Jerusalem Awaking
Tish’a B’Av
Jerusalem, no more do you cast your light.
No more a pinnacle of joy in men’s eyes,
Your days are drowned with night.
No longer a bride bedecked in white,
No longer the world’s bejeweled prize,
Jerusalem, no more do you cast your light.
No longer do your lover’s arms invite.
You lie alone, a widow who stifles her sighs,
Your days are drowned with night.
Gone are your praises that princes would recite.
Vanished – your prophets and your wise.
Jerusalem, no more do you cast your light.
Shattered – your vials of perfume, once sealed tight.
Scattered – your purple, blue and scarlet dyes.
Your days are drowned with night.
No longer do your cymbals and drums delight,
No harps, nor blasts from your trumpets rise.
Jerusalem, no more do you cast your light,
Your days are drowned with night.
~~~~~~
Terza Rima for Tish’a B’Av
Chariots no longer rattle through the Tyropean Valley.
Now, silence looms. No more wails. No more cries.
Layers of soot and smoldering ash coat every alley.
They’ve been carted off, the fools with the wise,
though no-one knows where. All the gates and doors
were left open. From entranceways flames still rise,
from mansions, villas, study-halls, and stores
where people bought flour, wine and meat.
Black smoke, like a sorceress, billows, then soars
above the ruins, where once scholars would meet
to discuss ancient texts and argue the law;
where prophets walked and justice had a seat;
where the High Priest stood in divine service before
the ark with its cherubs on the holiest of days;
now, silence looms: the songs of Levites are no more.
~~~~~~
Jerusalem’s Silence
Silence looms in your alleys;
your flagstones are strewn with smoldering ashes.
No sound but the crackle of flames
licking stones with barbed orange tongues.
No more chariots clanking down Cardo Road.
No more horses’ pounding hooves.
No more Romans’ heavy boots.
No more sobbing women. No more infants’ wails.
No more foxes’ howls.
No more tumbling boulders and capitals.
Don’t know who is buried beneath those rocks
that crashed to the ground.
You – the one-time metropolis – now lie
– a shadow of a widow’s robe –
crumpled beneath a leaden sky.
~~~~~~
The House on the mountain towers above our homes.
We see the incense, like an arrow, rise from its yard.
There, serving in the House, is my son.
Today commotion fills our street – babies howl –
people run – Babylonians and Jews,
but there, serving in the House, is my son.
Horses whinny. On the flagstones their hoofs pound.
Tails of smoke, like raven feathers, hover outside my window
while there, serving in the House, is my son.
I race up to my roof – ink clouds billow from the House –
the pillar of incense – gone
Is he still serving in the House – my son?
I rush out through the alleys, smoke clinging like a gown,
coughing, spluttering,
towards the House, for I must reach my son.
I grasp the walls, edge forward through the crowds.
Smoke stings my eyes and blinds.
What is happening to the House – to my son?
The stones are a boiling cauldron beneath my palms
– my hands can no longer touch them.
Do not let fire burn the House, burn my son.
Jeremiah approaches me near the Courtyard steps,
“Wife of Itai!” He pushes a limp body into my arms.
“Your son.”
~~~~~~
(inspired by a kina of Tish’a b’Av in the Moroccan tradition)
I lost my melody
and the fragrance that rose from my Temple’s court ––
gone –– all joy in my sacred community.
I lost my princes and my city’s wise ––
all were exiled to a strange land
and I overflowed with grief and sighs.
I lost my priests
for their offerings found no grace in G-d’s eyes
and confusion reigned in my city’s streets.
I lost my Levites
and their song –– even they could not stop
the ongoing insults and slights.
I lost my prophets for their vision was blocked
Judea’s honor was degraded and mocked
and the gates of Heaven were bolted and locked.
I lost my children –– light had left their eyes
long before starved mothers cooked them to survive.
Never will I forget their screaming and plaintive cries.
I lay buried under heaps of fallen stones and waste
beneath layer upon layer of soot and ash.
Oh Lord! When will all I have lost ever be replaced?