We anchored in the afternoon, a mile

or so off shore and I remember while

the shouts and hectic movements of the crew

surrounded me, like tangled line, a few

thoughts tore me loose. Standing there, between

the shores, dazzled by the color of the green

warm water, turning red in the setting

sun, I thought of Sunday school and getting

read to by the rabbi and pictures showing

Moses in these opened waters, going

home to Israel. Miracles! The Red

Sea! Pharaohs! Good and Evil filled my head

with God and being Jewish. It felt great

being chosen, and I loved, then, the hate

for Jews everywhere they went. Even now,

I miss thinking that, wondering how

and why these stories come--true or not--

and mean so much. But standing there, what

could I say, seeing freighters all around

and sea gulls overhead? Am I bound

to myths my reason knows are hollow?

I don’t believe in God and cannot follow

hogwash! The candles on a Friday night

mean nothing, but centuries do, as does the sight

of ancient sand, where once, perhaps in chains,

a man died, whose blood is in my veins.