sate

inflate

eject

until its lay­ers blow away

like the whis­per­ing feathers

of dan­de­lion pappus,

into an expand­ing cloud

of dust and particles—

a plan­e­tary nebula,

until all that is left is its

core.

White dwarf,

a glow­ing cinder

cool­ing over tril­lions of years.

A super­no­va.


Nova: 

A fes­ti­val of bright lights.

A surg­ing energy

instan­ta­neous­ly released.

All those danc­ing flam­ing lights

scat­tered into dust and particles.

Star babies that will outlast

the giants by hun­dreds of light years

in their God­ly six-cor­nered shape.


You will be as numer­ous as the stars.

And you will be blessed.

And you will be blessed.

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

Sup­port the work of Jew­ish Book Coun­cil and become a mem­ber today.

Talya Jankovits is an award-win­ning writer. She has received mul­ti­ple Push­cart Prize and Best of the Net nom­i­na­tions. Her essays, fic­tion, and poet­ry have been fea­tured in numer­ous mag­a­zines, some of which have received acco­lades such as first place, Editor’s Choice Award, and Hon­or­able Men­tions. Her poet­ry col­lec­tion, girl woman wife moth­er (Kel­say Books, 2024) received First Place in Con­tem­po­rary Poet­ry in the 2024 Book­fest Awards. She holds her MFA in Cre­ative Writ­ing from Anti­och Uni­ver­si­ty and resides in Chica­go with her hus­band and four daugh­ters. To read more of her work you can vis­it her at www​.talya​jankovits​.com