The thing with Movement is that it isn’t still –
If it were, it’d be called Stagnant.
(WARNING: due to the reckless use of the blatant and obvious,
The Scansion General hereby suspends this here writer’s
Poetic license until further notice)
In definitive prose, a journey is going from one place
To another, usually with a few stops in between and
Hopefully fewer obstacles. Be it the journey from
Child to man, from mind to heart, from exile to
Freedom, follower to leader, one must leave what
Was behind so that one can find what is ahead.
Throughout there are guideposts, lighthouses, right
Decisions and wrong turns, miles upon miles of asphalt
And abrupt dead-ends, long stretches of wasteland where
No man dwells and short stretches of in-density where too
Many stick their unwanted opinions into others’ privacy –
Such is the nature of the journey and its traveler: at times
But never a helpless one!
The point of it all, of any healthy journey, is growth,
Ascent: achieving something otherwise unachievable.
Of course some – if not most – would rather sit tight
And not journey altogether but (thank G-d) we don’t
Always get what we want and some journeys are
Inevitable, the only variable – what we are gonna do
About it (and, sometimes, the weather).
(Further notice – above license reluctantly reinstated)
This is the service of
The Gershonite families
To serve and to carry
One must leave things behind to move ahead
But that’s only true with things that hinder our
Travel, like excess baggage and cheap suitcases
With broken wheels and handles; things essential
However, like our souls and holiness, remain with
Us throughout, even and especially in the wilderness
And while journeying in the wilderness, though we remain
People of the portable, not setting roots but carrying them
Along so that when we reach our destination they shall be
Stronger than ever, nevertheless, the presence of our roots
And fruit has a most-positive affect on the barren earth, even
Dropping seeds as we move along.
They shall carry the curtains of the
Mishkan and the Ohel Moed
Today, in exile, we haven’t a physical
Tabernacle but as we journey through
Our wildernesses and deserts, as we move
Closer and closer, we carry the spirit
Of the Divine resting place with us,
Within us, each one of us counted
Because each one of us is a home
For G-d, illuminating even the darkest
And when we carry such holiness, when
We move with such purpose, it moves
Us as well, lifts us up even as we lift it.
It isn’t words that move but actions:
Enough ink –
Let’s move it!
Mendel Jacobson is a writer, poet and journalist living in Brooklyn. His weekly poetry can be seen at jakeyology.blogspot.com
The words of this author reflect his/her own opinions and do not necessarily represent the official position of the Orthodox Union.
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