Rosemary Joseph Rabbi You hung above my childhood in a black frame: When my mother prayed to the “dear father in heaven” I never knew whether she was talking to you, Her father of flesh and blood, or God, for you were one At first and later, when I was able to distinguish The almighty Father, “who was not any form whatsoever”, From the grandfather, you rather than He, who was too remote To understand, became my confidant, judge and adviser. I knew you were all good and all wise, if not all powerful, And to you were known all my deeds, my thoughts and my wishes: If 1 was good and kind, and especially if I helped My mother, running messages or washing dishes, Your eyes would smile and sometimes I detected the mouth, Almost buried in the thick moustache and ritual beard, Ease out of its stem contours into benevolence, But at other times there were movements in your face to be feared. A selfish act would make your eyes, which followed me Wherever I went in the room, brim with tears: Perhaps that was why I had to please you, Or perhaps it was because you were so dear T o my mother, who loved you with unquestioning love, But I had to ask questions: I had to resent The petty rituals and probe with scientific capsules the space Where you hung like a star, till you were rocked in your firmament. Your photograph no longer hangs on my wall and seeing it Again recently in a cousin’s house I could find Only the stern, fanatical look of the completely faithful, Yet you still had the power to make me feel ashamed: You are like an ancient temple, vast and tall, But rooted in the earth, the festivals, ritual and ceremony Which formed the Cornerstones of your life rising, like its columns, Out of the seasons of the earth’s turning and a people’s history. 216

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Rosemary Joseph

Rabbi

You hung above my childhood in a black frame: When my mother prayed to the “dear father in heaven” I never knew whether she was talking to you, Her father of flesh and blood, or God, for you were one At first and later, when I was able to distinguish The almighty Father, “who was not any form whatsoever”, From the grandfather, you rather than He, who was too remote To understand, became my confidant, judge and adviser.

I knew you were all good and all wise, if not all powerful, And to you were known all my deeds, my thoughts and my wishes: If 1 was good and kind, and especially if I helped My mother, running messages or washing dishes, Your eyes would smile and sometimes I detected the mouth, Almost buried in the thick moustache and ritual beard, Ease out of its stem contours into benevolence, But at other times there were movements in your face to be feared.

A selfish act would make your eyes, which followed me Wherever I went in the room, brim with tears: Perhaps that was why I had to please you, Or perhaps it was because you were so dear T o my mother, who loved you with unquestioning love, But I had to ask questions: I had to resent The petty rituals and probe with scientific capsules the space Where you hung like a star, till you were rocked in your firmament.

Your photograph no longer hangs on my wall and seeing it Again recently in a cousin’s house I could find Only the stern, fanatical look of the completely faithful, Yet you still had the power to make me feel ashamed: You are like an ancient temple, vast and tall, But rooted in the earth, the festivals, ritual and ceremony Which formed the Cornerstones of your life rising, like its columns, Out of the seasons of the earth’s turning and a people’s history.

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