academic · poem

Immanuel of Rome’s 9th Machberet

Emmanuel of Rome –in Hebrew, Emmanuel haRomi; in Italian, Manoello Giudeo – was born to an aristocratic Italian-Jewish family in 1261. Although only a minor poet by comparison to his pre-Renaissance contemporaries, Emmanuel was the first ever poet to write sonnets in any language other than Italian. Around 1300, Emmanuel produced a series of Hebrew sonnet collections that dealt with both secular and religious themes.

Using Dov Yarden’s edition of the Hebrew, I have created English translations of Immanuel’s 9th Machberet, which is a series of sonnets for each month of the Jewish year. So far, there has not been any systematic effort to translate all of Emmanuel’s works and only a few contemporary scholars show much interest in him. By putting these translations into the public domain, I hope others will take up interest in him.

I tell my story and say: וָאֶשָּׂא מְשָׁלִי וָאֹמַר 

TISHRI 

In Tishri, I rejoice; as the feasts to God 
Awaken me, to songs of passion sing  
I will delight in honey and nectar 
A time when willows string up violins 
And I shall surround myself  with youth 
I’ll eat a banquet fit to feed a king 
While staring at the apple of my eye, 
The juice of grapes and pomegranates drink. 
My face in battle, like before a flame 
I won’t be mute, but surely I will sing 
As her warden, I open up my lips  
I borrow kisses from Ofra’s wellspring 
And thank the Lord who made humanity 
Complete with all the perfect openings  
בְּתִשְׁרִי אֶשְׂמְחָה כִּי מוֹעֲדֵי אֵל
 יְעִירוּנִי לְשׁוֹרֵר שִׁיר עֲגָבִים
 וְאֶתְעַנַּג בְּנֹפֶת צוּף וּפַנַּג
 וְכִינוֹרַי תְּלוּיִם עַל עֲרָבִים
 וְאַצִּיבָה סְבִיבוֹתַי נְעָרַי
 וּמוּל פָּנַי לְאַיֶּלֶת אֲהָבִים
 וְאֶסְעַד מַעֲדַן מֶלֶךְ וְאֶשְׁתֶּה
 עֲסִיס רִמּוֹן וְאֶשְׁכַּר דַּם עֲנָבִ
ים וְאֶשְׁכַּח רִישׁ וְלֹא אַחְרִישׁ וְאָרֹן
 וּפָנַי בַּקְּרָב כִּפְנֵי לְהָבִים
 וְאֶלְוֶה מִשְּׂפַת עָפְרָה נְשִׁיקוֹת
 וְלִפְרֹעַ שְׂפָתַי לָהּ עֲרָבִים
 וְאוֹדֶה אֵל אֲשֶׁר יָצַר בְּחָכְמָה
 בֵּני אָדָם וּבָרָא בָם נְקָבִים 

MAR-CHESHVAN 

In Mar-Cheshvan, we’re lifted up by light 
I long to stand on dark borders of clouds 
And cry out from the fastened fires of night 
So sticky honey drips on land unploughed 
Upon the borders of the fields I press 
The nectar into syrup and the olives into chow 

I drink until I forget poverty 
And drive out all the grief from hearts somehow 
I bless each bairn to any woman born  
I see this as the time for seeds to sow 
The autumn plants assert this as their hour 
Nothing has thorns that sting as sharp as now 
But shoots will spring from barren earth again 
Like men from graves, accomplishing God’s vow  
בְּמַרְחֶשְׁוָן מְאוֹר יַעְלוֹת וְזִיוָן
 אֱהִי עֹרֵךְ לְמוּל אֹפֶל עֲנָנָיו
 וְקָרָתוֹ בְּאֵשׁ חֵשֶּׁק אֲגָרֵשׁ
 וְתַמְרוּרָיו בְּנֹפֶת צוּף עֲדָנָי
 וּמוּל פִּרְשׁוֹ יְהִי חֵשֶק וְדִבְשׁוֹ
 וְאֶל מוּל בָּאֳשׁוֹ רֵיחַ שְׁמָנָיו

  אֲנִי אֶשְׁתֶּה וְאֶשְׁכַּח רִישׁ וְאַחְרִישׁ
 וְאָסִיר מִלְּבָבִי עִצְּבוֹנָיו
 וּמִכָּל חַי יְלוּד אִשּׁה אֲבָרֵךְ
 אֲנִי נֹחַ וְנִטְעֵי נַעֲמָנָיו
 אֲשֶׁר לוּלֵי נְעִימוֹתָם יְכֻסֶּה
 זְמָן חָרוּל וְעָלוּ קִמְּשׁוֹנָיו
 עֲלֵי יָשְׁרוֹ אֲחוֹנֵן אֶת עֲפָרוֹ
 בְּתוֹךְ קִבְרוֹ וְאֶרְצֶה אֶת אֲבָנָיו 

KISLEV 

In Kislev, God’s horseman I will be 
And through calm pride I surely will agree 
A light on high supports a needy man 
To lift the dust of earth to build freely 
We light each night an eight pronged candel’bra 
Drink whiskey like the finest smooth honey 
The beauty of the girls’ arms, so exposed 
Whose eyes, like light’ning, shine in front of me 
One woman sets the table for the meal 
Another one runs after her to clean 
One coyly turns aside and rends men’s hearts 
Another bakes up biscuits for high tea 
I need not wonder what the meal will be 
The main course is spread out in front of me
בְּכִסְלֵו אֶהְיֶה שָׁלֵו וְאוֹדֶה
 לְצוּר רֹכֵב בְּגַאְוָתוֹ שְׁחָקִים
 וְאוֹר עֶלְיוֹן אֲשֶׁר אִישׁ דַּל וְאֶבְיוֹן
 מְרִימִי מֵעֲפַר אֶרֶץ וּמֵקִים
 וְנֵרוֹת אֶהְיֶה מַדְלִיק שְׁמֹנָה
 וְשִׁקּוּיַי כְּנֹפֶת צוּף מְתוּקִים
 וְהַיָּפוֹת זְרוֹעֹתָן חֲשׂוּפוֹת
 וְעֵינֵיהֶן יְרוּצוּן כַּבְּרָקִים
 וְאַחַת עֹרְכָה שֻׁלְחָן וְאַחַת
 תְּשַׂדֵּד אַחֲרֶיהָ הָעֲמָקִים
 וְאַחֶרֶת תְּלַבֵּב הַלְּבִבוֹת
 וְאַחֶרֶת תְּבַשּׁל הָרְקִיקִים
 וְצַפִּיחִת וּמַעְשֵׂה הַחֲבִתִּים
 וּמַרְחֶשֶׁת מְזָוֵינוּ מְפִיקִים 

TEVET 

The tenth Tevet: a fast for those who died 
When God’s children, like roaring seas, shall thrive 
They come in waves before the courts of God 
Where fools can dream and helping hands can strive 
To dig the chilly ground; this cold man shakes  

Those muscly men who work the harsh outside 
Who pull the jumpers round their necks and hide 
On snowy roads beneath the winter sky 
On days like these, I look for doe-eyed dames 
In secret surfaces where they reside 
My life is like a dead stalk in decay 
And yet, with only a gaze, I revive 
I know that God will crush all those who hate 
But meanwhile, I’ll be fortified by wine 
בְּטֵבֵת בַּעֲשָׂרָה בוֹ יְצוּמוּן
 בְּנֵי אֵל חַי וְכַיַּמִּים יְהִימוּן
 לְבוֹא צַר בֵּית אֱלֹהִים וַחֲצֵרָיו
 בְּכֵילַפּוֹת וְכַשִּׁיל יַהֲלֹמוּן
 וְהַקֹּר יַחֲלֹף הָאִישׁ וְיִדְקֹר

  פְּנֵי שָׂרִים הֲכִי חָבוּשׁ בְּטָמוּן
 וּמִטְרוֹת עֹז וְטִיט חוּצוֹת וְקֶרַח
 וְשֶׁלֶג עַל מְסִילֹּתַי יְרֻמוּן
 לְעֵת כָּזֹאת אֲשַׁחֵר הַצְּבִיּוֹת
 אֲשֶׁר סוֹד עַל יְגוֹנִים יַעֲרִימוּן
 וְעֵינֵיהֶן וְהוֹד צִיצַת לְחֵיהֶן
 יְחַיּוּנִי נְבֵלָתִי יְקִימוּן
 וְאֵיךְ אִירָא וְיֵינִי לִי לְעֶזְרָה
 וְהוּא יִמְחַץ מְשַׂנְאַי מִן יְקוּמוּן 

SHVAT 

Your face is harsh as bastards’ are, Shevat 
You send your time and frosty ice like loaves 
The whizzing snow breaks skies and cools my heart 
I spot the lovers hiding in alcoves 
They thrust and grab with their bosoms exposed 
Their voices cry out loud within their homes 
I cursed the stupid sermons as I froze 
And realised I was better off alone  
שְׁבָט אַכְזָר וְעַז פָּנִים כְּמַמְזֵר
 וּבוֹ יַשְׁלִיךְ זְמָן קַרְחוֹ כְפִתִּים
 וְהַשֶּׁלֶג גְּאוֹן הַלֵּב יְפַלֵּג
 וְהַדּוֹדִים בְּחֵיק יַעְלוֹת נְחִתִּים
 וְרָצֵי הַצְּבִיּוֹת הֵם דְּחוּפִים
 וְכָרוֹזָא בְּקוֹל קָרֵא בְּבָתִּים
 אֲרוּרָה דֹּרְשָׁה צֶמֶר וּפִשְׁתִּים
 לְעֵת כָּזֹאת לְבַד מַעְשֵׂה חֲבִתִּים 

ADAR 

Adar arrives to teach the bawdy tale 
Of how Haman and Zeresh caused such shame
If I had not such wealth and dignity 
I could not feast upon these geese and game 
In my right hand, a cup of toddy wine 
I shout each time I hear Haman’s curs’d name 
I join my mates and drink myself insane 
Until the heroes and the brutes are same 
We cheer with throats full of liquor and food 
For tyrants who will never rise again 
Only good wine can expel pain and strife 
And so we praise its healing holy name  
בְּאַדָּר אֶהְיֶה ישֵׁב וְדֹרֵשׁ
 וְאַזְכִּיר חַסְדֵי הָמָן וְזֶרֶשׁ
 וְלִי יוֹנִים וּבַרְבֻּרִים אֲבוּסִים
 וְלֹא אָחוּשׁ הֲאִם לִי הוֹן וְאִם רֵישׁ
 וְהַיַּיִן מְבֻשָּׂם אֶל יְמִינִי
 בְּקוֹל קֹרֵא וּבַדִּבּוּר יְפָרֵשׁ
 וְאִם אֹמַר אֲרוּר הָמָן וְזֶרֶשׁ
 יְשִׁיבוּן אַל תְּקַלֵּל דּוֹד לְחֵרֵשׁ
 וְקוֹל קֹרֵא אֱכֹל וּשְׁתֵה לְשָׁכְרָה
 וְלֹא תַשְׁאִיר לְנֹחֵל אוֹ לְיוֹרֵשׁ
 בְּיַעַן הוּא לְבַד רִפְאוּת וּמָזוֹר
 וְכָל רַע וָחֳלִי גָּרֵשׁ יְגָרֵשׁ 

NISSAN 

Nissan, I will recall God’s miracles 
Come see our homes, delight with joyous Jews 
How good and pleasant are these former slaves 
Our ancestors whom God opted to choose 
Once cloaked in cloud, they wandered in deserts 
But now delight and wonder are our views 
Up from these blossomed trees call turtle doves 
Our doorways filled with special treats, infused I fall
in love with her between the flower beds 
And couples ride the heavens in pursuit 
I will sacrifice the flesh and wool 
Of lambs and rams and farmers’ choicest ewes 
Let me cry out to all my famished friends: 
Jerusalem and food wait here for you!  
Upon the Torah’s head a diadem 
And graceful bracelets embedded with jewels 
Her crown reveals her lovely wonderment 
Each heart lights up to listen to her news 
Although a broken world encroaches now 
When morning comes, the world awaits her truth 
בְּנִיסָן אֶזְכְּרָה נִסֵּי אֱלֹהִים
 וּבֹו אוֹרָה וְשִׂמְחָה לַיְּהוּדִים
 וַּמה טּוּבוֹ וַּמה יָּפְיוֹ אֲשֶׁר בּוֹ
 אֲבֹתַי יָצְאוּ מִבֵּית עֲבָדִים
 וּפָשַׁט הַזְּמָן עָנָן לְבֻשׁוֹ
 וְעָטָה אוֹר וְכֻלּוֹ מַחֲמַדִּים
 וְקוֹל הַתּוֹר עֲלֵי מִפְתָּן וְכַפְתּוֹר
 וְאֶרְאֶה עַל פְּתָחַי כָּל מְגָדִים
 וְחשֵׁק עִם חֲשׁוּקָה בֵּין עֲרֻגוֹת
 בְּשָׂמִים רֹכְבִים יַחְדָּו צְמָדִים
 וְאֶזְבַּח שׁוֹר וְשֶׂה נָקֹד וְטָלוּא
 לְבַד מִן הַתְּיָשִׁים הָעֲקֻדִּים
 וְאַעְבִיר קוֹל לְכָל צַד כָּל דְּכָפִין
 וְצָרִיךְ לֶאֱכֹל יִהְיוּ עֲתִידִים
 וְאַצִּיב יַעֲלַת הַחֵן לְנֶגְדִּי
  בְּרֹאשָׁהּ צִיץ וְעַל יָדָה צְמִידִים
 וְהִיא תַעְנוּג לְכָל לֵב נוּג וְלַחְרֹט
 פְּאֵר הוֹדָהּ יְדֵי הָעֵט כְּבֵדִים
 לְדַעְתָּהּ יֵצְאוּ יָדַי גְּדוּדִים
 וְעַד בֹּקֶר הֲכִי נִרְוֶה בְדֹדִים 

IYYAR 

Iyyar asks me a joyful oath to swear  
I join my hands, both left and right, as pairs 
With lustful oxen, all Hebrews will unite 
By seeking dreams and chirpy birdsong pray’r 
I will never see liberation come 
Nor hear lads singing in the streets somewhere 
The world removes the mourning clothes she wears 
To swap for fancy garb, with lovers shared 
I free myself from books I have to read 
The Talmud’s texts, to which I am an heir 
Instead, I’ll set myself beside a doe 
Her body giving life beyond compare 
And though the heat of morning beats us slow 
When death does come, we will be holy there  
בְּאִיָּר אֶשְׂבְּעָה שׂבַע שְׂמָחוֹת
 וּבִשְׂמֹאלִי וּבִימִינִי נְעִימוֹת
 בְּשׁוּרִי חשְׁקִים מִכָּל עֲבָרִים
 בְּצִיץ צִצִּים לְשַׁחֵר הָעֲלָמוֹת
 וְלֹא אֶרְאֶה לְבַד גִּילַת וְרַנֵּן
 וְלֹא אֶשְׁמַע לְבַד שִׁיר עַל עֲלָמוֹת
 וְתֵבֵל תַּחֲלִיף סוּת אַלְמְנוּתָהּ
 וְלִכְבוֹד חשְׁקִים תִּלְבַּשׁ רְקָמוֹת
 וְאֶתֵּן גֵּט לְעֵרוּבִין וְגִטִּין
 וְסַנְהֶדְרִין וּמַסֶּכֶת יְבָמוֹת
 וְאֶבְחַר לִי לְצֵידָה הַצְּבִיָה
 לְחִי שׁוֹשָׁן נְשָׁמָה לַנְּשָׁמוֹת
 פְּנֵי חַמָּה אֲשֶׁר כָּל שֹׁחֲרֶיהָ
 קְדֹשִים יִהְיוּ בָהּ אַחֲרֵי מוֹת 

SIVAN 

Sivan makes me remember all God’s deeds 
How by wonder, He lifts us up, proceeds 
He brought His treasur’d people to freedom 
His children follow after where he leads 
They see his words and statutes as their light 
Enlightened by the Torah’s sacred creed 
Hear us, O God, as we cry out to You 
Comfort our fears in this, our hour of need 
O, show us Moses, whom we need so close 
Who came from mountains in the clouds, decreed 
To us the ten statutes by which we live 
For Jeshurun bowed down and found he’d heed 
Then Esau saw that God fulfilled His will 
And Ishmael learnt that God would be his steed  
בְּסִיוָן אֶזְכְּרָה פִּלְאוֹת אֱלֹהִים
 אֲשֶׁר נִשָּׂא וְגָבַהּ עַל גְּבֹהִים
 אֲשֶׁר יָצָא לְיֵשַׁע עַם קְרֹבוֹ
 יְלָדָיו הֹלְכִים אַחְרָיו וְנִנְהִים
 וְנָתַן הוֹד וְנֵר מִצְוָה וְתוֹרָה
 לְעַם קָדְשׁוֹ לְאוֹר יִשְׁעוֹ כְמֵהִים
 וְשָׁמַעְנוּ אֱלֹהִים חַי מְדַבֵּר
 וְנַחְנוּ פֹּחֲדִים מֶנְהוּ וְרֹהִים
 וְרָאִינוּ אֲזַי משֶׁה בְּגִשְׁתּוֹ
 לְעַרְפַלָּיו וְעָמַדְנוּ תְמֵהִים
 וְהִתְוָה תָו עֲשֶׂרֶת דִּבְּרוֹתָיו
 הֲתִשְׁתּוֹחַח יְשֻׁרוּן עוֹד וְתָהִים
 שְׁאַל עֵשָׂו הֲרָאָה כֵן בְּעֹשָׂיו
 וְיִשְׁמָעֵאל הֲשָׁמַע קוֹל אֱלֹהִים 

TAMMUZ 

Stripped bare and broken, in Tammuz, I go 
To play and say the eulogies of woe 
My contrite heart cries out in broken pain 
My clothes are drenched in blood and wet sorrow 
That soaks the valleys of God’s holy home 
The plunder and destruction of my foes 
Those heathens burn the sacred sites they hate 
And tear up Torah scrolls, they overthrow 
An idol stands upon God’s conquered throne 
It breaks my heart in ways I’ve never known 
I take my sword, prepare myself for war 
The huntsman within me readies his bow 
So all of my tears will break down these walls 
In grieving the lost ones, I cry alone 
בְּתַמּוּז אֵלְכָה עָרוֹם וְשׁוֹלָל
 וְלִשְׂחוֹק אֹמְרָה נַפְשִׁי מְהוֹלָל
 וְאֶתְעַנֶּה בְּלֵב נִשְׁבָּר וְנֶעְכָּר
 וּמַלְבּוּשִׁי בְּדַם דִּמְעִי מְגוֹלָל
 אֲשֶׁר בּוֹ הָבְקְעָה עִיר בֵּית אֱלֹהַי
 וְהֵצַר צַר וּבָזַז בַּז וְשָׁלָל
 וּבָטְלוּ הַתְּמִידִים בּוֹ וְשָׂרַף
 אֲפוֹסְטוֹמוֹס לְתוֹרַת אֵל וְחִלָּל
 וְצֶלֶם הֶעֱמִיד תּוֹךְ הֵיכְלֵי אֵל
 מְשׂוֹשׂ לִבִּי לְזֹאת חָרַב וְדָלָל
 הֲיַעְרֹךְ צִיר אֱלֵי צִירִי וּמַכְאֹב
 לְמַכְאֹבִי אֲשֶׁר בָּא לִי וְעוֹלָל
 וְלָכֵן כֹּל אֲשֶר דִּמְעָה יְפַכֶּה
 וְיִתְאַבֵּל לְפִי שִׂכְלוֹ יְהֻלָּל 

AV 

Throughout the month of Av, I will cry and grieve 
I’ll pump out reservoirs of tears of pain 
For desecration of God’s wasted home 
The refugees removed by Rome’s campaign 
On one long day, like Haman’s sons we hang 
While God destroys His seat of holy reign 
With fuming rage, my life force God destroys 
I sob out floods of salty tear-filled rain 
Now traitors and cynics surround me 
But I won’t eat or make love for the slain 
And were it not for God’s endless mercy 
My mouth would never know to laugh again  
בְּחֹדֶשׁ אָב אֱהִי נִכְאָב וְאֶדְאַב
 וְאֶשְׁאַב מֵי דְמָעַי מִכְּבֵדִי
 וְאֶתְעַנֶּה לְחָרְבַּן בֵּית אֱלֹהַי
 וְעִיר קָדְשׁוֹ וְעַל הָגְלַת כְּבוֹדִי
 בְּיוֹם אָרוּךְ כְּמוֹ וָי”ו וַיְזָתָא
 בְּחֻמּוֹ נֶהֱפַךְ חֹרֶב לְשַׁדִּי
 וְהַמַּיִם אֲשֶר אֶשְׁתֶּה לְשִׂכִּים
 בְּמוֹ עֵינַי וְלִצְנִינִים בְּצִדִּי
 וְאַרְחִיק הַצְּבִיָּה מִיְּצֻעַיְ
 וְאֶתְגּוֹלֵל בְּמִטָּתִי לְבַדִּי
 וְלוּלֵי נַחֲמוּ בִּבְנֵי אֲוָזָיו
 יְמַלֵּא פִי שְׂחוֹק אֶבְכֶּה בְעוֹדִי 

ELUL I 

The nobles’ daughters now are frollicing 
On flower beds of Elul’s evenings 
And balls run down the rafters of downswings 
Like those who made our rabbis into kings 
O, let us go and see the vineyards spring 
We’ll search for fresh grown figs until ev’ning 
Where trees not only grow but even sing 
And they will speak words kind and flattering 
Lift up your hand and don’t forget a thing  

I wrote these words of verse when I was young 
So ev’ry month could have its praises sung 
Today, in age, I wrote another one 
In sacred oil to praise the Elul month 
And now my greatest poem has begun…  
בְּאֵלוּל אֶעֱלֹז עִם בַּת נְדִיבִים
 בְּעֶרֶשׂ רַעֲנָנָה עַל עֲרָבִים
 וְהַגֻּלּוֹת יְרֻצוּן בָּרְהָטִים
 כְּאִלּוּ יִתְּנוּ שָׁמַי רְבִבִים
 וְנַשְׁכִּימָה וְנֵצֵא לַכְּרָמִים
 לְשַׁחֵר הַתְּאֵנָה עַד עֲרָבִים
 וְאָז אֶרְאֶה גְפָנַי אֹמְרִים לִי
 בְּפֶה חָנֵף וּבִדְבָרִים עֲרַבִים
 הֲתִקַּח הַתְּאֵנָה דּוֹד לְמָנָה
 נְשָׂא יָדְךָ וְאַל תִּשְׁכַּח עֲנָבִים

  אֵלֶּה הֵם הַשִּׁירִים הַמְפֹאָרִים
 אֲשֶר חִבַּרְתִּי עַל הֶחֳדָשִׁים בִּימֵי הַנְּעוִּרים
 וְעוֹד חִבַּרְתִּי שִׁיר עַל חֹדֶשׁ אֱלוּל
 בֶּשֶׁמן מִשְׁחַת קֹדֶשׁ בָּלוּל
 וּלְיָפְיוֹ הוּא עִלָּה וְכָל שִׁיר זוּלָתוֹ עָלוּל
 וְהוּא זֶה 

ELUL II 

If only you would bless my eyes, Elul, 
For you I would become an Amora 
A lord of words, a student to Rava 
And I will fast and search for sweet Mannah 
Within the vineyards I will sit pretty 
And sing and dance although my death’s not far
And I will leave my soul behind in words 
I’ll suckle breasts from vine shoots as they are 
בְּאֵלוּל תְּבַלּוּל בְּעֵינַי יְהִי אִם
 אֲקַנֵּא לְרָבָא וְלִהְיוֹת אֲמוֹרָא
 אֲנִי הַתְּאֵנָה אֲבַקֵּשׁ לְמָנָה
 לְנַפְשִׁי וְאֶדְרשׁ אֲנִי רֹאשׁ אֲמִיָרה
 וְתוֹךְ הַכְּרָמִים אֲנִי בַנְּעִימִים
 אֲכַלֶּה יְמוֹתַי בְּשִׁירָה וְזִמְרָה
 וְאָשִׂים גְּפָנַי סְבִיב צַוְּרֹנַי
 לְעָנָק וְאִינַק שְׁדֵי הַזְּמוֹרָה 
israel · poem

A prayer on hearing promises of a ceasefire

May God bless the hands of the father’s outstretched arms as he waits for his daughter to come home

May God bless the hands of the mother who raises them to the sky over the ruins of her home

May God bless the hands of the old man who rummages through destroyed buildings, looking for his dead

May God bless the hands of the undertakers who dig graves after months of waiting to give the deceased a dignified burial

May God bless the hands of the unskilled builders who pick up bricks and decide to remake what they lost

May God bless the hands of the volunteers who lift heavy boxes filled with aid and distribute them in displaced persons camps

May God bless the hands of those who drive buses taking people back to their homes

May God bless the hands of the soldiers who put down their rifles and swears that they have shot their last ever bullet

May God bless the hands of those who collapse on the ground in tears of relief

May God bless the hands of those who clench fists as they realise they are not numbered among the lucky ones

May God bless the hands of those who dance in the streets

May God bless the hands of the politicians who sign treaties for ceasefires

May God bless the hands of those who hold placards and say this isn’t enough 

May God bless the hands of those who wag fingers and say this isn’t over

May God bless the hands of those who outstretch palms and say this could be over

May God bless the hands of those who shake hands and say this will be over

May God bless the hands of everyone who clasps their palms in supplication and begs for peace

May God bless the hands of the one who chooses life

May God bless the hands now buried in the earth

high holy days · poem

Kol Nidrei

Every year since starting as a rabbinic student, I have read this poem, by the Yiddish writer Wlasyslaw Szlengel. He wrote it in the Warsaw Ghetto in 1943, not long before the entire community was liquidated.

I’ve never understood the content and the words,
Only the melody of the prayer.
While my eyes I close, I see again
Reminisces from my childhood
The yellow grayish glow of candle light,
Sad movements of arms and beards,
I hear a cry, wailing
An immense plea for mercy, a miracle…
Whipping of the chest, clasping hands –
The glory of old books,
Fear of verdicts unknown and dark.
That night I’ll never tear off my heart,
A menacing mysterious night,
And the grieved prayer Kol Nidrei —
I know by now, when I feel bad
Or tomorrow, when fate will be more courteous to me,
In my thoughts I’ll come back to that night,
And always
In my heart I shall be in it.
Come with me – – –
Jews – frightened, beaten, persecuted,
Cast out of everything – – –
Depressed,
Humiliated.
You – that that your benches were broken,
Your faith as well and your skulls.
You – whose mouths are been shut,
As are the roads, the shops.
You – mud is thrown on your faces.
You – who know already what
Is fear from human being.
And you –
Who want to forget that only yesterday,
Or a hundred years ago,
Were Jews
Running away—
To the tangle of the big affairs,
To the excess of the big people
To the lie of the big words,
Hiding yourselves behind the backs
Of foreign ideas, not yours…
You – free of
Tallith,
Shabbathot,
Kapoth,
Come!
On the same long big night
to the foggy memories sunk in sentiments
In the heart and in the tear
Go back to the darkened prayer rooms
From long lost childhood,
Where grayish light gleam and candles cry,
Where Mothers wring their hands,
And through trembling hands,
Pages of yellow books murmur,
While injustice lie like a stone on our soul.
At least we shall be united in our hearts
In the sad prayer of Kol Nidrei.

fast · liturgy · poem

Coronavirus Lamentations

This is a creative re-translation of Eichah 1 to reflect the current era, where our sacred sites again sit empty and a new enemy feels as if it has besieged us. I have written this partly to distract my mind from fasting on Tisha b’Av, and partly to help process the grief I am feeling around the closures of communal spaces.

1

How is this possible?

As lonely she sits, this synagogue, where once she thronged with congregants

She has become like a widow;

Great she was among people, a power for the prayers

She has become precluded.

2

She cries,

Bawls, in the night and her tears fall on her cheeks

She has no comforter from all her lovers

Her friends have abandoned her

She imagines them as loveless.

3

The Jews are exiled from her

Caused by inequality and sickness; she sits with the nations

She cannot find rest

The virus trounced her

In the narrow spaces where it traps its victims.

4

City streets are mourners,

Don’t welcome congregations any more;

All her doors are bolted

Her leaders are grieving, her lay people lament

She sits in bitterness.

5

Strange are these adversaries

Enemies who carelessly became overlords

A plague pronounced upon a people

That locks toddlers in captivity

Fearing a sickness outside.

6

The sanctuary’s splendour

Fled away from her

Her wardens scarper like deer to nowhere

Running breathless

From the airborne pursuer.

7

She remembers

Grandeur in her grief

All the precious people that made her home at first

Now her people are falling to the power of frailty

And a sickness that ridicules science.

8

Our surfaces

Have become contaminated

Uncleanliness in the air

And all the dangers we cannot see are suddenly laid bare

So she tries to sigh without breathing.

9

Hands spread

Infection over our most treasured relatives,

So once the problem has entered your body

You are commanded

Not to go out in public.

10

Everyone is panting

Just trying to once again enjoy taste

To have their good spirits revived.

Does God not look upon us

And see how much we suffer?

11

Don’t let it happen to you

Know that this is pain unlike all others

It has befallen me

As if God’s nose has flared up

And exhaled sickness in anger.

12

My bones bind

Like spines sticking together

Feet swell, immovable

I cannot turn around

And spend my days lying in pain.

13

My body is

Marked by the signs of disease

Neck scrunched up in knots

Whatever strength I had has failed me

As I find I can no longer stand.

14

The strongest are trampled

Now, God calls out to me, the time has come

To destroy the youth,

Stamping on brides and crushing down grooms

Like grapes in wine presses.

15

My eyes, my eyes

Over these I cry

Droplets fall without a refuge

Even our physicians are dying,

So powerful is our adversary.

16

Love extends her arms

Parting only to find no one there

Such unclear instructions

God of Jacob, this fear is surrounding me

Every centre is infected.

17

God, you take

Revenge against rebellious and uncovered mouths.

Please listen, all peoples,

Won’t you see the pain

Caused by endless captivity?

18

I keep calling my loved ones

So they know I still care

I seek out my elders

And bring food to the vulnerable

That they will not be forgotten.

19

I call out to God

To tell You: ‘I am in distress!’

My heart is turning round

Abroad the people are devastated by statistics

And we see death at home.

20

They can hear

Ululating outcries from loneliness

This indifferent virus listens

Knowing that no matter what you do

That appointed day will come.

21

Let all evil stand before God

Vanquisher and vanisher

Who knows all

Examines every dead

Your saving grace may one day come to those

Zealous attendants awaiting You.

22

Return us to You, O God, and we will return to you. Let us have back the times we had before.

 

empty london

poem · torah

Lot’s Wife

There are some sadnesses so intense

That they stay in your lungs

And get caught there

So that every time you cry

You feel like you’re choking up the same sadnesses all over again

 

There are some angers so hot

That they sink into your muscles

And tighten up knots in your back and on your shoulders

So that you carry it around like chainmail

Weighing down your body without offering protection

 

There are some memories so painful

That the fact of looking back can turn you into a pillar of salt.

These things don’t happen to people who have names

Only to people who feel things so intensely

And have nobody to tell

lots-wife

I wrote this poem on the theme of Parashat Vayeira.