I smelted a silver platter
With hands that dug through coal and flame
Blistered, blackened, burned
Peppered with sterling droplets of molten metal
That seared my soul and thus unlocked her song
With hands that let themselves be guided
By a beating heart of pure gold
I smelted with Esav’s hands
Because Yaakov’s voice called to me
Why did I do it?
Not to polish and admire
To hang on my wall
No, I built it so it might bear fruit
And carry the riches of our people
Don’t go telling me
That empty vessels are worthwhile
For I cannot rest until
I see it filled with fruit
The first fruits of Israel
Lovingly cultivated
And harvested
To adorn our tables
Once it would’ve been easy
But our finest trees were uprooted
And now stand far away
The fruit grows on the branches
Hung by a tenuous twig
The twig snaps
Gravity takes hold
And the fruit starts to fall
Look from afar!
See what I see!
The fruit hits the ground
With a damp thud
And there it remains
Languishes
Withers
Puts down roots
It does not see reason
To seek another place to rest
Why should it?
This is all it ever knew
And our fruits, our own precious fruits
Upon which we hang so much
Are lost to us
Left to spoil and rot
Annulled into the soil
The warm, gold peel and sweet flesh
Devoured by worms
To which it happily submits
O woe! What has befallen us?
They say when you eat the fruits of your labour
You are praiseworthy, and all is well with you.
What would they say if they witnessed
The fruits of a thousand years of labour
Carted off to be enjoyed
By greedy men sitting round polished tables
O woe! What has become of us?
All is not lost, however.
For I have seen a band of gatherers
Who race to retrieve the falling fruit
With single minded determination
And carry them to the platter
What if the fruit does not wish to come?
Desiring instead to submit
To gravity and the cursed earth?
I don’t care
We are fruit of an ancient tree
I will not leave it to spoil
We will not abandon this fight
It sets my heart to see
That there is what being done
Yet the day is short
The work is great
And the labourers are sparse
We work through the night
We don’t sleep
But still so much fruit we could gather
Is left to spoil
Still the world does not wake up
Still so much to say and do –
We need more people like you.
