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 to 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 Spanish inquisition
And the pogroms of Russia,
I have smelled the burning
Flesh of my children
At 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 dreamed 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 2007 Alfred Charasz