2007 Summer Institute for Echoes and Reflections Scholars

Poems

Jerusalem

Broad smiles of limestone
spread in the bright
Jerusalem,
the color of the moon
of sea foam
of bread.
Neighborhoods wrap around hillsides
like prayer shawls
or rosaries
like pearls
looped and draped
on its bosom of years, pride and sighs
Jerusalem,
the color of light
the color of our bones.

by Alisa Parcells
July, 2007

On the Night Flight to Israel

She sat next to me in the vast black Middle East
of her robe and shawl.
An occasional fringe tickled my arm.
We sat with only language and custom between us.
She held a small dark book,
opened and closed it,
and in our narrow space, her seated bowing
could be mistaken for rocking.
She spoke softly into the chatter
of those of us fussing with packs and purses
as we checked and rechecked ourselves
and our things,
but there was nothing she needed to check.
She knew who she was -
Praying
and bowing into our night flight to Israel.

by Alisa Parcells
July, 2007

City of Ancient Light

Golden rock cries prayers from the weary
As the fragility of humanity breathes strength from the past
Written sighs wisp past the rhythm of dovening feet
Seeking refuge within these walls of sanctity

Hear these cries among the croons of the devoted
For they too lose faith in the still of the night

May sobs of such surrender wake me from my slumber
And welcome me within the palm of this city of ancient light

by Danielle Goldberg
July, 2007

The Hall of Names at Yad Vashem

I am transported to the end of time.
Here is a stupendous, solemn, yearning,
like a black hole in the universe.
Circles and circles
of shelves and shelves
with names and testimony
encompass me like a mighty book of reckoning.
And empty shelves gape for the still-lost names.

At the center, above, a ray of light
escapes the darkness; a celestial canopy
of reclaimed souls shines down upon me.
Old and young, joyful and somber faces
give holy presence to the names on the shelves,
to the boys and girls and men and women
of the Holocaust.

And directly underneath, a chasm
into which the souls above have rained
a pool of tears
that reflects their faces like brothers and sisters
in a void, as if ghosts;
they are haunting images of the still-lost,
the unnamed waiting to be found, to be gathered
into this resting place and rescue from ashes and smoke.

I look up again and see now
faces of angels look over this world.
I don’t know whether to cry or smile.
Here is a triumph over the indifferent nations!
Here is a triumph over the devils!
Here is a triumph over lonely, horrid death!
Here is a triumph over a world of hate!

These angels are beautiful and sad and happy.
They accuse us.
They implore us.
They pity us…

I do not think they forgive us.

by Mauro Bressi
July, 2007

Enough More

We were friends
In Jerusalem
And in the darkness of a shoe,
Like mouthfuls of nothing at night
In some park,
With tallis and tefillin.
Let me go.

Was there a question?
Because I didn’t hear it.
Fresh from the earth
With tomatoes and seeds
A roe blob.
No, I must be wrong.
This area,
Hysteria,
German paupers,
German officers.
Are we so fallen?
Army calling

Preempt to go out
Interclick
How much more?
Three days
And free nights.

And now, the backyard is there.
Warm and green
And lilacs popping -
Dad gets home.
The hollow underside of his car echoes
Tires crush over dusty gravel
Clouds of earth illuminated in the late July afternoon
Where will we go?
To buy bicycle tires?
Running in the breeze?
But not to school.

by Chaim Singer-Frankes
July, 2007