Tuesday, November 3, 2009

A Poem for Moishe on Shlomo's Yartzeit

For Reb Moishe Geller - my fellow "Decemberist" upon the occasion of Shlomo Carlebach's 15th Yartzeit . . .

It's raining in Jerusalem
It's Shlomo's yartzeit
You are missed

I got angry only moments after waking up today
Smelling foul, stale cigarette smoke emanating from my son's room
My son cusping on 25, who desires neither to live nor to die
My son who stays inside, inside, inside his immense, painful body
My son's body which speaks to no one in words, but screams its misery silently
You are missed

People smile at me, I smile back
When I'm exhausted and feeling my lowest
People say the stupidest things to me, like,
"You look radiant," and "You've never looked better!"
Idiots, gevalt.
Am I really that invisible, or is everyone just blind?
Or - worse yet - is my facade SO effective it completely masks my truth?
You are missed.

It's raining in Jerusalem
It's Shlomo's Yartzeit
I never knew him
But I know you
You are missed.

1 comment:

  1. Oh the heartache of maternal love. Perhaps the facade you wear is not unlike the one worn by Abraham as he contemplated the potential fate of his beloved son. Perhaps we want our children to mistake our fear and anger for confident faith. Perhaps, in the end, it does become real faith. I admire your frankness, and your desire to climb the Ladder. You have a lion's heart.