Who is like You, G-d,
who has the power to create
something from nothing?
You alone, G-d, only
you and Bubbe.
There’s even a story:
from a worn coat, it is possible to sew
a vest; from a worn vest, a scarf;
a tie, a handkerchief, a button:
from a lost button it is possible
to spin a yarn,
a story.
Here is a story:
(bubbemeyse, grandmother’s tales
and a tale from great-grandmother
and great-great grandmother too.)
The story begins:
In the beginning G-d created the heaven and the earth,
the sea and all within it,
and the earth was chaos and void but
He patched it and mended it
and now the chaos and void is more or less in order
if you don’t look too hard at the seams.
Not much, but something.
At least we have a universe to wear
if the empty void of space is too cold.
And true, it wasn’t much.
Even G-d, the thrifty Bubbe of Bubbes
wanted to throw it in the trash
after only a few generations.
But He didn’t.
Like all bubbes
who keep scraps of fabric
He kept us.
In a box in his attic
He kept us.
We sat in the dark, half-forgotten.
One day there was a fire
and we almost died.
Like the princess who pricked her finger on a needle,
we were supposed to die but we only slept
and we woke again: groggy, half dead,
with stitches from the war.
But we knew that it is better
to be Frankenstein’s monster
alive and awake
than Sleeping Beauty still sleeping.
Therefore:
Blessed are You, G-d, who revives the dead,
and we will continue to wait for you
as we have waited already, twenty centuries already,
weaving and unraveling your story on our masechtot.
Again and again we rent our garments
and again and again we mended
and even when we wore yellow patches on our clothes
Still we patched, mended, kept
what was possible to keep
even though the very universe
is coming apart at the seams.
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