Guest writer: Sarah Stern
Poetry has a way of saying things backwards so that feelings make sense. Facebook has a way of saying things frontwards so that feelings turn to nonsense.
I decided to post two poems on Facebook in sequence: one the evening after four Jews were murdered while praying in synagogue, and one the morning after, because the first poem felt incomplete without the second.
Whoever put on a tallis when he was young will never forget:
taking it out of the soft velvet bag, opening the folded shawl,
spreading it out, kissing the length of the neckband (embroidered
or trimmed in gold). Then swinging it in a great swoop overhead
like a sky, a wedding canopy, a parachute. And then winding it
around his head as in Hide-and-Seek, wrapping
his whole body in it, close and slow, snuggling into it like the cocoon
of a butterfly, then opening would-be wings to fly.
And why is the tallis striped and not checkered black and white
like a chessboard? Because squares are finite and hopeless.
Stripes come from infinity and to infinity they go
like airport runways where angels land and take off
Whoever has put on a tallis will never forget.
When he comes out of a swimming pool or the sea,
he wraps himself in a large towel, spreads it out again
over his head, and again snuggles into it close and slow,
still shivering a little, and he laughs and blesses.
I came across this piece as I googled for some personal text study on the tallit, which had turned to burial shroud after the attack. Rabbi Moshe Twersky, Aryeh Kupinsky, Rabbi Avraham Shmuel Goldberg, and Rabbi Kalman Zeev Levine all had their last moments in these cocoon parachutes during the amidah prayer of morning shaharit. The image of a bloodied tallit, threw me hard into the realm of “identity,” if not a “side,” as Mori talks about in his “Revenge Attacks” piece. The first line of Amichai’s poem, “Whoever put on a tallis when he was young will never forget,” explains what I was feeling. Wearing a tallit as a bat mitzvah ensured that I would be wrapped in one forever.
The day I’m killed,
my killer, rifling through my pockets,
will find travel tickets:
One to peace,
one to the fields and the rain,
and one
to the conscience of humankind.Dear killer of mine, I beg you:
Do not stay and waste them.
Take them, use them.
I beg you to travel.
The Hebrew of Amichai’s Poem is here:מי שהתעטף בטלית. יהודה עמיחי
מי שהתעטף בטלית בנעוריו, לא ישכח לעולם
ההוצאה משקית הקטיפה הרכה
ופתיחת הטלית המקופלתפרישה, נשיקת הצווארון לאורכו
(הצווארון לפעמים רקום ולפעמים מוזהב)
אחר כך, בתנופה גדולה מעל הראש
כמו שמיים, כמו חופה, כמו מצנחאחר כך לכרוך אותה סביב הראש
כמו במחבואים
אחר כך להתעטף בה כל הגוף
צמודה צמודה
ולהתכרבל כמו גולם של פרפר
ולפתוח כמוכנפיים
ולעוףומדוע הטלית בפסים
ולא במשבצות של שחור-לבן כמו לוח שחמט
כי הריבועים הם סופיים ובלי תקווה
ואילו הפסים
הם באים מאין סוף ויוצאים לאין סוף
כמו מסלולי המראה
בשדה תעופה לנחיתת המלאכים ולהמראתםמי שהתעטף בטלית – לעולם לא ישכח
And here is the Arabic of Al-Qassim’s poem:تذاكر سفر
سميح القاسم
وعندما أٌقتَل في يومٍ من الأيام
سيَعثُر القاتل في جيبي
على تذاكِرِ السفر
واحدة الى السلام
واحدة الى الحقول والمطر
واحدة الى ضمائر البشرارجوك الّا تُهمِل التذاكر
يا قاتلي العزيز
ارجوك ان تسافر