Honi the Encircler
(Honi the Encircler lived in Israel in the first century BCE. He was called the Encircler because in a drought year he would draw a circle, stand at its centre and declare: “Lord of Creation, I will not budge from here until you have mercy on your children” - whereupon it would begin to rain. Honi is said to have fallen asleep for 70 years and, upon awakening, found himself in a completely alien world.)
You who in the days of the king Hyrcanus
Were known as the one adept at miracles,
What do you know today?
Now, after your long sleep, as you return
To the graves of your forefathers,
To lie down with your forebears,
What do you remember?
Whom do you know?
That from the days of the King
Still remembers your greatness?
Do you really think
That because of your prayers at the crossroads,
The prayers lifted from the center
And answered by rains in the days of drought,
- That you are in a world redeemed?
You, who are unknown today, unrecognized,
Having returned after seventy hoary years
To the bored sleep of the complacent -
To look for the new - listen carefully:
The world will remain round,
Even without you -
No less than that old circle you once drew.
At night will still be heard
The snuffle of the sneezing goat
And dawn will rise like a tired bird
Trailing morning’s pallor
For a pailful of clarity.
And at noon, to the sound of croaking frogs
In the ditch of muddy water,
There will be a slaughter
Of the sacrificial bird of paradise
(As though you had never lived -
As if there had been
No circle, no awakening,
No new yearning).
Now you are as good as dead
Unloved, unknown,
Rushing around to find you,
Addled, confused,
With a heart that is everyone’s target -
Bloated with words that your tongue does not utter.
As you pass through the market of good deeds
You notice what a modest turnover there is,
How cautious the buyers are.
Your figure is bowed down
Like a wall crawling with lizards,
Your blood is no longer laden
With a heavy load of iron,
You easily go down, on all fours,
As if desiring to be drained of you,
But do not worry:
The custodian of souls
Is about to come
Any moment, now.
Were known as the one adept at miracles,
What do you know today?
Now, after your long sleep, as you return
To the graves of your forefathers,
To lie down with your forebears,
What do you remember?
Whom do you know?
That from the days of the King
Still remembers your greatness?
Do you really think
That because of your prayers at the crossroads,
The prayers lifted from the center
And answered by rains in the days of drought,
- That you are in a world redeemed?
You, who are unknown today, unrecognized,
Having returned after seventy hoary years
To the bored sleep of the complacent -
To look for the new - listen carefully:
The world will remain round,
Even without you -
No less than that old circle you once drew.
At night will still be heard
The snuffle of the sneezing goat
And dawn will rise like a tired bird
Trailing morning’s pallor
For a pailful of clarity.
And at noon, to the sound of croaking frogs
In the ditch of muddy water,
There will be a slaughter
Of the sacrificial bird of paradise
(As though you had never lived -
As if there had been
No circle, no awakening,
No new yearning).
Now you are as good as dead
Unloved, unknown,
Rushing around to find you,
Addled, confused,
With a heart that is everyone’s target -
Bloated with words that your tongue does not utter.
As you pass through the market of good deeds
You notice what a modest turnover there is,
How cautious the buyers are.
Your figure is bowed down
Like a wall crawling with lizards,
Your blood is no longer laden
With a heavy load of iron,
You easily go down, on all fours,
As if desiring to be drained of you,
But do not worry:
The custodian of souls
Is about to come
Any moment, now.
Written by Moshe D. Shafrir-Stillman