Tom Mandel: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch]

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Between Past and Future

 

I. (In the academy: a conversation between master and student)

Rabbi, when will the Messiah come?

 

Why do you ask me? Go ask him.

 

But Rabbi, how will I find the Messiah?

 

No problem. He sits among the sick and homeless at the

gates of the Pentagon.

 

But Rabbi, by what sign will I recognize the Messiah?

 

Look among the “lepers” (those afflicted with AIDS). You

will see him untying and retying his bandages one by one.

“I may be summoned,” he thinks; “let me not be delayed by

these bandages.”

 

 

II. (At the gates of the Pentagon)

 

Peace upon you, my Master and Teacher.

 

And upon you, son of Levi. What can I do for you?

 

When will you come, Master?

 

Today, my son. I will come today.

 

 

III. (Back in the academy)

 

So, out with it. What did the Messiah say to you?

 

Rabbi, he lied. He said he would come today. But Rabbi,

the Messiah has not come.

 

Here is what he said to you: “Today, if only you hearken

to His voice.” (Ps. 95:7) Ears open, my son; it’s always today,

and never for long.

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Tom Mandel’s many books include Letter to Poetry (Chax, 2022), To the Cognoscenti (Atelos, 2007), Prospect of Release (Chax, 1996), Letters of the Law (Sun & Moon, 1994), and Realism (Burning Deck, 1992). He is a co-author of The Grand Piano, a ten-volume experiment in collective autobiography. Mandel’s work is widely anthologized, including In the American Tree, The Norton Anthology of Post-Modern Verse (1st Edition), multiple volumes of Best American Poetry, and 49+1: Poètes Americain. Born in Chicago, Tom Mandel was educated in its jazz & blues clubs & at the University of Chicago’s Committee on Social Thought. He has taught at three universities & worked as a consultant to UNESCO, acquisitions book editor, door-to-door salesman, network technology consultant, & short order cook. For two decades, he was a serial technology entrepreneur, pioneering the development of social software on the Web. He has lived in New York, Paris, San Francisco, and Washington DC. At present, he and his wife, the poet Beth Baruch Joselow, reside in a small town on the Atlantic Coast.  [This poem is the author's version of an old rabbinic tale from the Talmud (Sanhedrin 98A)].

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                                                    Maurycy Gottlieb, Jews Praying in Synagogue on Yom Kippur, 1877.

                                                  

Comments

[David Lehman]

Terrific poem & picture!

[Grace Cavalieri]

I wait all week to see what Terence has cooked up for us in verse and visual. And I'm never disappointed.
I always knew tom as the luckiest of men, married to Beth, but now I see his spirit.
Shabbat Shalom

[tom]

Thanks, David & Grace....

Happy New Year, poetry -- can't wait to hear more from you.

[Terence Winch]

Thank you, Grace. It's a good new year with you in it.

[Bill Nevins]

Always today!

[tom]

Thanks for posting this, Terence -- I just checked & it's still today!

[Clarinda]

Always today! Perfect New Year’s Day poem. I love the rabbinic wit and the promise (if we keep it)

[lally]

I had a performance artist friend in LA named david zasloff who talked about practicing zen judaism, tom's poem could be the core text

[Eileen]

Beautiful poem.

[Kit Robinson]

Wise words from a true poet!

[Peter Kearney]

To hearken to the Lord's voice does indeed demand care. The psalm alludes to the days of Massa and Meribah. There the Levites were blessed for slaughtering their own relatives who worshipped the golden calf (Deut.33:8-9). But in our psalm, the punishment is softened somewhat to a wandering in the desert for 40 years till the sinners died off. Listening today is likely to bring a greater message, one of mercy and even kindness.

[Don Berger]

"it’s always today, / and never for long." A beautiful enigmatic note to close the poem on and launch this new year. For some mysterious reason "never for long" sounds hopeful, reassuring. I admire the social and intellectual qualities of these words, and Tom's adapting scripture to our times. Reminds me of Jabes but has its own spirit and form. Thanks for choosing it Terence.

[Terence Winch]

Don:  Thank you, my friend. And Happy New Year!

[tom]

Thanks, Kit, Bill, Clarinda, (Michael - I presume) lally, Peter, Don - & anyone my eyes have missed while scanning the page above.

In the original Talmudic tale, it's not a rabbi & his student. Rather, one of the rabbis encounters Elijah (whom Jews presume to be alive still & to move freely & frequently between our world & Pardes) & asks him the question about Mosheach -- when will he arrive?

Writing my version, I decided to give Elijah the day off.

[Dr. Earle Hitchner]

As Terence Winch’s e-mailing of Tom Mandel’s poem aptly pointed out, it’s a “beautiful rendering of an old rabbinic tale from the Talmud.” Tom’s masterful poem is not about indoctrination but instillment. The poem as a whole and the quote of Psalm 95:7 beckon us to a realization: the moment we ask “when” is often the same moment lost to us, perhaps irretrievably. Reaction is the beat beyond action. The moment is now or today, because “it’s / always today, /and never for long.” Tom’s poem reminds me of another old rabbinic tale from the Talmud, recounted in a voice-over ending the 1981 movie THE CHOSEN, based on Chaim Potok’s 1967 novel of the same title. The tale is about a son estranged from his father, a king, who eventually sends a messenger to summon him back to the kingdom. The forlorn son sends the messenger back to inform his father, the king, that he cannot return. Undaunted, the king sends the messenger back to his son with this message: “Return as far as you can, and I will come the rest of the way.”

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Earle. Always good to get your take.

[tom]

Thanks for the comment, Dr. Hitchner --

Btw, the wonderful tale you quote is not from the Talmud, but a 9th century collection of Midrashic Haggadah, Pes'iqta Rabbati.

Of course, its sources are much older (see e.g. the parable of the prodigal son in the gospel of Luke, wch shares some features with this tale).

[David Lehman]

I love the use of midrash (and anecdote) in verse and prose -- as you do so well here. Do more! See this, too:https://www.newyorker.com/books/flash-fiction/tales-told-to-tevye

[tom]

Thanks, David -- here's one for you. In this case, it's my adaptation (not much more than a transcription, really) of the Hasidic tale with which Chantal Akerman began her great film, Histoires d'Amerique:

A Chasidic Tale
(from Chantal Akerman’s 1989 film, Histoires d'Amérique.)

A Rabbi always passed through a certain village to get to the forest where, at the foot of a tree (always the same one), he prayed – and God heard him.

The Rabbi’s son too passed through the village on his way to the forest. But, not knowing which tree was his Father’s, he prayed at the foot of of the first tree he saw – and God heard him.

The grandson of the Rabbi no longer knew how to find the tree or the forest. So he prayed in the village – and God heard him.

His great grandson did not know the whereabouts of the village or the forest. He prayed in his house – and God heard him.

The Rabbi’s great great grandson did not know where the village or the forest were located. He did not even know the words of the prayer. But he knew this story and told it to his children – and God heard him.

[Dr. Earle Hitchner]

Thanks, Tom, for the gentle correction of sourcing for the tale I recounted from the voiceover conclusion of the movie THE CHOSEN. Accurate ascription matters.

[David Lehman]

Thank you a second time, Tom.

[Jody Payne]

Once again saved by a poem. With gratitude

[tom]

Jody -- wow!

Keep in mind that every time we move we are moving towards a horizon. Stay on the march....

[Joseph Simas]

Beautiful version——and timely poem, Tom.

[tom]

Thanks, Joey -- thanks to all who decide to post here.