Rough draft: Music of the Spheres

As I explore the nature of consciousness and its penetration into materia (the physical non-conscient world) I came across Kurt Schwitters’ work on “ur language,” foundational sound-structures of language that precede communication. His Ursonate is the sound poem he composed to express it. My interest is not with ur-sounds but ur-communication, with the emergence of conceptual awareness and concept-formation. I believe it is down at the liminal edge of consciousness where spiritual hearing can take place. The “liminal edges” are the moment-places where the human touches (or almost touches) the divine and constructs human interpretations of the Divine Presence. This is the hearing that produces Prophetic awareness. While far from perfect, these Prophetic communications are our closest approaches to God-Consciousness.

It is not enough to read these few holy communications. We must develop the skills to actively enter these liminal edges, to expand and improve the knowledge that has already come down.

Here is an attempt to represent this kind of hearing at the liminal edge:

Thuh Argyumen...

Heer thuh perpessen, heer thuh serj,
heer thuh substans az substansles...
thuh morrel erj az waven thuh werl
with hiyer dimmenshenz
an deeper jeyommets,
thuh effemmerrel werlz a sparkel uv it.

Myuzzekken Speerz...

uhhh ayyy uh ay uhhh ayyy uhh ayy uh ay
uhh simm ayy simm uhsimmaysimm
tottiksimm ay;
uhh simfonniks ay simmtottiks
uh simfonnik simtottik simmay;
ayyy uzzz ayyy immm
uzzayyimm ayyuzzimmay;
aysimtottik azsimfonnik
azzsimfraksel azzimmtaktel
azzinnfraggen innsimfrakshel
aysimfraktel simmtottik sermize,
uhhsimfraksherren textyurrennize;
uhhsimmsong ayshimmshoen
simsone shimshong seengsongsoen;
simsimmerg simsubmerj;
seengsongsun shimshoenshun
shimshoenseengsong deengdongdel;
frikshondel shimshoenbel
shimshulliluh frikfrakfel
shikshelliluh simsuttituh
aysimtottik azzmuddottikizdelliluh simfonnel;
izdelliy izdellay shimshoeniy shimshoenay;
izduh azduh shimshuh shamshuh
iyluh ayluh liluhlay
shamshoeniluh frakshellay;
frikshen frakshen
shimshun aysim
tottik stattik aysimtoen.

Unwiendenz...

Innertoenz an unnertaengz,
stattik simpattik unlaengwijjez,
errattik noets, ampluffied werz
parshel innershel unnerkerz.

This iz wut iz kum tu yu
wen yu tern yur heer tu thuh infinnis,
tu thuh nor in us,
tu thuh morrel fors
uv thuh Lor in us.

rough draft, Tranzlatenz a Voisen Unherdz

Here’s a few lines I sketched out today for a sub-poem, Tranzlatenz a Voisen Unherdz, part of a long exploration into the quantum mechanical nature of consciousness, entitled Remembrenz uv Tiemz tu Kum.

…Yay, bild we mus

in thuh addum flux,
on thuh sollid likwid vaperree wave,
in thik plazzem an vage fantazzem;
yay, bild we mus in ummenowee* dus, * aminoey
in morter in marter in merder in lus,
in karbonz an hadronz, sillukkonz an bareyonz,
on werz a wizdemz that ar deep dekay,
on unstabel emoeshenz an mien-alter poeshenz,
on relijjenz that klaem that thay ar thuh trueth
an thaer holee tex ar absolute
an tu kwesten even a vers or werd
iz werthee a deth an utter abserd.

This we bild on an stan in aw
wen it awl kullapsen, rubbellen wor….

Eternal Jew's Tale, Manuscript 3, illuminations

In manuscript 3 of The Atternen Juez Talen I continue recording my epic poem of Jewish life, but this manuscript is my first produced on parchment rather than paper. It is a shorter manuscript, as well: only 78 pages, covering 5 chapters.

Parchment is a fabulous material to work on. The India ink glistens on the page, and the gold has a firmer, more durable ground to lay on.

Below is a slideshow of the title page and five illuminations, each one ending a chapter. The fifth illumination, as you will see, is still only a sketch. I will begin work on the gold ground tomorrow. That will probably take 10-15 hours, after which I will lay on the gold leaf, probably 4 layers, taking another 6-12 hours.

Eternal Jew's Tale, Manuscript 2, illuminations

The slideshow below presents the first round of gold leaf work for the second illuminated manuscript I’m producing, as I continue the storyline of my epic poem, The Atternen Juez Talen, or, in standard English, The Eternal Jew’s Tale. The manuscript is produced using hand-made Indian paper; the calligraphy is done with India Ink; the gold leaf is laid on a ground of acrylic gesso. Presented below are the gold decorations at the end of each of the 16 chapters in this manuscript.

Yet to do: further gold detailing, watercolor illustrations and decorative colorwork, and a leather binding.

tu awl ar frenz (To all our friends)...

As I continue editing the Atternen Juez Talen (Eternal Jew’s Tale), I keep coming across notable fragments. I’ve decided to post a few of them here for your literary pleasures.
In the excerpt below Saadia and Batkol (the Eternal Jew and his wife) are leaving Tavaria, which in the late 12th century (ie. late C12) has fallen into utter poverty after many centuries as a center of Torah learning and manuscript production.
And as they say goodbye to Tiveria (Tiberias), so these words resonate with the many goodbyes Nancy and I have said on our journeys and Journey to the friends and colleagues and compatriots who have helped guide, support, and sustain us. Perhaps you will read these lyrics and remember us too.
In this and following posts, I will present the poetic version first, in its more accurate Steevtok, and then the standard English prose version.

Like I sez wen I starten ŧħuh tel ŧħis tale,
We sets owt, *lekh lekhuh’en* arselz
Frum ar harths an ar frenz an ar town an ar lan.

*-* Heebru: ‘go forth’ or ‘go intu yursel;’Jen 12:1


With feeren dowts an ar guts awl tite
Ŧħis praer welt up:

“If we aen got werth,
“Lor, rememmer ŧħuh grate wunz befor
“Az shone thru ŧħem Yur merseez on us.”


We a harlee heerz it ummung ar thots,
Jes wokken uwway frum ŧħat ramshakkel hut,
Ŧħat Tempel a God, ar hovvellen home.
Up ŧħuh Haruttiks Way we woks -- 

Naemd fer ŧħem haruttik Karuh-iets
Ŧħat yeerz uggo wuz drivvenz owt
By hate an pullemmeks, by hungerres need;
Ubbanden ŧħaer hoemz an jes woks uwway. 

Ŧħen we bekum ŧħuh haruttiks,
Thru Mouzlem an Kristyen naro iyz.
An after us leevz, hu *wil be nex*
Livven a povverz, skornen shame?

*-* eka d’omray ‘haz ar neks’


We woks up ŧħat ro, ŧħuh summer heets,
Ŧħuh nettellee feelz , ŧħuh dried owt chaf.
Ar thots bleeden frum brambellen thorn.
Ar feets kikken up pluemz a dus.
Teerz streeken ŧħuh dusten ar fase.
Famleeyen frenz az we wuns knoen
Az if ŧħay wuz pulen at ar baggee sleevz -- 

“Doen yu leev us, doen fergets
“Ŧħuh kiennessez we bestone on yuez,
“Us ŧħat shone ŧħuh waevz uv ŧħuh Lor
“Krashen a thunderz an awsum a spray,
“An yu an yur chielz an awl ŧħaer seed
“Wokken ar waevz on ar formen shor.
“We ar ŧħuh Addom an ŧħuh aenjellen yu,
“Innertwinen yur evver thots.

Ar memmerz, a sawrofule troop a frenz,
Awl a ŧħay lossen kleengen in us.

~~~~~~~~~~

And here’s the old English, prose version:

Like I said when I started to tell this tale, we set out to *lekh lekha* ourselves from our hearths and our friends and our town and our land.

 * Hebrew: ‘go forth’ or ‘go into yourself;’ Berraesheet/Genesis 12:1

With fears and doubts and our guts all tight, this prayer welled up:

 “If we ain’t got worth, Lor, remember the great ones before and shine thru them Your mercies on us.”


We could hardly hear it among our thoughts, just walkin’ away from that ramshackle hut, that Temple of God, our hovelly home. Up the Heretics Way we walks -- 

named for them heretic Karaites that years ago were driven out by hate and polemics, by hunger and need; abandoned their homes and just walked away.

Then we ourselves becomes the heretics thru Muslim and Christian narrow eyes. And after we leave, who will be next, livin’ in poverty, scorn and shame? 

We walks up that road, the summer heat, the nettly fields, the dried out chaff. Our thoughts bleedin’ from bramble and thorn. Our feet kickin’ up plumes of dust. Tears streakin’ the dust on our face. Family and friends that we once knew, as if they was pullin’ at our baggy sleeves, sayin’,

“Don’t you leave us, don’t forget the kindnesses we bestowed on you’s, us that shone the waves of the Lor crashin’ in thunders and awesome spray, and you and your children and all their seed walkin’ in our waves, on our former shores. We are the Adam and the angel of you, intertwined in your every thought.”

Our memories, a sorrowful troop of friends, all of them lost and still clingin’ to us.

Eternal Jew's Tale, manuscript 1, binding

In this, and 2 or 3 following posts, I’ll be presenting images of some notable details of an illuminated manuscript I produced of the opening scenes of a long narrative poem I recently completed, entitled The Atternen Juez Talen (The Eternal Jew’s Tale).

I began working on this manuscript over a year ago, using a pre-bound empty book that had been given to me as a gift by my wife Nancy some number of years ago. The paper appears to be a Nepalese tissue with minimal sizing (“size” is a technical term that means ‘surface sealant’; unsized paper will allow ink to feather, therefore making it unsuitable for most calligraphy). Thus, I had to size each sheet. I used a thinned acrylic medium as my size. If you’re curious about my decision to use acrylic, contact me.

The sizing process was complicated for 3 reasons:

1. wetting the sheets meant they would become buckled and wrinkled upon drying;
2. since sizing is glue of one sort or another, it meant that if I put the pages in a press to avoid buckling, they would stick together into a solid block; and
3. since the book was already bound, pressing each sheet individually would have been prohibitively time consuming.

I’ll spare you the details of my solution, but needless to say, for this 156 sheet book it required over 2 months to complete the sizing project. But the result was quite nice. The acrylic size made the sheets somewhat pearlescent and translucent, which I liked a lot. But it meant I could only write on one side of each sheet. So suddenly, my 312 page book (156 sheets, both sides) became a 156 page book. No worries. It kept me plenty busy for another 10 months.

The production process was rather straight forward. First I did the calligraphy, using India ink. Then, using water colors, I painted small portraits on pages where the right margin of the text was wide enough to allow a miniature. Then I illuminated all the section breaks with various versions of a sunburst. There were about 20 of these illuminations. After that, I did a number of full and half-page illustrations, again using water colors. Finally, I bound the book in blue leather. Since I used a chrome-based tanned leather, it wouldn’t take gold tooling, so I painted the title on the front and spine, using acrylic paint.

In this post I’ll present images of the binding, the title page, and the end papers.
Enjoy!

Remembrances of Times to Come, 2

On Sept. 23, 2023 I posted the first impressions of a poem that was emerging thru my mind. The poem didn’t even have a name at the time, but I knew it was a powerful energy that would compel me for a long while. Since then I’ve been working assiduously on it, letting it speak, letting it rearrange my thinking, letting it come alive. It now has a name, maybe not a final name, but a first name: Remembrensenz a Tiemz tu Kum, or in standard (old) English: Remembrances of Times to Come.

It is a poem with at least two focuses:
1. preparing for the journey after death, and
2. attempting to reveal the infinite nature of all things, an infinite nature well-hidden not just by the limitation of our 5 senses and our body-focused thinking, but by language itself.

What follows is a short excerpt, first in my evolving English, and then in old English, that is, the English that people are speaking in this era.

Remembrensenz a Tiemz tu Kum, a frag

Wen I wuz nine I koud fienlee heer
the kwesten that bin asken me:
wy am I in this boddee-shel?

An wen I wuz twennee five I koud heer
the Lor Hem kawlen, ‘hu iz heer?’
an I began an anser, ‘henunnee*’ ………. see Gen. 22:1; Isaiah 6:8
with my broken leeng, awl limmitten krude,
awl mis-derrekten an mis-kunstruez,
awl fragmentes an fule a noiz.
A kors, I didden relize it;
I thot my iyz bin akyuret,
my leeng persise, reflekten tru.

Wen I wuz fortee nine I lern
the Torruh iz but a seengel werd
six hunnert thowzen letterz long.
An me, my werdz ar shatter glas,
three, five, sevven letterz long,
sumtime maybee a fyue mor,
my leeng a meerlee shatter glas.

But a lieftime a riten, shapen a werd,
kunstrukten fraze an parugraf,
bilden grammerz tu ullow mor liets
an ennerjeez tu emmannate,
an awl my rit, life-seel long,
tho porlee spoke an innakyuret,
an wut my ukkomplish?
I am spoke a werd or tu2,
not dissarraed babbel but Godwerd spoeks.

A kawlen respons, a Barrukhu*, ……… * a call to prayer
a breethen owt, a lissen in,
a kawl tu prae, a life-seel long.
A fyue werdbreths I wil breeng with me,
now breth-bown intu my jennek koedz.

And here, the Old English version:

When I was nine I could finally hear
the question that I’d been trying to ask:
why am I in this body-shell?

And when I was tweny five I could hear
the Lor calling, ‘who is hear*?’ …….. * others say: here
and I began an answer, ‘hineni*’…….. * Hebrew for ‘here I am’
with my broken language, all limited and crude,
all misdirected and misconstrued,
all fragmented and full of noise.
Of course, I didn’t realize it;
I thought my eyes were accurate,
my language precise, reflecting truth.

When I was forty nine I learned
the Torah is but a single word
six hundred thousand letters long.
And me, my words are shattered glass,
three, five, seven letters long,
sometimes maybe a few more,
my language merely shattered glass.

But a lifetime of writing, shaping words,
constructing phrases and paragraphs,
building grammars to allow more light
and energy to emanate,
and all my writing, a life-soul long,
tho poorly spoken and inaccurate,
and what have I accomplished?
I have spoken a word or two,
not disarrayed babble but Godward spokes.

A call and response, a Bar’khu*, …….. * literally, ‘we praise’
a breathing out, a listening in,
a call to pray, a life-soul long.
A few word-breaths I will bring with me,
now breath-bound into my genetic code.

New beginnings...

I began working on The Atternen Juez Talen (The Eternal Jew’s Tale) back in 2009. Those days seem like something of another life now. That tale, that literary history, began in 30 CE in Judean Jerusalem, and proceeded to about 1510 CE in the Ottoman Empire’s capital, Istanbul, where it stands now. It is a compendium of tales of Jewish life, real and imagined, tales personal and lived told from a first-person p.o.v. It also includes letters, dreams, and books produced by the characters in the story; stories within stories and books within books.

In the last year I broke my tale out of its chronological trajectory. I began telling the episodes as a montage of interrelated events and ideas. I wrote a Passover montage composed of 8 Passovers in 8 different locations from 150 BCE in Hasmonean Judea to 1950 CE on an Israeli kibbutz. After that I worked on a Messiah Montage about the many and varied failed messiahs in history.

Less than a month ago I realized I had finished the Messiah Montage, or should I say, I was finished with it. And I realized I was done with The Atternen Juez Talen, too. I had begun to leave that story and that life behind already in 2020. But now, wonder of wonders, after months of transitional agony, I could feel a new energy emerging from my depths, a different story that wanted to be told.

Now the world may behold these first images of that newly emerging tale….

Remembrensenz an Deth Jurneez,
thats ware weel start.
Yu say, 'o wo,' 'o dreeree,' 'not me...'


But jes kunsidder.
We ar tole we kum tu this werl
emtee, fresh, a kleen slate.
But that iz an utter fals.
We kum swoddeld in jennettek vaelz,
vast librareez uv knowenz kumpield
uv expereyenz az arktipe us,
embedden, unkonshes intu us:
insteenkt an tallents,
emoeshenz an skilz,
vizhenz an etheks
that nacherlee unfoel
tu respon tu this werl.


Kunsidder:
How eezee an nacherrel
tu lern tu reed.
An yet not a seengel speseez els
kan reed. Not a seengel hyumen
beffor 5000 yeerz uggo
(but a momen in evvolueshennaree time)
evver haz a tex tu reed,
evver red a seengel werd.
An yet az a speseez weer obsest tu reed.
This skil, an mennee unnuther az wel --
     sum we kno:
     myuzek, arts, fillossuffee, maths;
     an sum yet tu diskuvver,
wuz laen intu the thredz uv us,
reddee wen weer reddee fer it.
We kum heer reddee.
We kum heer perpaerd.
We kum heer with a perpessen goel.

An so it mus be
wen we leev this werl
we wil awlso go perpaerd,
tho we kno not how,
tho it seem we hav no knowenz at awl.
But weel go on that jernee wel perpaerd.

So let us kunsidder wut we kno,
wut we wil karee wen we leev this shel.
Wut ar gatherz tu serv ar needz
wen we leev behien ar sensez five,
wen ar werl iz not shaept by nerv?
Wut uv us iz oenlee mien?

Uv kors!
Ar essens iz immajjinnes...

Illuminated manuscript of Atternen Ju

Some months ago I began a project to produce an illuminated manuscript of the poetry version of the Atternen Juez Talen. A prose, standard English version is being published in a weekly episodic format at the Times of Israel [https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/author/stephen-berer/], but the original poetry version remains largely inaccessible to the public. It seems the world is not yet ready for my visionary talen.

Therefore, I decided to produce an enduring and perhaps even elegant version as a stand-alone work of art. When completed, this illuminated manuscript will still only be about 1/3 to 1/4 of the whole poem, but I hope to illuminate the rest of the poem in further volumes. God Willing.

Below you can see page 103, which I penned today.

Calligraphic version, yet to be illuminated and illustrated

The Eternal Jew podcasts, #7

Continuing from the story begun in podcast #6, the ancient sheikh completes his tale of local deities and their battles against Adonai.

You can find the textual version of this particular episode at the Times of Israel website:
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-eternal-jews-tale-07-in-search-of-the-garden-2/

Or go to:
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/tales-of-the-eternal-jew/
where you can find all the published episodes (currently {18} of them). They are displayed in reverse order, so you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom to read them sequentially.

The Eternal Jew - In Search Of Aden, 2
Written, illustrated, and narrated by Stephen Berer.

The ancient story-telling sheikh

The Eternal Jew podcasts, #5

In this episode, the Eternal Jew meets Saul of Tarsus in a local synagogue, and they discuss a letter Saul has written to a community in Rome.

You can find the textual version of these episodes at the Times of Israel website, https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/tales-of-the-eternal-jew/ . They are displayed in reverse order, so you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom to read them sequentially.

A Meeting with Saul of Tarsus
Author/Artist: Written, illustrated, and narrated by Stephen Berer.

The diplomat’s little shop

The Eternal Jew podcasts, #4

In this episode the Eternal Jew sets out on the Damascus Road, with some wry comments about Rome and another famous fellow who walked this road. He may agree with Bar Yohai’s negative opinion of Roman bath houses, buuuut…

You can find the textual version of these episodes at the Times of Israel website, https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/tales-of-the-eternal-jew/ . They are displayed in reverse order, so you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom to read them sequentially.

Walking the Damascus Road
Author/Artist: Written, illustrated, and narrated by Stephen Berer.

Walkin’ that damn ass-kiss road

The Eternal Jew podcasts, #2

Let the tales begin!

This, the first episode , finds the Eternal Jew in Jerusalem around 30 CE. He recalls those troubled times and his friendship with a local revolutionary.

You can find the textual version of these episodes at the Times of Israel website, https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/tales-of-the-eternal-jew/ . They are displayed in reverse order, so you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom to read them sequentially.

The Eternal Jew - In Jerusalem
Written, illustrated, and narrated by Stephen Berer

Azurite Sky of Jerusalem

The Eternal Jew podcasts, #1

Here beginneth a series of readings from the epic poem The Atternen Juez Talen, aka The Eternal Jew’s Tale. This podcast series will follow the character of the Eternal Jew as portrayed in my epic as he endures, thrives, and transforms the places he lives in.

This first podcast introduces the series. Enjoy! Don’t be shy. Write to me with your thoughts. Oh, by the way, you can find the textual version of these episodes at the Times of Israel website, https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/tales-of-the-eternal-jew/ . They are displayed in reverse order, so you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom to read them sequentially.

The Eternal Jew - Introductory statement
Written, illustrated, and narrated by Stephen Berer.
Download

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- the 3rd of 3 meditations

Continuing the story line from my previous two posts (April 8 and 13, 2021) in which the sage, Yose ben Halafta is being led by a child into the ruins of Betar…

And once again I feel that hand gripped in mine, tugging me. His sweet eyes look up at me.
“The sad lady. That’s her name. She likes to read Hosea to me up on the rooftop when I can’t sleep.”
A wonderment. And on we go, deeper descending inside Betar.

We come to a stark and open place, what might have been the marketplace, now deathly silent. Even the doves refrain from keening their God-taught psalms. Just a breathy mumble, like *Hannah at prayer* praying the curse be lifted from her. [Note: 1 Sam. 1:10-13]
“A vain prayer if she lived now. No more will children laugh in this place”

As if a hand is gripping my throat, and I can’t breathe. Shock and fear. What is this that knows my thoughts?
“You’re lost, old man, and no return, yet you cling to hope that there’s a path or a Halakha you know from here. Hope is a lie, white-washing the truth.”
And finally I see a faint trace of a shade, or is it a blasted oak?

The boy urgently tugs on my hand, but I must see who addresses me in such a prescient and cynic voice.
“What ails you shade that you spit these words at me as if I trespass you”
“And who be this Roman chump that intrudes?”
“I see you don’t know all my thoughts. Roman, certainly I am not! In the secret synagogues I am known as Yose the teacher; some call me ‘sage.’”
“Son of Halafta! I had heard that, along with Khutspit, you were torn to pieces and had your tongue ripped out.”
“I’m still here, at it still wags. You seem to know me. Who are you?”

Ignoring me, he continues his rant:
“How long will you flout those worn-out beliefs?”
When I don’t answer, he frowns and spits.
“*For three transgressions or even four,* I will not turn back to the path of the Lor. What my eyes have seen be proof enough that the Lor has turned away from us.” [Note: Amos 1:3]
“What are these so-called proofs of yours?”

Again he frowns and spits in the wind.
“Madness drives the human spirit. Else explain what the Zealots did, burning three years store of grain, and breaking cisterns to force a fight against a siege invincible? Madness. Then came utter ruin and massacres unknown before. Roman soldiers tore down The House, burnt the Holy of Holies to ash, murdered their ten thousands and more, and swaggered our plunder back in Rome. Humiliations followed that. Priests stripped naked, driven thru the streets, beaten, pissed on, blinded, killed. Women raped while their children looked on. Infants thrown from the Temple walls, hundreds, their bodies splattered in piles. And who survived? Cowards who fled, and sages who hid in garbage heaps. And of those sages, many a one were martyred, burnt, beheaded, flayed. And who prevails? Lupis the beast, lean and hungry, godless, wild. Caesar has seized this whole world. There’s your proof. You need more?”

My chest tightens. Words fail. Dismayed, I turn my eyes to the ground. Again, I feel the tug on my hand.
“I told you not to go in there. He yells at everyone that way.”
Stumbling on many a stump and stone, we hustle back into the welcoming ruins, the thick shadows, the silent gloom. Now the dog begins to bark. The boy stops and shushes me. A moan, a cry, a screech, a howl off in the distance, drawing near.
The boy now yanks his hand from mine and runs away. And then a shout.

“Father! I’ve been searching for you.”
The dog is yipping, scamper and skip, and the three emerge from a shattered tomb.

The first tainted shades of dawn begin to paint the eastern sky.
“Peace be upon you, prayerful man.”
“And peace be upon you, father and sage.”
“I see my son has guided you thru these ruins. No doubt you met my friend Elisha, him who once stood among the elite of Israel, til tragedies and their harsh blows broke his heart and crushed his will. Now anger’s currents ravage him like a house washed out by flood and broken up in the surge of waves. There’s still a spark of faith in him that in a gilgul, maybe two, will flare again and shine new light. A broken heart is slow to heal. But you, Reb Yose, I told you before, you shouldn’t enter a ruins to pray.”

Wonders abound. Who is this?
“I heard a voice luring me. Here just a moan of a mourning dove, there, a minyan praying psalms. Such congregations called to me.”
“You should have stayed on the road and prayed. Many a danger lurks in here.”
“True, but dangers also stalk the road, and many disruptions too.”
“Then shorten your prayer and quicken your step back to a place where Shekhina sings.”
“Master and teacher, how do you know my name? Have we met before?”
“In other bodies and other times we have met. But in this place, horizons limit all you see, all you hear, all you feel, and you can’t remember anything beyond their tight constricting curves. And so you don’t remember me.”
“And does that not apply to you, too? Or should I call you ‘Divine Envoy?’”

Tarnished silver streaks the clouds, with edges burnished to a brilliant gleam. The brighter the light, the more transparent the man and his son. Now disappeared.
All that remained, a yipping dog which followed me down the long road to Tzippori, where it too disappeared.

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- the 2nd of 3 meditations

Continuing the story line from my previous post (April 8, 2021) in which the sage, Yose ben Halafta is being led by a child into the ruins of Betar…

Now further we wander thru Betar’s streets. Are we walking in circles here? I keep repeating the same phrase...
Mellekh maymeet u’m’khiyay u’mutsme’ukh yeshu’ah...
Creator of death and life; our matrix and deliverer.

And now I hear a keening psalm with an accent foreign to this age. I urge the child to turn aside to a little house with its dome caved in. Peering into a doorway’s abyss, there, a shimmering ghostly light, like a damsel, her eyes mad with grief. Seeing me she cringes away to a corner, compelled by horror or fear.

“Go away you demon scourge. Leave me be like times before when you and your brothers had all fled from him who spake and freed me from you.”
“Fear not damsel. Look at me, a man of flesh from Adam’s world, who heard your moans among the doves and has come to see if I might salve.”

Slow her terrors wash from her face, replaced by a flickering show of moods, many full of her former despair, mixed with glimmers of doubtful hopes, which maybe inspired her to confess:
“Look at me, so empty and lost, waiting many a long year for him whose touch was purest joy to return and make me new again. Betrothed we were when he set off to his father’s house, not so far. But see how years in moments pass, and once again I am beset by demons, all prick and bite, who spew their lies and leave me besmirched with doubt and anger, hurt and hate. My troubles compile and redouble my fears that he is dead and will not return. I, who was great among the redeemed, am become a widow, become a thrall.”

“Do I hear you a-right, or wrongly infer that him you speak of is the Nazarene who claimed he was the anointed one? Surely you must know he is dead.”
“Do I hear a-right, or wrongly infer that you be a rabbi and Pharisee?”
“This much is true: rabbi I am.”

Then you are as lost as I now am! You who ever live in doubt and never know redemption’s touch.”
“Dame, you mistake your doubt for mine. Doubt is not what harrows me. Sin? Sure. Grief? Much. Wonderment at why sin exists. Exile from our Holy Land. But never exile from the Lor.”
“But then the Lor stepped down to earth. Why turn your back upon the sun?”
“Yours are words for Roman and Greek, them who seek gods they can see and touch, with human features and human faults. Give them that in a Perfect Man and see how they rush to follow him. But here you are, praying psalms in Aramaic. You are a Jew. Why do you still cling to him? You are ever present to the Lor.

“He healed me and he lifted me. He held me and loved me. My love for him is personal.”
“Then healer and husband, but not God. Look at this world, still so benighted. Him you expect to rise from his grave cannot do such a ghostly thing. Much hubris his disciples displayed, claiming he was the body of God. And vastly more by those followers who will trample this world with their hobnail boots.”
“Kind your voice but vicious your words, battering me with your hard beliefs. Is it not enough for you that demons gorge upon my soul?”

See. Like a house that slowly cracks and crumbles when an earthquake heaves. So, a bitter wailing breaks and shakes this woman to piteous sobs. And who am I to crush her hopes?
“Sister, your grief brings sorrow to me, touching my own pangs of loss. But perhaps our griefs have hardened us. We are taught, the Lor’s Presence is near at hand, fills this room, fills this ruined land, this world. Is there not a tiny flame of hope flickering in your heart? Shelter it. Don’t let it die. ”

And now the mourning dove cries out,
“Weep no more. Weep no more.”
As I turn to leave, I ask of her,
“Sister, may I know your name?”
“Miriam of Magdala...”
And now that inner light in her quickly fades and she is gone.

excerpt from The Atternen Juez Talen -- 3 meditations

Here are 3 scenes set in the Tannaitic era, after about 100 CE. The Atternen Ju (Eternal Jew) is reminiscing about some stories he heard from the mouths of the sages, stories that he is recording to be used as guided meditations.

This particular triptych of stories is told by the Tanna, Yose ben Halafta. In them he tells of meetings with remarkable men and women. The story’s setting is based on a well-known midrash, in which Elijah asks Yose why he went into a ruins to pray.

Recognizing that many people have difficulty reading my poetry, I have translated the text back into standard English (what I call “ole Eenglish), prose. Perhaps later I’ll post the poetry itself.

Here is the first of the 3 scenes. In coming days I’ll post the other two.
Thus...

One night I was walking past the ruins of Betar. A moaning dove perched on an arch lured me into the rubble to pray.
“Hail, spirit. What troubles you?”
I called to him. He moaned a reply. As I approached he lifted wing and flew to a pillar further in, and still he called, imploring me, call and response, to pray with him. And yet still further, he lit on a branch of a ghastly myrtle burnt in the siege. And there we began to pray the 18, [note: the 18 blessings, core of the 3 daily prayer sessions] and I got as far as ‘lee shanay affar,’ ‘those who sleep in the dust.’

And now, as the dove ceases his moaning and leaps from the branch and flies away, what do I hear? A weeping child?
And there, behold, he sits at my feet. Our eyes meet and he takes my hand, and I, I know not what to do. I must not interrupt my prayer. Nor may I leave this child alone.

And so, as he leads, I repeat this phrase:
Mee khummokha b’al g’vurote, u’mee do mellukh?
Who is like You, Master and strength, and who can be compared to you?

And now it seems we’re lost in a maze. There, the dove praying his moans. There the myrtle, its branches like arms, frantic, reaching to an empty sky. Now the dove, moaning his prayers on a pillar leaning in an empty lot. A twig cracks. Gravel kicked. And all around the echo of moans. And now a snarl and now a growl. And now an animal charging at us; a great wolf! It leaps at the boy.
And licks his face. Is this a dog?
“This is what I’ve been looking for.” The first words the boy has said.

Now the dog leads us deeper in, into a warren of rubble and ruins, rebels and runes. Do I see a face staring at us? Wrinkled like one who the years deform, haggard, unkempt, mournful, old. His voice intones like the joyless dead.
“I once ruled the heavenly spheres with grandeur such as none could compare. ‘Pharaoh’ they would whisper and bow low, and those that knew me called me ‘god.’ I, even I, was punished severe by that Hebrew Lor whose power I dared. Search ye now thru my opulent home, where lapis and gold once tiled the streets, now rubble and mudbrick and stinking tombs. Prophet, what further ruin will you vent on one who knows not how to repent?

In awe I dwelt on his fearsome word, until I dared to ask of him,
“What, oh pharaoh, compels you to dwell here in Betar far from your Nile?”
“For me, that river never ceased to flow in blood, bringing pestilence. But here my stony and envious heart finds pleasure, seeing how Roman gods have avenged my loss to that Adonai.”

Just then the child whispered to me,
“But he said to me, he came here to live because Betar appeared to him just like Fustat, his ancient home, which every year decays still more. Here he hopes to learn from the Jew how to repent and serve the Lor.”
“Curse you child,” that specter forswore, and disappeared back into the stones.
And once again, that dove and his moan….

Lost book by Abarbanel, 3

The following lines are an excerpt from a book within a book: a lost mystical text on meditation within The Atternen Juez Talen. In this scene the storyline is intended to act as a guided meditation, leading the spiritual explorer on an elevated path thru a troubled psychological landscape. The endpoint aspires to a state of greater clarity, undistorted by the mostly unconscious conceptual aberrations and emotional whirlpools that shape our thinking.

The scene takes as its starting point a midrash about Rabbi Yossi (ben Halafta), who turns aside one night while walking in the vicinity of Jerusalem, to pray in a ruins. He is referred to as ‘Prophet’ in the monologue below. The scene also has another important literary referent: Shelley's brilliant poem The Triumph of Life, which to my eyes is among the greatest pieces of literature ever written. Thanks, Percy. You are ever an inspiration.

This, the "old English" version in prose:

Inside the darkness I see a face, wrinkled like one who the years deform, haggard, unkempt, mournful with dread. His voice intones like the joyless dead.

"I once ruled the heavenly spheres with grandeur such as none can compare. 'Pharaoh' they whispered, them bowed low, and those who knew me trembled in fear. I, even I, was punished severe by that Hebrew Lor whose power I dared. Look ye, now at my opulent home where lapis and gold once tiled the rooms, now rubble of mudbrick, a putrid tomb. Prophet, what further ruin do you vent on one who never learnt to repent?"

Lost book by Abarbanel, 2

Continuing the topic begun in my October 8, 2020 post, here’s an excerpt from the Kabbalistic book Abarbanel and his 2 secretaries are compiling. I present first the prose translation into Old English (what you probably think of as ‘normal’ English), and then the original original version in poetry:

Ole Eenglish proze verzhen:

In that same year in Yavne I heard Shimon ben Zoma leyn a drash in the week of V’Yishlakh. He taught:

Let us walk in Yaakov’s steps. Seeing the brutes and the blades and the blood [around him], he lifted himself from cushion and tent and set out down the rocky road to find that vaunted holy home. Lain his head on the crusty earth, Kedusha’s rolling thru his mind to crack the klipas worrying(? whirling) him. Down the angel minyans came. Took his hand and up they went. There, Shekhina like a dancing flame, hot and shapely, is waiting for him. Seven levels of kippurim to open the first fold of the tent and remove the embroidered garment of her. And seven more for the second fold and the deeper desires awoken in him. Now Shekhina urges him on, to tend the flock that it increase; be it strong, be it fecund. And so a vast and devoted host informed the will of Yaakov. He wanted to return to the Adam world with all this holy host of the Lor, to bring atonements to the waiting world. He descends to the river’s edge, three finger widths from the Camp of the Lor. There Adam confronted him and wrestled him into a human shell, that the host of angel messengers could pour thru the body of his soul – Ma’aseh Merkava – and enter the vacuous Adam realms to work redeemings into us.

The errijjennel verzhen az powessee:

In them same yeerz in Yovnuh I heerz
Shemone ben Zomuh laen on a drush
In the week a Vuh’Yishlukh*. He tot:
* week wen Berraysheet/Jen 32:4-36:43 iz red
Let us wok in Yuh’Uhkoevz steps.
Seeyen the bruten the bladen the blud,
He liffen himselv frum koushennes tent
An set owt down the rokkee ro
Tu fien that vonted holee ho*.
* eka d’omray: home
Laen iz hed on the krustee erth,
Keddueshuhz* rolen thru iz mien
* holenessez; holeyes praerz
Tu krak the klepuhz werlen him.
Down the aenjel minyenz kum,
Touk iz han an up than gon.
Thaer, Shekhenuh, dansen flame,
Hottes shaepleez waten fer him.
Sevven levvelz a keporreem*
* uttoenmenz
Tu open the fers foelen the tens
An remmuve the broiderd garmen uv her.
An sevven mor fer the sekken foel
An the deepes dezziyerz a woken him.
Now Shekhenuhz erj him on
Tu tend the flok that it in krees;
Be it streng, an be fekkunt.
An so a vas devvoten hoes
In formen in tens a Yuh’Ukkoev
A wonten rettern tu Addum werlz
With awl this holee hoesten the Lor,
Tu breeng a toenz tu the watee werlz.
Dessendes him tu this rivverree ej,
Three feenger withs frum the kampen the Lor.
Thaer Addum kunfrunten him
An ressel him tu a hyumen shel,
That the hoes (uv a) aenjel messejjerz
Kan por thru the boddeyen iz seel --
Muh’uhsay maerkuvvuh --
An enter the vakyuwes Addum relmz
Tu werk reddeemenz* intu us.
* ennummeez uv the Juwen reed this az “red demenz”