Sunday, November 6, 2011


except that the sap

which rises

from sturdy old olive roots

flows through the veins

of this grafted branch

I’m not Jewish

except for my flesh

which still shudders

at the Shoah

(of sisters and brothers

of the natural branch)

and the same root

and swears

I’d have done something...


I’m not Jewish

except for my feet

which have walked

the holy, well worn pathways

in Eretz Yisrael

except for my fingertips

which pressed petitions

between stones

of the Western Wall

except for my ears

which perk to the cantoring

of the S’hma

the Aaronic Benediction

the Kiddush

over bread and wine

except for my eyes

which look

upon The Lamb,

my Atonement

except for my lips

which chant

ancient baruchas

to Ha Shem

I’m not Jewish

except for my heart

which bears the cloven mark

of circumcision

and loves Y’shua,

the Jewish Messiah

Who was pierced

for my transgressions

Who shed

His precious Jewish Blood

for me

Maude Carolan

*This poem won third prize for poetry at the annual St. Catherine of Bologna Photo, Art & Poetry Exhibition, Ringwood, New Jersey, in 2010.

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