Ecoute Israël
Listen, Israel
Edmond Fleg
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER
The Fathers of the World
The Vision of Elohim
When the earth was not yet. And the heavens were not yet. Nor the heavens of heavens, nor the waters above, nor the waters below,
And the breath of Elohim Had not yet breathed upon the face of the abyss, And God had not yet said to the light: “Be!” And time was not yet. And place was not yet. But the Eternal already saw The five scrolls of the Torah, And the Throne of his Greatness, And the Temple of his Splendor Upon the summit of Moriah. And behold, the Throne and the Temple and the Law Cried out to him: “Lord, That we may be, let the World be!” Then, in the depths of his thought, God saw the earth with the heavens and all their hosts. And in the time of his thought, The waters below divided from the waters above. And in the place of his thought, The Dry floated upon the face of the floods. And every herb of the field, every tree of branch Bore its fruit, its flower and its verdure. And the great luminaries Raced across the firmament. And the bright stars Lit their lights. And every fish swam through the pathways of the seas, And every winged creature flew through the trails of the air, And every creeping thing crept through the ways of the earth, And man awoke like another universe, With woman at his side, flesh of his flesh. Then God dreamed The day of Sabbath, Saying: “It shall be beautiful, the world that shall be.” But behold, in the depths of his thought, Elohim saw Evil and all its hosts. And in the time of his thought, Havva bit the golden apple. And in the place of his thought, The bitten fruit sowed death. And the Kerub closed the blazing Garden, And the sun dragged itself dark across the firmament. And the blood of Hevel, toward the East, Toward the West, Toward the South and toward the North, Cried with a very loud cry. And Tubal-Cain forged swords, And Hanoch carved accursed cities, And the angel hurled itself upon the daughters of the flocks, And man coupled with the animals, And Nimrod hunted God without rest, And Babel rose, defying the Most High, And when God dreamed Sodom and Gomorrah, He said to the World, to the Throne, to the Temple, to the Torah: “I am he who is: nothing of you shall be.”
But behold, in the depths of his thought, Elohim saw Abram, Itsrac, and Jacob. Without weapon and without armies, From the places of his thought, From the times of his thought, They rose, all three. Then God said: “Let the light be!”
The Vision of Abram
In the land of Ur Casdim, in the plain of rivers, Abram lay down beside his flock. Now there came in the sky a new star. And the shepherd said to the star: “Lamb Of light, Istar — for whom my father And my mother, Kissing the earth, Sing prayers — Are you God?”
But the soul of Istar Flew off through the evening.
Now there came in the sky a new crescent.
And the shepherd said to the crescent:
“Kid Dappled With brightness, Sin — whose virgins sing, Upon the seven towers of the city, Strength and fecundity — Are you God?”
But the spirit of Sin
Fled over the hill. Now there came in the sky a new sun.
And the shepherd said to the sun:
“Bull without blemish with russet fleece,
Shemesh — whose name the elders proclaim, When with your horn of rays, You chase the demons From the horizon — Are you God?” But in the golden mangers
Shemesh fell dead.
And the shepherd said to the expanse:
“How could he be God, he who passes?
Lamb, kid, bull — if you come And come again, It is because a shepherd obscurely Leads you to graze in the firmament On the crepuscular flowers, And the lawn of the bright night, And on the meadow of the day the age-old grasses. “And this shepherd of the firmament, Is it not he confusedly Who beckons me at moments, That I may lead without malice My soul, as one leads a heifer, Under the crook of justice, To graze gently?” And seeing the invisible with his mortal eye, For the first time, beneath the beasts of heaven, A shepherd worshipped the Eternal. And the Eternal said to the shepherd: “Abram, leave your father And your mother, And walking before you without looking at the sky, Carry my light to the world: In you, the God of heaven has come upon the earth.” And the shepherd departed without looking at the sky, And walked along the road where the Eternal walked.
The Vision of Itsrac
He blessed Jacob, his sons and their seed,
Then turned toward the wall, in silence; And weak upon his bed, blind and deaf, Having known for God’s sake very heavy sorrows, He waited for death, sated with days. Now the Angel of Elohim came at the last hour To touch his temple and his eyelid, And restored for an instant to his primal strength, His soul recovered sound and light. And the wall opened, Full of spirits and cries. And the dying Father saw all those of his race, Scattered and bruised In time and space. And on the shores of the seas And on the bright rivers, On the mountains and the plains And the distant cities, And all along the years On the rippling days, And all along the ages On the savage centuries, The Father leaned — to listen To the lament that rose from his posterity: “Itsrac! Itsrac! Why did you bring us into the world? We go, without shelter. We have no share in the fertile earth, And on our native soil we are outcasts. “The weak insult us, the coward defies us, The child hisses against us; And we have taken on the souls of slaves, By dint of wearing out our knees. “Along the roads we search for brothers; But our hearts in tatters In the endless night have no other lights Than the blazing pyres and the flash of knives. “And we raise to heaven our terrified hands, Without a hand from on high coming to our aid, And without living the joys that others have sung, We fall into the grave before we die!” Thus rose the lament, without respite. And the Father groaned in the voice of his dream: “You had promised them, Lord, after my death, A land of palms where golden oil flows: Have they already lost it? Do they still seek it? How they must have sinned, to deserve their fate! “When on Mount Moriah, a willing victim, Bent under anguish, I offered my throat to my father’s knife, By your angel, Elohim, my body was unbound. “But look at my sons! What good is your mercy, If my torment must — begin again — after me?” Then God said to the dying man:
“Itsrac, if for your sons your grief demands it, I can, sparing you the trial too great, Choose another flesh to mark my name upon,
And your children shall be what the fortunate are. “They shall possess a corner of the earth, And others shall walk exiled from the sun; They shall feast on wholesome wheat, And others shall suffer fasting without sleep. “They shall not be devoured by the sword, Others shall feed the flame and the iron; They shall have a bright soul, tempered in the fire of pride, Others shall seem vile to the universe. “They shall know nothing of the profound sorrows That could have made them immortal — But others shall make sound throughout the world The Voice of the Eternal!” Thus thundered across the expanse The Word of the mighty God. But showing his sons with his outstretched hand, Itsrac implored in death: “Elohim! Elohim! Do not change their fate! Let them live, if need be, condemned to bondage, Let them wander in sobs through places and ages — But let them praise you, just God, and let them see your face!” And God closed the eyes of the Father of the Suffering, And Jacob laid his bones in the tomb, weeping.
The Vision of Jacob
With his asses, his she-asses, His sheep of thick fleece, His goats, his oxen, and his camels Carrying waterskins on their backs, With his wives, his maidservants, His servants and his children, Folding and unfolding his tents, Jacob fled before Laban. As he drew near the longed-for plains, A terror rose in his troubled soul; For driving armies against him, The hatred of Esau awaited his arrival. When he had crossed the gorge of the Jabbok, Far from the camp’s murmurs dying one by one, He worshipped God, by the dry torrent, in the moonless dark, Bent upon the rock. Now as he prayed, a strange form Emerged from the night. And this form was an angel Black, coming upon him. And the angel with the nebulous face, In long circuits, Encircled him, in the deceptive shadow, With noiseless steps. Suddenly, the angel seized the man — breast to breast, Shoulder against shoulder — crushing his vertebrae, With his arms of darkness. But Jacob had taken root in the ground Like an oak of Assur. And the man in his turn Seized the angel, in a divine embrace, Shoulder against shoulder, breast to breast — But the angel — remained standing, like a tower. Thus their mute bodies struggled Until the dawn. Then with a sure arm, The man of light Cast into the dust The dark angel. And the Enemy Departed. And Jacob fell asleep. And as he slept, he saw a ladder That touched the ground and touched the sky. And on the steps Of gold and brightness, Helmeted angels Ascended by the thousands. And on the bar at the summit, The Seraphim, the Kerubim Sang the glory of Elohim. And when those who ascended Reached The halfway point, He who was clad in black, Whom Jacob had defeated, Struck them with his fist. And beneath the steps Of gold and brightness, The helmeted angels Fell by the thousands. And others like them Climbed the ladder That touched the ground and touched the sky. And Jacob dreamed, Desiring To rise like them; And Jacob trembled, Anxious To fall like them. Then, amid the songs of the Kerubim, The Ophanim, the Seraphim, Descended upon him the voice of Elohim. And the Voice said: “You who sleep When God visits you, How can it be that your heart hesitates? I know: those who climb are peoples of the strong; And he who from above hurls them down Is named Samael, Archangel of Death. “But did you not vanquish this night Samael, O my son, O Jacob whom I name Israel? And did you not know in your carnal mind That I am bound to you by an eternal oath? Of his covenant, God keeps remembrance. He does not abandon those of his alliance: Abram had the thought, Itsrac had the suffering — Upon your brow, Jacob, I place the power. “From generation to generation, You shall nourish the nations; And your children, numerous as the dust, Shall cover the earth; And upon whoever blesses you, Blessing! And upon whoever curses you, A curse! “Therefore, fear not, when my cry calls you, And climb toward your God, conqueror of Samael!” Then Jacob climbed, under the hand of Elohim, Among the peoples — who fall into the abyss. And upon the golden ladder, Stronger Than death, Where all made the fall, Israel climbs still.
The House of Slavery
The Choice of Amitsi
“I have unguents, aromatics, I have balm and spikenard; I have enamels, I have corals, I have agates, Fabrics of hyacinth and scarlet, Bracelets of amber, necklaces of lapis, And fringed robes and calasiris And cloaks of Sinear. “Joseph, open the coffers! — let the mistress See the wigs of long tresses, The sandals of bronze with curved tips And the veils of Assur where flowers are embroidered. “Or would she prefer to taste my olives, My late figs? Or this honey from distant islands? Or this wine of Kati, dark as ebony, Which I sell at six tabnous the full wineskin?” Thus speaks Zimrann, Merchant of Midiann, Come into Mitsraim with his caravan, While, bare-torsoed, Joseph, the Hebrew slave With the face of a child, with brows of blue, Brings the fruits and the wines, The cloths of wool and linen, The onyx rings and the gorgets, Upon the rush mat where jackals are painted. Meanwhile Amitsi, wife of Potiphar, Between two bouquets of pink lotus, Leaning on her bed made of a reclining sphinx, With her eye enlarged by kohl, Cast upon Joseph a strange gaze. And her eyelid half-closed, Pushing away the sweet myrrhs And the pearls of Ophir that Zimrann offers her, She said to the merchant: “How much, your slave?”
The Master of Dreams
Pharaoh, the other night, had a bad dream. He sees again on waking
The sheaves, the cows — that haunted his sleep;
And his nocturnal terror lingers into the day.
Covered in linen, the murmurers of spells
Surround the throne where his Greatness sits, And their shaven skulls, from which hangs the blue lock, Bow beneath his fist, which holds the double-tailed whip. One has said: “The dream fell from Nuit the Starry.” Another has said: “The dream rose from the breast of Hait the Veiled.” One has said: “The dream was woven by Nit the Weaver.” Another has said: “The dream was turned by the Potter Khnumu.” And the fifth has said: “The dream is a poison of Sekhmet the Murderess.” And the sixth has said: “The dream is a tooth of the Devourer Sobkou.” But the Hebrew Joseph looks at the sky And says: “The dream is a gift of the Eternal.”
The Word of Elohim
The famine was heavy and weighed upon the earth, And Jacob was alone and his sons were far. Descended to the land of the Great River To beg for bread from the foreign race, They were to return and did not return. The famine was heavy and weighed upon the earth, And Jacob was alone and Jacob was hungry. He said: “King of the World, Elohim! Had you not sworn to your lowly servant An eternal succor, When I poured oil upon the rock of Bethel? “And behold: Joseph is no more! I have wept twenty years, Over his robe stained with blood, His trail sought in vain And his bones vanished! “Then came the famine: All his brothers Left me, Taking Benjamin. They have not seen the eyes of your divine favor, And toward their brows buried beneath the grasses of the earth, My hair shall descend in mourning to Sheol. “King of the World, Adonai! Is this your promise? You have abandoned me in the day of my distress!” Now, as he raised his eyes, He saw in the distance many chariots Raising the dust. And the chariots drew near, Blue, red, and green, With the thunder Of their wheels of bronze and bright silver, And their horses capped with upright plumes, All clad in gold and scarlet. And the wheels stopped. And Judah, Simeon, Naphtali, Gad, Reuben, Asher, Dan, Levi, Zebulun, Issachar, Benjamin, Adorned with gorgets and brilliant robes, From atop the royal chariots of Mitsraim, Leaped Upon the earth, Into the arms of Jacob. And he looked at them, but did not see them. And his sons surrounded him, giving him Bread of nabeca and bread of wheat, And lily cakes And honey with spices. And he looked at them, but he did not eat. And his sons showed him Violet fabrics, Rings, seals, Necklaces of sardoine And chalcedony. And he looked at them, but he did not touch them. And his sons said to him: “It is Pharaoh Who sends you these harvests Of wheat and barley, These dates, these figs, these loaves And these ankle rings and these gorgets And these robes of byssus and of linen! “He calls you! He gives as a portion To your family, With the waters of the River and the grass of the pastures, His land of Goshen and all its grazing lands!” And he looked at them, but did not answer. And his sons cried out to him: “Adonai has saved him, the one you mourned, Your son born of Rachel, the brother among our brothers. He wears upon his brow the crown of vipers, The flail in his hand: Greater than Pharaoh upon the foreign earth, Joseph governs a people and feeds it with bread!” Then Jacob, prostrating himself, kissed the ground And said: “You are an Elohim Faithful to his word, Adonai! Since you have restored to me Joseph and Benjamin, My hair shall descend in joy to Sheol!”
The Glory of Jacob
In the land of sphinxes and obelisks,
Following the River with its red silt,
Beneath the mimosas and the tamarisks,
They marched, the Servants of Pharaoh.
To the voice of the Mourning Women
Along the dusty roads,
Clasped in the loincloth or in leopard skin,
Helmeted with plumes, yellow with paint,
Preceded by shepherds in shrouds,
They followed twelve Hebrews who carried a coffin.
And the fisherman, casting his net,
And the reaper, holding his sickle,
And the herdsman, watching his flock,
Said:
“Who is this Mighty One being led to rest?
The Elders of the Provinces,
The Keepers of the Treasures,
The scribes, the warriors, the sorcerers and the princes
Wear out their bare feet to escort his death.
“And yet his friends have come without offerings:
No pure wheat,
No pure meat,
Not one nekeb in bloom, not one blue necklace!
“And the gods too are absent from the procession!
In the dwellings of Anubis,
How shall he cross the waters of enchantment,
Without Nephthys and without Thoth with the ibis head
And without the bark of Osiris?
“Let us pity, pity this dead man in both worlds:
He shall have no guide in the deep darkness,
He shall have no bread to eat in the tomb!”
But the Mourning Women cried, palms to the sky: “Praise, praise Jacob: he has seen the Eternal!” The twelve Sons, carrying the Father, And the shepherds in their shrouds And the Mighty Ones of the Sun King, Following the River’s long circuits, Crossing the Sands without cisterns, Marching days, marching nights, Came through Hebron to Machpelah, By the terebinth where already rested In the Double Cavern — The bones of Abram and of Sarah, The bones of Itsrac and of Rebecca And of Leah. And the twelve Sons, bent upon the earth, With trembling hand opened the bier, In order to worship the face of the Father, Before it entered the final shades. And the Mourning Women cried, palms to the sky: “Weep, weep for Jacob who is called Israel, But tell his glory! The bank of the Jabbok, the rock of Bethel, Preserve his memory; “He was just in his days and steadfast in his labors, From Canaan to Mitsraim — Gentler than the sheep of his flocks, Stronger than the Angel of Elohim. “And his children shall be more numerous than the sand And more imperishable, For all that he obtained came to him from the Eternal, And all that he willed was willed by Heaven!” Now, as they were about to cover the face, In order to lower it into the dark spaces, Esau, the brother of Jacob, the hunter of Seir, Bristling with hair, belted with leather, Leaped upon the terrace And cried: “Naphtali, Dan, Gad, Asher, If he was dear to you, Weep for his flesh! Benjamin, Zebulun, Issachar, If he was blameless, Praise his soul! And you, Levi, you, Simeon, By whom those of Shechem were slaughtered in treachery, You, Reuben, who defiled your father’s bed, You, Judah, who defiled your son’s bed, And you, Joseph, pure as a lily, Who for seven years pressed out misery To sell to Pharaoh an entire starving people, You are indeed his sons, traffickers of your brothers, Praise him, weep for him, Jacob the Well Beloved! But do not tread upon the funerary cave: Abram, Itsrac, Sarah, Leah, Rebecca Already sleep in the vault of Machpelah — Only one grave lies empty on the right side of my father, Take back your dead: that grave is mine!” And rolling his red eyes in his terrible face, The vanquished of old, bent over the invincible, Cried out to him — believing him vanquished by death: “Strong among the strong, Know weakness! You stole my birthright, You stole the blessing That was to make of my blood a nation Peopling the whole earth, But you shall not steal my place — in the dust!” Now behold, the hunter of Seir suddenly, Struck by Elohim, ceased to roar: Torn from their sockets, his eyes sprang forth Upon the dead man’s two hands, which their blood reddened. And the sword of the Kerubim severed his neck And his sightless skull rolled upon the ground. Then Jacob was lifted by twelve doves. He reopened his eyelid, He looked at his brother, And his face — smiled in the tomb. And the Mourning Women cried, palms to the sky: “Praise, praise Jacob: he has seen the Eternal!”
The Wrath of Mitsraim
When the palms of Jacob slept in Hebron, When the hair of Joseph, friend of Pharaoh, Floated in the river of fecund silt, When the blessings Of Abraham and of Elohim Had blessed the fields of Mitsraim, Upon the Throne of the Sun sat a new chief Who had known neither Jacob nor Joseph. And the Poor said to the new Pharaoh: “Eye of Ptah, benevolent sovereign of the Two Lands, Whom the weak implore, in whom the humble hope, Hear our anger! The most beautiful day Is a burden to us, And our misery Curses the light: Why do these Hebrews of foreign race Have the fat of the meadows and the fat of the flocks?” And the Warriors said to the adolescent chief: “Smotherer of the Feeble, Crusher of the Mighty, Dazzling Haroeris, For whom we wield the axe and the mace And the arrow and the lance and the outstretched sling, We bring you fearlessly the heart of our blood. But these Hebrews Of despicable race Are friends of the Fevered And of the Sand Runners: Watch their wicked paths, Or your soldiers, delivered by their loathsome fists, Shall rot with their bones the whiteness of the desert!” And the Priests said to the Man Without Equal: “Lord of the Hawk and the vermilion Vulture, Great God, whose soul flows through the veins of the sun, We worship you, painted green like Amenti, We worship you, painted blue like Anhouri, We worship you, painted red like Onnoufri — But these Hebrews blaspheme your Ancestors; At the Rites of the tombs, none sees them appear; They exalt the Name of Elohim as sole Master And say in prayer: ‘Pharaoh is not God!’” And Pharaoh pondered: “What shall be done with the Hebrews?”
The River of Sobs
At the bed of the River beneath the moon, between the flat banks, The Serpent Apopi crawls, spotted with islets. The women of Goshen, along the flat banks, Prostrate themselves upon the water And raise sobs. “Our sons! Our little ones! Our little ones, Elohim! What had they done? What had they done to those of Mitsraim? Our sons! Our little ones, Elohim! Elohim!”
At the bed of the River, beneath the night, between the flat shores, He devours, Apopi, the Serpent of the islets. The mothers of Goshen, along the flat shores, Search, search in the water — And raise sobs.
The Land of Promise
The Pshennt
The Sovereign of the Soil of the Gods Had sworn by the mummy of his ancestors: “Whoever shall chain the Leprosy of chalk-white complexion That possesses my daughter and devours her skin, My soul shall give him My very good Land From Nekhabet to Buto, And the jade scepter and the double crown Of the Pshennt, where the Lotus intertwines with the Reed!” To chain the Leprosy of snow-white complexion, The murmurers of spells, Mixing oil with blood and gall with wine, Grinding eagles’ eyes and dogs’ teeth, Throwing kisses and striking with the fist, Had conjured, Had tortured The god Thoth with his ibis beak And the jackal Anubis, Satis the great archer, Ankhukit the clasper, And all the slashers, All the tearers, And the star Bonu And the sun Horu And the moon Haouyou. But those of the bright gulf and those of the dark gulf Had not granted their murmurs; And from the heel to the skull, The Leprosy of chalk-white complexion Possessed Bithia and devoured her skin. Now the princess, one day, in the River, swimming, Sought to flee the Leprosy of silver hue; But when to the water’s edge She had returned, The Leprosy of chalk-white complexion Had not disappeared. And Bithia returned with her two attendants, Along the slow banks, Bearing, beneath her brilliant robe, The weight of her heavy heart and her bleeding flesh. And behold, all at once, among the reeds, Floating on the water, A cradle. She said: “Rofri! Tohir! Go down to the water, Take the cradle!” But the attendants answered: “Let us not go! It is surely a child of the Hebrews, Wretched. Pharaoh, son of Ammon, condemns them to die.” They were speaking: Bithia saw the ground open And swallow them. Then she came among the reeds; And her hands reached toward the light thing; But in the distance the current Pushed the cradle. And Bithia despaired of saving it from the waters, When by the will of an alien force, Her arms stretched out. And from the blue River, which she saw turn red, Millions of infant hands emerged; And children, by the millions, surged from the red waters, Then on the bank, grew tall, Then on the bank, fled. And when, among the reeds, She had saved from the waters The cradle, She felt, Leaving the folds Of her brilliant robe And of her bleeding flesh, Dying along the slow banks, The Leprosy of chalk-white complexion. Now that day, in the granite court, Upon his throne of bronze fitted, Pharaoh received the tribute of wool, Of palm, of ebony, Of distant turquoises, Of incense and spikenard, of ivory and gold. Bearing their treasures on their backs, The vanquished of the South and the vanquished of the North, Those of Punt and those of Kush the humbled, Those of Kati, those of Avaris the fortified, And those of Mitani and those of Lotanu, Before the Haroeris with sturdy knees Set down the best of their lands, Sniffing the dust. And all around him, clad in leopard skins, The princes of the White Wall and of the Black Cow And the sorcerers of the nine-times-holy cities Of the Oleander and the Terebinth, Worshipped, upon the brow of the Master with eagle eyes, The Pshennt, where the Lotus intertwines with the Reed. And behold, suddenly, between the sphinxes of yellow alabaster Ranged face to face at the threshold of the pylon, A maiden appeared. Two wings of a hawk Bound with bandages Held her hair braided in cords; Her necklace Composed of amulets Irised her bare breast with violet stones, And the veils cast over her slender form Brightened the sun-lit glow Of her whole body, sculpted like a statuette; And her feet Advanced in silent step; And her arms perfumed by the fire of censers Bore a child with a proud profile. Before Pharaoh, Having lowered her brow, She said: “O Sovereign of the Double Land, Beloved of Phre, favorite Of Khepri, you whose eye smiles upon me alone, I know why your heart is troubled And has not recognized Your daughter Bithia, beneath my guileless veil. I myself am astonished, King of the Embalmed, And my soul seeks itself in my transformed body. “Now, son of Ammon, remember your promise: Here is found, floating on the water, In a cradle, He who ends my distress. Grant that he possess, in the days of your old age, With your Double Land and all its riches, Your Pshennt, where the Lotus intertwines with the Reed.” And when she had spoken, Pharaoh, smiling, Sought to place the Pshennt upon the child’s brow; But the child, taking it in his hands of light, Made it roll in the dust. Then those of Punt and those of Kush the humbled, Those of Kati, those of Avaris the fortified, And those of Mitani and those of Lotanu Fell to their knees. And beneath their leopard skins, The princes of the White Wall and of the Black Cow, And the sorcerers of the nine-times-holy cities Of the Oleander and the Terebinth — Trembled. And Bithia wondered: “To what empire Aspires The child saved from the waters, Whose gentle hand Pushes away The Pshennt, where the Lotus intertwines with the Reed?”
Moses and Bithia
The bark Mazit, on the river of heaven, Leads toward the west the red Eye of the sun. Queen Bithia, from the high terrace, Watches the rays rowing through space, And Moses, once saved from the waters by her, Dreams at her side, without a glance at the sky. She says: “How it shines, the sun Horu, Descending to the black meadows of Yalu! What a salute it throws to the pyramids Where its sons, my ancestors, sleep in the damp shade! “And how the River, receiving its body, Weaves for it in the floods golden bandages! “And how the City, with all its obelisks, Stretches arms toward its Disk, And when it is gone, still feels it shining! “O Moses, O my son of singular soul, Why turn away your eyelid? Do you not see the sphinxes, the river and the light?” — “I see Hebrews being struck, with lashes.”
The bark Uzait, on the river of evening, Conducts toward the Zenith The open Eye of the moon. To watch over its path in the hollow of the dark sky, The lamps of Nuit Light up one by one. Bithia says: “Listen, It is the night of the gods. Fertilizing the holy water with joyful silt, The divine Drop Is about to fall from the heavens. “Already the virgin with the dark eye, With painted face, Shakes the bell and the sistrum And the tambourine. “O Moses, O my son of austere soul, Why be silent? Do you not hear the ancestral songs?” — “I hear the cries of Hebrews, rising from the earth.”
The bark Sakhit, escaped from the dead, Has taken the Eye of the sun upon the horns of Hathor. The cranes of the East and the cynocephali Acclaim its departure on the morning waters. And the queen says: “What shall be your pleasure today, My child? Will you go see, to the sound of the mandore, Veiled slave-women dance? Or will you taste, beneath the sycamore, The shade of the valley? “Will you send the two ivory balls bounding Or roll the hoop? Or leading the dogs with their rough jaws, Hunt the lion cub? “Do you wish to place upon your brow the crown of vipers? Do you wish to judge the people at the Solar Gate Or have yourself worshipped as a funerary god?” — “I wish to go and suffer, with my brothers.”
The Burning Bush
Having fled Mitsraim, Moses, at Midian, Led to pasture in the desert the sheep of Jethro. Now a lamb Escaped from the flock. Moses followed it across the mountain And found it, bent over the brook. “I did not know,” he said, “that thirst was pressing you.” And carrying the lamb in his arms, He returned toward the plain where the sheep grazed. Then a Voice resounded and said: “Moses.” And Moses answered: “Here I am.” And the divine flame Lit up in the bush of thorns. And the Voice resumed: “My splendor appears in the burning bush, For God suffers, when the Hebrews suffer. But I do not burn in the flame where I am, And burned by the flame, they are not destroyed. “Go draw my children from the land of slavery. Lead them toward the land That to their fathers I promised as a portion. “Since you did not neglect the lamb That might have been lost seeking water, I choose you as the shepherd of my flock.” But he: “What am I, Elohim, to save your Hebrews? Pharaoh is mighty and his chariots are many: I have only my crook and my frightened lambs. “How shall I lead a people to the Promised Land? What roads to take! What deserts to cross! Shall I make water spring from heaped-up sands? Shall I pluck bread where wheat has never grown? I am only Moses! “And then, will they believe me, if I say who sends me? My tongue is heavy in my joyless throat, And my lip was never skilled at speaking! And were I to have your mouth that blazes, How shall I awaken their servile ears? “For them, I had left the court of Pharaoh And the roof of granite for the roof of clay; And bare, under the rod, For them, I had turned the wheel, And ground the straw, and kneaded the mud, And carved the rock under the scorching sun, And rolled the block upon the pyramid; And when for their salvation I killed the Egyptian, Pharaoh pursued the name of the killer, And it was your Hebrews who cried it out to him! “When I speak to them of your distant land, They will not wish to know the way; They will not follow me, when I have found it, And will stone me, if I try to save them!” Then, in their divine fury, The millions of tongues of fire of the thorn-bush Cried: “What are you, son of dust, Who close your eyes before my light And believe the day extinguished, when you shut your eyelid? “Have I sown the floods and the continents, Weighed the firmaments, To quarrel with your nothingness? “Can I not change Pharaoh of the unfeeling heart? Or give the mute invincible speech? Or at a sign of my hand, From a people of sinners, make a people of saints? “Do you know if I have not, in the first days of the world, Made a pact with the deep waters And the barren sands, So that the feet of my children Might dry up the seas And that their fists, upon the burning rocks, Might find green wheat? “Do you think I am refused? And that Elohim begs? “You shall do despite yourself what my voice commands. Where I will lead them, your foot shall guide them, And what I have conceived, your brow shall accomplish. “But since your impure flesh Has doubted my strength and my creature, Behold: I shall place in your hand the rod of miracles, To carve the paths and cut through obstacles; And drawing my Hebrews from the land of distress, You shall seek for them the Land of Promise. But when, laying aside the sackcloth and the mourning, All shall have come there — you shall remain at the threshold!” And the man said, bowing his head: “I shall be your prophet, I shall be your victim, Elohim! And without seeking for myself the land of just summits, I shall lead your sons toward you, from Mitsraim.”
The Tenth Plague
Beneath the eyes of the many stars, Elohim stretched out a dark hand; And twisted by his angered fingers, The moon and the sun had no more light. And those of Mitsraim fell silent with terror, And their extended bodies could not rise, For the darkness was so heavy and the night so pressing, That from the sky upon the River and the dying Land, A black block of granite seemed to have descended. And alone, The grandmother Of Pharaoh, Bithia Who saved The infant Moses among the rushes, Saw a gleam, from her deep tomb. And the dead queen Trod with her sandal The dark flagstones Of the silent cities, Along the pyramids And the great rigid sphinxes, Searching in the damp darkness, Whence came the light. And her feet led her Among bright houses Where men, covered In white linen, Painted the doors red, With hyssop branches Dipped in vessels of blood. And her feet led her Toward places of prayer Where men stood, ready for long roads, With their sandals laced, Their robes, leather-belted, Their staffs in hand, Eating the lamb on the bright fire And the bitter herbs And the unleavened bread. And her feet led her Toward places of misery Where, carried on the winds of the abyss, An old man with a giant face Announced to the moaning throngs The land of living promises And the justice of Elohim. And Bithia knew that these were the Hebrews, And that the light, Dead for the earth, Still lived upon them. She said: “O Moses of the pale brow, See the sepulchral cheeks Of the royal maiden Who saved you once; Beneath the fatal bandage, My ear has heard death-rattles In the glacial night Where you plunge my sons. “Did my hand Take your skiff In the reeds; Did my heart come, Fragile drowning thing, To your cradle; Did I deck you with the two vipers And the royal necklaces, That you might raise against your mother The rod of plagues? “I have seen, from my heavy tomb, The River in waters of blood And the croaking frogs Upon the shoulder of the gods; I have seen the swarming ants And the stinking beetles, And the pestilence of the cattle And the hail of fire, And the giant locusts, And the ulcer with its gaping lips Devouring every eye. “What new wonder Does your brain conceive In this shadow, like the shadow of the tomb? “What does it matter to you, if the slave is your brother? Why drag him to foreign shores? Has your country not Colossi of wood, Of metal and of stone, Powerful enough for your prayer? “Who then is he, this God worshipped in the desert? “Listen no more to his voice! Make no more victims! Remember that I was your virgin mother! Lower your arm no more upon the native land, And speak the word that saves Mitsraim!” And Moses cried in the wind of the abyss: “Go tell Pharaoh that he may know Elohim!” And Bithia Returned Toward the darkness, Making ring The light sound Of her vertebrae. She came, By the steps And the pylons, To the deep walls Where Pharaoh Hid his throne. And in the court Where the deaf gods Slept without number, The feverish king Seemed like them, sculpted by the shadow. She said: “O my son, fear the Hebrew, fear Moses, For his eyes are eyes that destroy. Give to those whom, blinded, you despise, Leave to go to their Promised Land, Or tomorrow, upon the Soil of the Ancestors, The fury of their God shall descend.” But as in the days of the water of blood And of the croaking frogs, And as in the days of the swarming ants And of the stinking beetles, And as in the days of the pestilence of the cattle, Of the hail of fire, And of the giant locusts And of the ulcer with its gaping mouth Devouring every eye, As on the day of night falling upon Mitsraim, Pharaoh said: “I have not seen this Elohim!” Then behold, a grey dawn Rose slowly under the hand of Moses; And from all Mitsraim a murmur rose, When at the edges of the black sky the gold of the sun appeared; For in every village where a ray came, It showed a dead child, in every house. And the River gleamed. And the lament of mothers Followed along the waters the steps of the light. And in the granite court Where Pharaoh also wept, The embalmers with yellow faces, Their brows covered with the somber cone, Carried, amid the trembling rushes And the branches of white lotus, To the sound of the funeral tambourine, Upon the couch with jackal feet, Toward the Mountain of Darkness, The firstborn of the royal blood. And in the granite court Where the morning had reddened, Upon their pillars encrusted with gold, The Ox Hapi, the Cow Hathor, Apopi the Serpent, Bonu the Leopard, And Khnumu the Goat and Seb the Gander And Set the Dog and Thoth the Ibis and the Hawk Horu And the Crocodile Sobkou, In the sun, reopening its enormous eyelid, The idols of wood, of metal and of stone Blazed — and melted — and fell to dust. And in the granite court Where the Eternal had arisen, Bithia wept, with all the Ancestors, Over the death of children and the death of Gods. And Pharaoh cried: “I see their Elohim! Let him take back his people, and let him give me back Mitsraim!”
The Suffering of Job
When God sought to draw the Hebrews from Mitsraim, Samael spoke before Elohim, Saying: “These sinners belong to me.” Adonai answered: “What do you care about a race of slaves, Accursed? You shall receive my share, I shall receive yours. “Do you know my servant Job? His paths are whiter than his robe. Descended from Abraham, he is the first of those of Kedem, And the poor love him, Sensing in the hands of his charity, That a little of the heart of Itsrac has remained in his heart. “Give me the Hebrews, I cede you Job: if you can, Take his soul.” The Envious One, To test Job, slaughtered all his oxen And his countless sheep and his many camels. Job murmured: “Elohim gave them, Elohim has taken them back: Blessed be his Name.”
The Wicked One, To test Job, raised a wind, The most violent of the winds of the earth, Uprooting, with this blowing wind, The house of stone Where the children of Job, to the sound of the kinnor, made good cheer. And his daughters died, and his sons, All ten.
Job murmured: “Elohim gave them, Elohim takes them back: Great is his Name.”
Then the Dark One, To test Job, laid his hand upon his flesh; And his entire body was eaten by the ulcer, From the soles of his feet to the shadow of his hair. He lay there, clad in vermin, Spreading the odor of his pestilence, And his friends, come to pity him, Around him remained in silence. After seven days, after seven nights, Eliphaz said: “To the man without sin, God gives abundance.” After seven days, after seven nights, Bildad resumed: “A fault hides at the heart of suffering.” After seven days, after seven nights, Sophar groaned: “Think in your heart of repentance.” Then Job cursed his birth And cried: “Rise, Elohim! Speak! Where — are my crimes? “Have I taken the orphan’s donkey? Seized the widow’s oxen as a pledge? Or refused wool to the shivering man, Or gleanings to the gleaner who hungers? “Have I opened my mouth for imposture? Has blood placed its stain upon my palm? “No; I have not strayed from your road: My breath has not known iniquity. “Then, why send me your terrors, And set your furies in battle against me, And play with my groaning, As the tempest plays with the blade of straw?” And God said: “Look!” And behold, Job, lying in filth, Saw with his eyes touched by Elohim, A sea. And the sea opened. And the floods, ploughed by the unknown force Of an invisible plough, Rose face to face in two walls of blue day; And the ploughshare furrowed the vanished waves With a peaceful furrow where the Hebrews walked.
Then, before Job’s gaze, in the hollow of the abyss, Pharaoh appeared, leading Mitsraim. And the hand of Moses and the hand of Elohim Made a sign to the sea: And the foot soldiers Armored in linen, Bearing the war club or the stone axe, And the horsemen With the archers Dressed in crocodile or panther skin, And the chariots With their wheels of metal Making the ground ring like thunder, And the standards Painted with leopards, With jackals or cats, with ibises or vipers, And Pharaoh Followed by a lion, His brow adorned with the solar disk, Confused, Frantic, Trampled by the floods as by mares, Were but a mud in the sepulchral waters. And Moses, Aaron, And Miriam, the prophetess, And, surging from the deep sands, All Israel, carried by the spirit of joy, On the nebel and the kinnor And the sonorous drum, Sang a song for the mighty God. Then God said: “Listen, Job, and know your suffering. What Adam did not do on the day of his birth, Nor Abram, on the day of my alliance; What Itsrac did not do, unbound by my hand, Nor Jacob, snatched from the hand of death, An entire people has done: Israel has sung My praise; And the sea and the sky have listened together To the canticle of the angel Rediscovered by man. “Now judge God from the depths of your misery: Without your sufferings, Israel would not have been saved And the name of Elohim would not have filled the earth. Do you accept having suffered?” And the man answered: “I am but dust, And you alone, Adonai, possess the light!” And when from Samael, The Eternal Had wrested the Hebrews, Job recovered his children and his oxen; The beauty of his heart returned to his face, And his death was peaceful and sated with age.
The Tables of Sapphire
Then all the winds of all the deserts Fell silent. And all the waters of all the seas Fell silent. And all the living of all the lands And all the dead of all the times, From all the places resurrecting, Fell silent. And God, on the mountain, spoke. And his Voice, In the voice of the shofar and the voice of thunder, For the seventy nations of the earth, Spoke seventy tongues at once. But the Hebrews alone, understanding the Voice, Cried: “Adonai, we await your Law!” Then the Seer climbed toward the summit Whence resounded the voice of Elohim; And the Voice, before the eyes of all those of Israel, Guiding the Seer who sought the Eternal, Made the mountain ascend and the sky descend. And Moses crossed a black wall slowly; And the voice of Elohim seemed a howling. And Moses crossed a rampart of vapors; And the voice of Elohim became a murmur. And Moses crossed a gate of pure air; And the voice of Elohim was no more than a whisper. And the Seer saw God in his magnificence: And the voice of Elohim was no more than a silence. Then the Ophanim, the Arelim, And the Kerubim and the Seraphim Groaned: “Adonai, Adonai, King of the World! What comes seeking, on your resounding paths, This nothingness Made of flesh and blood? Will you entrust it to the barren clay, The Law that your divine Word chiseled, The Torah born before the seas and the hills, Before the heavens of heavens where your Wisdom abounds?” But reading beyond the abysses The Tables of Sapphire in the palms of Elohim, Moses answered: “Ophanim, Arelim, Kerubim, Seraphim, What would you do with the Torah, upon your distant summits? It says: I alone am God. Worship no other. What God would you seek, when you see yours? It says: Remember the Sabbath, to sanctify it. All your days are Sabbaths that you chant. And what father, What mother Could you insult? What flesh covet, Pollute, Despoil or kill? You live without desire, without sin, without remorse: What would you do with the Torah, you who are stronger Than death? Let it, soiling itself with pleasure and with pain, Illuminate our loves and our hatreds: God made it for the night of human weakness.” And when he had spoken, all the angels saw him Grow — to the throne of God; And in the heavens of heavens, the two hands of God placed, In the two hands of the Seer, the Tables of Sapphire. Then all the winds of all the deserts Whistled. And all the waters of all the seas Cried out. And all the living of all the lands And all the dead of all the places, From all the times turned toward God, Prayed.
The Tables of Granite
When Moses had received the Law of Truth, From the Horeb visited by fire, He descended, a giant, To the plain — carrying The Tables of Sapphire, in his outstretched arms, And on his face a radiance. But as he thought, amid the gales, He still heard the voice of the divinity, A clamor of blood, of debauchery and cymbals Rose toward him from the abyss and from humanity. And suddenly, behold the Hebrews: Glittering, with the jewels Royal Taken from the Egyptians, Polluting, on the famous altar, The fire offering Of the Levite, Beating the onager skin, shaking the sistrum, blowing the horn, And leaping, and whirling, and howling for the Golden Calf. And God cried: “They cursed you, in the desert of Sin, When your hand opened the sky, And made, upon their famine, The manna rain with the taste of honey! “They cursed you, at Rephidim, When your arm struck the untouched rock, And made spring, from a single summit, For the twelve tribes, twelve cataracts! “And now, Less innocent Than Adam Biting The forbidden Apple, They break my Torah without having waited for it! “Strike them! Stretch over them the rod of plagues! Let their joy be their tomb! From my favor, your people has disinherited itself And I erase its name from my eternity!” And Moses cried: “My people! Why do you call them my people? Did I beget them? Were they not your people, When toward them you sent me? And are they my people Only for Sin? “Did I breathe into their nostrils their savage souls? Did I intoxicate them with the wine of slavery, And prostitute them to the carver of images? “Did I tell them: ‘Leave your servitude; Come by the roads Of my solitude; I shall make of you a people of saints, In the house of my beatitude’? “Did I promise to the fathers of their fathers Children more numerous than the sand of the seas, And all my gifts, All my pardons, All my blessings From generation to generation? “No. But loving them With a love greater Than the love of women, I was for your Hebrews, Like Jacob, wandering, Like Itsrac, sorrowful, Tempted, like Abraham. “And I would have followed them, Served them, Satisfied them, From Rameses to Rephidim, That your arm might make them like Those of Hanoch, of Babel, Of Gomorrah, of Sodom and of Mitsraim? “Did they know your Law? Could they understand it? To resemble God, is it enough to hear him? “Since I alone carried the Torah That cried out their crime, Look — upon whom your arm must fall! Strike: Moses alone has broken the Torah of Elohim!” And brandishing in the light The Tables of God, the Seer shattered them upon the earth. Then the characters By the all-powerful finger sculpted in the sapphire, Like captive birds of the stone Whom a hand would come to free, Suddenly free, toward the spaces took flight. And it was in every place The silence of God. And forty days, and forty nights, For those of Israel doing penance, Without eating or drinking and with broken heart, The prophet too kept silence. After forty days, after forty nights, When, his brow in the ashes, he had done penance, A Voice rose over the destroyed world, Filling with goodness the silence: “Since your fist broke the Tables of Sapphire That in the firmament my fist made resplendent, Descend far from God and from Sinai; Carve — two Tables — of granite; Upon the rock, by your right hand torn from the earth, My right hand shall inscribe new characters; And so that through the length of days all Israel may repeat That its Law, lost through my rigor, By your pity was restored, I name my Torah: the Torah of Moses.”
The Canticle of the Grape
From the distant planted vine, Caleb and his caravan
In the desert have brought it,
The grape of Canaan;
The virgins have exalted it
On the diaphanous flute, And Miriam has sung it Before the Ark and the Mishkan. “Grape, grape that grew In the land of Mamre, Where Abram with Sarah Saw three angels walk; “Grape, grape that grew In the land of Moreh, Where on the rock of Moriah Itsrac was unbound; “Grape, grape that grew In the land of Bethel, Where in the night, Jacob found The footstool of heaven; “Grape, grape they have taken From the Promised Land, Your light dries The Apple of Sin! “Grape, grape that Moses Has placed within our hearts, Grape, grape, your blood intoxicates Those who have sought it! “Grape, grape, you grew Where the Messiah shall come! Grape, grape, you grew Where Death does not come!” Thus sings Miriam In the sands of Paran, And the virgins accompany her On the diaphanous flute; And the Ark of the two Kerubim Guides, beneath the eye of Elohim, Israel, from Mitsraim, To the winepress of Canaan!
Moses
God said to his prophet: “Climb the mountain, it is time to die.” But when the man of God had climbed to the summit, He saw in death only the horror of ending. For at the feet of Moses Slept the grey line Of the Promised Land; And in the clear of evening, He knew the misery Of being unable to tread that holy dust, And yet of seeing it. Now feeling himself grow pale, He implored the sky, the river and the rock, To tell him By what hidden powers They prevent death from approaching. But the rock and the river and the sky answered: “We too were born to die.” Then like a child whom fear accompanies, Filling the mountain with the voice of his lament, The man of God prayed: “King of the world, Elohim, if you cause me to die, When I am no more, who then shall lead them? Shall they ever reach the places of your dwelling? Under the hand of your son, they profaned every hour: Who shall keep them pure, if your son is no longer there? “The number of my days is a night too brief. Do not kill the sleeper in the midst of his dream, And desire, Adonai, that my work be accomplished, That your name may live and that your Law may live!” And the Eternal said to Moses: “Must a miracle instruct him every time? I made you old, I made you great, I made you a seer: Where does your soul hide, in this fearful hour? As in the days of the bush, as in the days of the living water, Hope is lazy, belief is tardy, And the hand doubts the Spirit!” And Moses resumed: “Lord, I believe in you, but I doubt men. Think where I would reach and look where we are. The sower watches still while the grain ripens.” But God: “Were you to live a hundred thousand years, Do you think you would see my sheaves harvested? Are there no other wheat fields for my immortal people Than those that will yellow the earth of Israel? And were its destiny To be bounded by your measure, When the servant dies, does God die with him? I can choose yet another, since I chose you.” And the man answered: “Your path is wisdom and your ways justice: Let Israel live and let me perish.” Then God said to Michael: “Gather his soul.” And the angel said to the Eternal: “He touched the heart of your fierce people, Your miracle in his fist, your word in his mouth; His eye struck down the golden bull; He dried the seas with a sturdy foot And beheld your Face at the sound of the horn: I shall not see the end of this Just Man!” Then God said to Gabriel: “Gather his soul.” And the angel said to the Eternal: “He was born circumcised in his mother’s womb; You created for his brow the spirit of your light; He received from your hand the Law of Fire; Your ineffable Name, he alone speaks it; You made him more than an angel and nearly a God: I shall not see the death of this man!” Then the Eternal Said to Samael: “Gather his soul.” And in the damned darkness, The demon had waited for a hundred and twenty years For the thrice-holy man to have finished his day. But as he approached, the mortal with the strong heart, Accepting death, was writing on the sand The ineffaceable Name. Then — the Angel of Death — feared Death. And God said: “The Eternal shall go gather his soul.” At the summit of Nebo, the column of flame Placed on the human mouth a mouth of fire, And the soul came to heaven in the kiss of God.
Israel groaned, brow in the ashes: “The Just Man is no more! Who shall lead us?” The earth sobbed: “Men are going to descend!” The sky said: “Hosanna! “His dwelling is in me, none can take him back!” And God wept.