The Blogs: Poem for Parshat Shemot (Exodus)

This week we begin the book of Shemot, where the Children of Israel are oppressed in Egypt.

Out of the River I drew him

All has turned black

The decree has been passed:

“Every new-born Hebrew boy

To the River must be Cast!”

Such a goodly child, wept his mother, for the thousandth time

Was it her imagination, or did his face seem to shine?

Or do all Hebrew children’s faces shine?

I can not submit, I shall never agree!

Over my dead body shall they take my child from me!

But to what avail her death, if he was killed too?

Master of the World! Where do I turn? What can I do?

For three months, since his birth, she keeps him hid.

Soon Pharaoh’s officers will return, his will, to bid.

Better to fall into the hands of God, than into the hands of Man –

Suddenly she knew! – I will build him a basket: That’s all that I can!

So lovingly she places him in his basket, by the River

The rest – must be left – to God – May He Deliver!

There, among the reeds, rides the basket, on small waves

When Behold – to the River, the tyrant’s daughter, comes to bathe!

She takes him, names him, raises him as her own

And so, from the very Tyrant’s palace, a redeemer did come.

5702

All is black

The decree has been passed

Every Jew in the Reich shall be taken and gassed

And in Palestine a White Paper holds sway

Declaring: a Jewish State will never see the light of day.

Where to turn? What to do? All seems lost. Hope is gone.

I lift my eyes to the Hills – from Whence shall my Help Come?

Somewhere, deep in Russia, on a river, floats a prison ship

From work camp to work camp the boat makes its transit trip

Hundreds of men, on plank shelves, in the hold, lie prostrate

Most are Urkis – criminals, with other “enemies of the State”.

Some Jews, there are too, even some Zionists among them.

And the young leader from Poland, whose name is Menachem.

Suddenly, comes the warden, and shouts a list of names

Prisoner Begin! – front and center – no we are not playing games!

Sikorski has signed his pact, Marshal Stalin has released all Poles.

But he’s a Jew, not a Pole! cries an Urki, but what does he know?

And so, drawn forth from that River in Russia so distant,

He sets out – joining the Polish Exiles and their army of resistance.

And the British call for their help – where? – in the Middle East!

There too looms the threat from the Nazi Beast.

Southward, ever southward, does their journey take

over mountains, plains, and white-capped lakes

Through Babylon, Baghdad, every day drawing nearer

Till finally, in Palestine, appears the young dreamer.

With dear wife reunited; she escaped months before,

Soon he leads a Revolt, making the Exile no more.