Friday night the shtetl shul prays silent:
stars - Shalom Aleichem - welcome angels - peace descends in waves of words and candlelight; after prayer the men linger in hats and formal coats and talk of crops and croup, of news and nu, vos macht du - how are you - the gentle time before the journey home. Unnoticed slips a not-yet-man, a boy, a student of the day, to the stand where the leader sings and in loud self-discourse declares his name to the wall, or heaven - his voice thunder trembles through the talk, a lilt off-key a warning note the soul’s askew. Held-breath we listen to the rave, a mind in quiet rage against itself, declares the Shoah of its soul in words that shock the Shabbos in us all - inside ‘my struggle’ turned around. He ends as if in prayer, head bowed, descends, raven-rimmed eyes turn, search, expecting nought, or all, a plea perhaps. In echo of the still small voice the rabbi says ‘ok.’ The not-yet-man with thanks, deflates, and prattles through kiddush, a Sabbath band-aid on his tortured mind.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Are you inspired by David's work? Would you like to keep reading? Sign up for free updates delivered straight to your inbox and receive a free novella!
Archives
October 2016
|