* From barzilai@tetris.dreamhost.com Mon Mar 20 22:38:28 2000 * Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2000 22:38:14 -0800 * Message-Id: <200003210638.WAA09810@tetris.dreamhost.com> * To: shu_row@hazorea.org.il * Subject: A Poem for EzraThe other night as I was lying in bed before falling asleep I thought about Ssaba Ezra...
It is hard to believe that he is here no more.
It is hard to believe that, only six short years ago, he was with me... that so recently, I held his strong hand and looked into his eyes and spoke with him, and listened to and heard his words...
I can still hear his voice...
His voice: Slow, steady, calm, serious -- but optimistic and happy, as he looks at me, or at the hills behind, and with the occasional unexpected twist of humor, leaping suddenly into his words as his eyes glimmer.
Then, he spreads some more margarine or marmalade on his cracker, or toast, and has another bite.
To have that presence of moment, in a world so full of hurly-burly rush and fast-paced whirling seemly without reason, to be in touch with the Earth, with Nature, with the simple pleasures of Life.
A smile.
A cracker.
A leisurely conversation.
Leisure truly felt, and experienced deeply, like sinking into a nice warm bath -- rather than just dipped into for a second or two.
The true kind of warmth that radiates with its own Truth during the course of a conversation as he looks into my eyes.
I look into his eyes.
I miss you, Ssaba.
** ** **
The rain comes.
** ** **
As I lie in my bed, the rain comes.
Like watching an old movie, all grainy, and a bit fuzzy...
Like rain streaking across the movie screen.
The rain enters my eyes, wetting them, then moves to my heart, and softens it, warms it...
The warmth spreads to my hands as I lie in my bed, and the warmth is suddenly more familiar.
It is Ssaba, his warm hand holding mine.
Ssaba Ezra is next to me, and I am holding his warm hands and his large fingers which speak, silently, of safety, of security, of Home.
I look into his eyes.
He speaks to me.
His lips do not move, but his eyes speak to me, while his lips smile a smile that tells me everything is alright, now.
I am walking with Ssaba.
It is a warm, sunny, beautiful day. His legs are well again. He is not struggling to walk -- his legs are as they used to be, and he takes joy in walking through the warm softly breezy air that is filled with the perfume of a hundred flowers, while all around us birds sing and butterflies decorate the air with their magically uncertain paths...
The smell of the trees.
Etztrobaleem.
Eucalyptus.
The flowers of Israel.
The rocks, the trails...
We talk side by side, enjoying the Wonder of the here and now.
Yet a feeling comes to me, now, that this cannot last, and I know that we must soon part.
I struggle against it.
** ** **
We shift even further back in time...
** ** **
I am a boy, perhaps 8 or 10, maybe younger... and Ssaba is younger too, now... The movie is H.G. Wells' The Time Machine, screened on the outside wall of the Kibbutz cafeteria building. The movie is over, and we walk back towards his bike.
The boy enjoys getting on the bike.
The safety of being next to Ssaba...
The night air is cool now, almost cold, as I hold on to Ssaba Ezra and the bike.
Ssaba turns on the light -- the dynamo -- that pleasing sound of energy and light generated by his own legs, that safety and security of that light to guide us through the night, back home where Safta Ilse waits.
We whirr and whiz through the night and howling winds, safe on our bike with the dynamo's light ahead of us as my small hands hold on, tightly.
Home at last.
Inside.
Dim lights. Peace. Quiet.
Safety.
Home.
I hug Ssaba Ezra and Safta Ilse good night.
Safta Ilse tells me that if there is anything that I need during the night, not to hesitate to call or to wake her up, since she would not feel right thinking I might be uncomfortable yet hesitating to speak...
*Sshhhhhhhhh!*
The sound of the curtains, the beautiful curtains with their dark warm colors as Safta draws the curtains shut in the guest room before bidding me good night.
But now I am lying in my bed again, in this bed, holding Ssaba's hands, while another part of me is standing next to him in front of the cafeteria at the Kibbutz...and I know it is time to say goodbye to him.
I am filled again with deep pain and sorrow.. but this time Ssaba's eyes give me reassurance, and strength, and peace. His eyes smile again at me, and tell me that whenever I need him, we can be together again.
His smiling eyes tell me that, while we are about to part, there will be a time when we can be together again, when once again we can dance together in sunny flower fields...
Harel
March 2000
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