Maybe it’s time to say they should stop chilling prayers,
Beating back seasons with the summer’s central air
Along with hermetically sealed windows
In Breslov’s square shelter, behind Grace Gate.
When I tarry over spreading the white cloth,
There’s no room left on the two and half
Benches for girls,
Between the locked back door and ritual bath water,
Beside the nationalist scrawl on the wall
I have to conjure myself a place to meet the Divine Presence.
And that same boy who splits my sky in Safed
Here too screeches past the partition:
How fortunate you are, Israel.
Translated by: Atar Hadari
*Published in Makor Rishon newspaper, august 2008.