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The Breaking of the Vessels

Hebrew letters in a book, covered by a menorah with a star of david shining down
 
For Howard
 
I like to think you were contemplating God
in one form or another
when the first plane hit
At your desk on the 103rd floor
a smile on your lips
 
You were strolling the orchard
we wandered together
The land of Kabbalah and Zohar and wonder
seeing the light
so bright
that next to it
what we know as light
is darkness
 
I watched as you splashed science
on that class of Christians and agnostics and Buddhists and Jews
(we chuckled often at the odd combinations)
The “breaking of the vessels” that created the universe
was the Big Bang, you said
before you got lost in the dreams of angels
in a world created
not with thunderbolts or fire
or with jealousy or rage
but with words
with God just
“saying”
You listened harder than all of us
Even science could not save you
 
In the ruins of the towers
we walked through daily
you would have found letters
and added them up to find meaning
the Gematria of the mystics
revealed on Church Street
Reason in ashes
Your body became a Hebrew letter
in the burning village of our day
 
All of it no less unreal than your wife seeing on TV
the tower you worked in dissolve into dust
To hope you died quickly, did not fall
Alone and unhurt
Down 103 stories into smoke and debris
Watched
In the silence of terror
In the terror of hate
In the helplessness of love
 
At your memorial service
a cell phone rang
as your daughter gave a eulogy
A woman, astonished to discover that the phone was hers
stood, and scrambled, and dug it from her purse
as dozens stared, amused, relieved it wasn’t theirs
A stranger’s humiliation always safer
to witness than a daughter’s grief
 
But afterward, stuck in traffic, in the chaos of my city
in the madness of change
I braked to pay the toll
and I, who rarely weep, or follow anyone deep into the mysteries of faith
felt tears brimming
when I slid beyond the Talmud and Torah
the endless search for endless meaning
to land on this simple, brutal fact:
 
You will never
brake for a toll
on the Jersey Turnpike
again
 

Written for a friend who worked in the World Trade Center, who studied Jewish mysticism with the poet.

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