Poetry

Rebbe in Silence

For J.H.W.

Rocking his body
while he sits
he’s generations of forming
like water dripping onto rock.
As usual we closely listen:
“the source,” he says,
“comes from where it’s not.”
Then, in silence
we’re drawn towards him.
As our questions begin
to form, he strokes
his beard and speaks:
“in the Warsaw Ghetto
the holy Piacezna Rebbe said:
While every head sickens
and every heart grieves,
any person who looks
inside himself for any
kind of blemish
feels the most profound
joy. His fear is pure
and he tastes
the sweetest, most rapturous
essence of fear.”
Closing his eyes,
our rebbe tenses
his forehead
as if to squeeze out
more stories
of loving and God.
We wait. No one
could get through.

Robert Manaster

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