Wandering Jew

I am the wandering Jew,
The son of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,
Through the burning deserts I have traveled,
With parched lips,
From Ur to Haran into Canaan,
I have waded through the blood of my brethren
In my temple in Jerusalem,
And seen the Romans defile
My most holy of holies - my Torah,
I lived through the inquisition of Spain
And the pogroms of Russia,
I have smelled the burning flesh of my children
In the ovens of Buchenwald and Auschwitz,
I have heard the old Chasid
In his Kaftan stained crimson by German bayonets
Utter his death cry "Shema Isroel",
But I prayed to Jehovah
And dreamt of green pastures and quiet streams,
And God has heard my prayers
And led me to a land of milk and honey,
Where a man walks erect and keeps his head high.
As I sit in my garden under the weeping willows,
Where the gentle evening breeze
Carries the intoxicating fragrance
Of sweet flowers to my nostrils,
And I listen to the innocent laughter of my children,
I thank my Lord, and yet,
In the innermost recesses of my soul,
Where one dares not to look too often,
I ask myself,
When shall I have to leave all this,
For I am the wandering Jew.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2003 Alfred Charasz