Saturday, November 12, 2022

Jerusalem Snow

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I was once in Jerusalem

in December 

when it snowed

like it was Montreal.

They don't have snow shovels

in Jerusalem only spades 

sharpened for burying the dead,

so the snow kept piling up

the cars and buses couldn't pass


we all came out from our houses

to witness what was happening

as if it was a miracle,

stood around listening 

to the unfamiliar silence

of the city that's never silent

except for one minute

on Yom Hazikaron.


The heavy wet snow

dressed the streets

in white like it was Yom Kippur;

the souks, synagogues, and mosques, 

the war memorials, Yad Vashem,

Mea Shearim, Silwan, the Temple Mount, 

Scopus and Sheikh Jarrah,

the Knesset, the bomb shelters 

and graves all covered

in an endless spotless garment

of white.


As if in unison

we all suddenly started to play 

in the snow

laughed like children

and the laughter echoed

through the narrow alleyways

in every quarter

like the call to prayer

for a new religion

and we were happy.

1 comment:

Ken Stollon said...

Glad that you have some positive memories of Israel (to go along with the negative ones!).

The snow -- associated with death -- is reminiscent of Joyce. And yet it somehow at the end of the poem gets transformed from a shroud into a plaything. A kind of riff on resurrection ... a new religion indeed!