The self at the end
1999
A Jewish part, a non-Jewish part — a part for, a part against — cohabit within me like two unfinished scores, two shutters banging in opposite directions, two truths that contest each other, two challenges glaring like china dogs.
a sacred face, a profane face: which will get the better of the other or make me lose face?
What is their common denominator, their quotient of certainty, their stroke of disunion?
Which of the two is the leech or the assassin?
What snuffer of the other puts out the embers or what pyre reduces to ashes the heresy of the other?
A part of king, a part of prey, doomed perhaps to cancel each other out
nihil obstat.
Dialogue in Jerusalem
— Is it your voice that trembles or mine that fades away? — It is the wind of history that beats between our faces.
— Is it a wall that crumbles or hope that rises up? — It is the shadow of the crowd and the avowal of a distress.
— Is it a song that rises or the cry of a bird? — It is the blood of an old dream that flows at the water’s edge.
— Is it a God who falls silent or man who takes revenge? — It is the same secret shared by the angel
and the demon, hatred and love, the homeland and exile, the gangrene and the soul that cries out.
— Is it the end of time or the beginning of an age? — It is the echo of a spring that seeks its face.
Jerusalem, 2000