HaMakom – Simon Constam

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We meet in a small place, a shtetl shul,
beneath a tallis’ embrace. There is a book
in my hands, but I do not need it.
The text is a jail, behind its black bars
the mind wanders, behind the music
of the words, the meaning is obscure.
Some say the words themselves are
Prayer. Some say the emptiness behind them
is the God who deigns to meet you there,
dares you, some say, dares
your heart, to be without its meaning,
to come unrooted as a tree would give in
to the wind and a leaf would float to the sea

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