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    Sabina Messeg

    Side by side

    Mary’s well, Ein Kerem, Jerusalem

    Here, at this fountain
    where a Russian monk
    finally found truth
    by candlelight
    and in Her honor built
    a mountain-embracing monastery,
    hosts of Hassids are now chanting
    of “His eternal grace”
    while tolling bells baptize you
    in their pools of sound.
    O tiny, sunny square of this “Town of God,”
    Montana, Beit Hakerem,
    Ras-A-Rab*,
    they all gather around
    hosts of them arriving
    to stain you with hot tar.
    Hassids and monks
    blacken
    the pale Judean stone,
    nearby a trickle
    so small for this great tide
    it barely yields its murmur to the din
    amused to tears.
    Then it remembers that, in fact,
    they always used to come
    with empty vessels
    and with brimming hearts
    filling the first
    and emptying the last,
    then stepping back
    as if something of weight
    had come to pass.
    But what could have befallen here
    save drops of water on dry earth?
    What else?
    Me and my Arab friend
    (who strolled over from the medical school
    for bread from the village store)
    watch the whole scene
    sitting on the fence
    (along with the policeman)
    and fling about light words smooth as water
    on matters heavy as earth.
    © Translation: 2007, Karen Alcalay-Gut
    *Different names of the village in different cultures.

    מַעְיָן מִרְיָם (עין כרם /ירושלים)

    מַעְיָן מִרְיָם (עין כרם /ירושלים)

    לְיַד הַמַּעְיָן הַזֶּה
    
שֶׁבּוֹ הַכֹּמֶר טִיחוֹן

    מָצָא, לְאוֹר הַנֵּר,

     אֶת הָאֱמֶת
    

וְלָהּ הֵקִים מִנְזָר חוֹבֵק הָרִים –
    

 שָׁרִים כָּעֵת הַחֲסִידִים
    
 בְּמֵאוֹתיהַם :
    
"כִּי לְעוֹלָם חַסְדּוֹ"


     וּפַעֲמוֹן קוֹרֵא בְּקוֹל גָּדוֹל :
    
לִטְבֹּל לִטְבֹּל  לִטְבֹּל  לִטְבֹּל...



     כִּכָּר קְטַנָּה שֶׁל "כְּפַר הָאֱלֹהִים",

     מוֹנְטָנָה,  בֵּית הַכֶּרֶם,
    
רַאְס אַ'רַאב


     כֻּלָּם צוֹבְאִים עָלַיִךְ ,

     כֻּלָּם צוֹבְעִים אוֹתָךְ  בַּזֶּפֶת הַחַמָּה,

     כְּמָרִים וַחֲסִידִים עוֹשִׂים

    אותו שחור
    
 עַל רָחֲבָה מֵאֶבֶן בְּהִירָה
    ,
לְיַד זַרְזִיף

    שֶׁהַסִּפּוּר כֻּלּוֹ גָּדוֹל עָלָיו כָּל- כָּךְ
    
שֶׁהוּא  מוֹסִיף אֶת אִוְשָׁתוֹ עַל כָּל הַהֲמֻלָּה
    
מְשֻׁעְשָׁע עַד 
דֶּמַע.



    בְּעֶצֶם, הוּא נִזְכַּר, תָּמִיד הָיוּ בָּאִים
    
בִּלְבָבוֹת מְלֵאִים וּבְכֵלִים רֵיקִים
    

אֶת אֵלֶּה הֵם רוֹקְנוּ,  אֶת אֵלֶּה הֵם מִלְּאוּ –
    
וְהִתְרַחֲקוּ
    
כְּמוֹ נָפַל דָּבָר


     אַךְ מַה יָּכֹל הָיָה לִפֹּל  פֹּה
     
מִלְּבַד טיפּוֹת חַיוֹת   
    עַל פנֵי קַרקַע 
חַיָּה
    


מָה עוֹד היָהּ ?


    אֲנִי וּבֶן שִׂיחִי הָעֲרָבִי
    
(אֲשֶׁר יָרַד מִבֵּית הַסֵּפֶר לִרְפוּאָה
     
לִקְנוֹת לַחֲמוֹ  בַּכְּפָר)
    
 צוֹפִים בְּכָל,
    יוֹשְׁבִים עַל הַגָּדֵר
 (כְּמוֹ הַשּׁוֹטֵר)
    
וּמְעִיפִים מִלִּים קַלּוֹת כְּמוֹ מַיִם
    

עַל עִנְיָנִים כְּבֵדִים
        
    כְּמוֹ אֲ דָ מָ ה.



     
    © 1997, Sabina Messeg
    From: Monastery Days/Yemei Minzar
    Publisher: Schocken, Tel Aviv
    
נכתב בעין כרם ביום בו הסתיימה מלחמת המפרץ הראשונה ובדיוק נערכה תהלוכה של המנזר הרוסי, ובדיוק מאות חסידים באו לשאוב מים למצות
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    Mary’s well, Ein Kerem, Jerusalem

    Here, at this fountain
    where a Russian monk
    finally found truth
    by candlelight
    and in Her honor built
    a mountain-embracing monastery,
    hosts of Hassids are now chanting
    of “His eternal grace”
    while tolling bells baptize you
    in their pools of sound.
    O tiny, sunny square of this “Town of God,”
    Montana, Beit Hakerem,
    Ras-A-Rab*,
    they all gather around
    hosts of them arriving
    to stain you with hot tar.
    Hassids and monks
    blacken
    the pale Judean stone,
    nearby a trickle
    so small for this great tide
    it barely yields its murmur to the din
    amused to tears.
    Then it remembers that, in fact,
    they always used to come
    with empty vessels
    and with brimming hearts
    filling the first
    and emptying the last,
    then stepping back
    as if something of weight
    had come to pass.
    But what could have befallen here
    save drops of water on dry earth?
    What else?
    Me and my Arab friend
    (who strolled over from the medical school
    for bread from the village store)
    watch the whole scene
    sitting on the fence
    (along with the policeman)
    and fling about light words smooth as water
    on matters heavy as earth.
    © 2007, Karen Alcalay-Gut
    From: Monastery Days/Yemei Minzar
    *Different names of the village in different cultures.

    Mary’s well, Ein Kerem, Jerusalem

    Here, at this fountain
    where a Russian monk
    finally found truth
    by candlelight
    and in Her honor built
    a mountain-embracing monastery,
    hosts of Hassids are now chanting
    of “His eternal grace”
    while tolling bells baptize you
    in their pools of sound.
    O tiny, sunny square of this “Town of God,”
    Montana, Beit Hakerem,
    Ras-A-Rab*,
    they all gather around
    hosts of them arriving
    to stain you with hot tar.
    Hassids and monks
    blacken
    the pale Judean stone,
    nearby a trickle
    so small for this great tide
    it barely yields its murmur to the din
    amused to tears.
    Then it remembers that, in fact,
    they always used to come
    with empty vessels
    and with brimming hearts
    filling the first
    and emptying the last,
    then stepping back
    as if something of weight
    had come to pass.
    But what could have befallen here
    save drops of water on dry earth?
    What else?
    Me and my Arab friend
    (who strolled over from the medical school
    for bread from the village store)
    watch the whole scene
    sitting on the fence
    (along with the policeman)
    and fling about light words smooth as water
    on matters heavy as earth.
    © 2007, Karen Alcalay-Gut
    *Different names of the village in different cultures.
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