Parashat VaYishlach
Icons on my desktop look like tombstones
as I back away from more stories
about the latest Jerusalem bus bombing.
My townspeople go about their tasks
with fallen faces, still absorbing
the details of Thursday morning’s massacre.
Despite our charitable deeds,
the grim reality is that murderers,
paid assassins, surface in our midst,
commit their crimes and flee – or are killed –
and, if dead, are feted like celebrities,
if alive, are free to plot and murder again.
The atmosphere is steeped in sadness,
broken only by our festive Shabbos joy,
our yearning prayers, plangent melodies,
children’s high, harmonious voices,
table talk and courting interludes –
innocent dreams of better days –
and perennial Torah tales, their hidden nuances
revealed in the glare of the headlines:
Jacob, alone, wrestling with – a man? –
becoming Israel, buying land,
journeying again to build an altar,
and keep his promise to the God who rescued him.
19 Kislev, 5763/November 24, 2002/Tzfat
This poem appeared in Poetica Magazine (2005) and subsequently in California Israelite (2008).
