Lifting Up of the Hands

By lamp and by oil, we hunger the hours

as the dusk's frost sets in. There is time:

The trucks to Treblinka are not ready yet

and there's bread to be had.

But the water and bowl

are for the washing of hands.

(It's what tradition commands.)

Fingers make moves in the silence of thought

like chess players at their difficult tables.

A mouth is turned open and another is shut,

and dusk in due course

is steadily swallowed,

with every crumb of affliction

consumed for the sake of Kiddush HaShem.