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03/30/10 - (1)
Elijah and Me
Last night, a solitary evening at an empty restaurant, In the far end of March, A sacrosanct occurrence overwhelmed my secular heart,
"Sacrosanct," I repeat chiefly for my own benefit, To remind myself of the presence of symbols and signs Inherent in the traditional Passover's wine and unleavened bread.
In that space (quiet, as it customarily is, on a Monday night), I decided to write a poetic prayer for liberty, Not a diatribe railing against oppression, enslavement,
So much as a paean to the possibilities for Messianic redemption Suggested by the four glasses of ancient grape libation The Haggadah recommends each participant imbibe —
God's quartet of divine promises to the ancestral Israelites: To bring them out of bondage, deliver them from servitude, Free them from Egypt, choose them as the "people of the Lord."
Soon, I was lost in a gentle trance, deep within my notebook, Scribbling thoughts about goodwill, justice, peace, Righteousness, salvation, turning them into concrete realities.
After an hour, a pleasant-enough reverie, sipping Chianti — Four brimming glasses that emptied the bottle — I closed the pages, on a poem I entitled "Elijah and Me,"
When I realized the waiter had forgotten to place my order. Indignantly, I told him, "Forget it," demanded my check, Paid up, and made an abrupt retreat, drove home, hungry. Sitting in my kitchen, I marshaled all the food I had: Kavli Crispbread and Jif Peanut Butter, from the pantry — Perhaps not such a far cry from matzo and haroseth.
And that was the extent of my paschal Seder, That and a fifth glass of wine, from a bottle in my refrigerator, Which I lifted to Elijah, who came in and sat down, beside me.
03/30/10 - (1)
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