"Hashem Shaabani"
(Raanana, February 11, 2016)

I think I was six years old
When I held my father's hand in the suk
And saw my first hanging,
God is great.
So was the heat of the sun
The dust and the gnats,
Praised be He.
I asked my dad
Why that man was dancing in the air,
God is great.
First he shushed me
Then he said
The man had waged a war against God,
Praised be He.
I asked my father
What kind of man would do that,
God is great.
He whispered,
Probably a poet
And I thought to myself,
Praised be He,
What could be more futile,
Him being just a mortal poet
And God being, well,
God is great,
Praised be He,
Unless, I thought,
It's waging a war against the clerics.
That was the day I realized
My father was just a mortal
Just like me
And I wondered what it's like to die,
God is great.
In another moment I'll know
But no knowledge could be more futile,
Praised be He.

(c) Mike Stone