Hashem, I dream away my days
And lie in bed at night
As any shock of wheat.
Hashem, please help me stand.
Help me not to dream away my days,
Arms folded on the table, dreaming
Of my diligence.

Hashem, please help me wash my days
And hang them on the line to dry.
Please help me scrub my months
And shake them out,
Soak my years,
And dry them in the summer sun.
Please help me wear a suit
Of honest fabric, clean and plain.

Please help me help not only those who do not need my help.
Please help me help the difficult to help,
The ones whom no one has the patience for,
The ones who are not worth the "servicing";
The ones it was agreed we will not stoop to aid.
Please help me help the ones who do not make me feel content;
Please help me help the ones who need my help,
Although my friends should glance at me
And wonder, What is wrong with him
That makes him hang around such people?
Please help me help the helpless ones,
The ones whom others will dismiss,
The ones who are not worth the caring
Because they may demand our time.
Please help me help the ones it is not fun to help,
For whom no dinners are arranged,
For whom committees do not contribute,
For whom the helpers have no patience,
Because they have priorities.

A hawkmoth caterpillar was crossing the gravel
Road, looking like a pink-green leaf
Dappled by the overhanging trees.
I joked to myself about my disbelief

In such a camouflaged insect, and in God,
And marveled at its ridges and its stem,
And that it came when leaves were turning pink.
I'd thought of God as a baseless theorem,

But never seen the hawkmoth caterpillar
Crawl across the road like a rolled-up leaf.
If I could pick one moment, I would say
That pause that August day sparked my belief.

It may take as long
As the grains of sand,
Swept up by gusts of wind
And swung from a cliff into the sea,
Are entirely swept away;
It may wait until
The glaciers creep across the Canadian forests
And tower above the southern states;
You may want to wait
Until the sun begins to pale,
Until it balloons and swallows the planets --
But please help me serve You, Hashem.

Within the woods, there is a meadow.
In the meadow is a blade of grass,
And on the grass a slender insect,
Its wings as frail as spider webs.
It isn't thinking of the sun
Or of the swallows in the trees,
Or of the fieldmice
Scurrying through the grasses,
Or of the chestnut trees
Rippling little, pale-green leaves,
Or of a row of cirrus clouds
Like cords of candy in the sky;
But stands upon the swaying blade,
Its wings gold,
Its eyes immobile,
Silent as the pale, blue sky.
Hashem, please help me think of You
And serve You simply as an insect sits
Upon a blade of grass within a meadow,
Within the woods where no one comes,
But where the woodchuck slowly trundles,
The squirrels clatter in the branches,
And an insect sits upon a swaying blade of grass.

(C) Eliezer Shore, Bas Ayin

Back to Homepage