THE HOLY REBBE FLOATS IN OLAM HABA

poem by Cassandra Zaharah Sagan

In honor of my beloved Rebbe, Aryeh Lev ben Sarah Leahv’Yakov ha Levi

There might have been a boat, a motor, an oar
There might have been a heart attack, a panic, a cramp
You might have been waving, you might have been flailing.

Was there a fish bite? A tangled line? A crack in the mask?

Absolutely there was joy, face down in the warm salt water
marveling at the hidden world beneath the world,
joy until the moment mayim flooded your chaim
maybe even then, we cannot know

we cannot follow you into the world to come
but we have the stories you loved to tell
all the holy rebbes and their mystical deaths
blue, and twisting, music buoyant as water
breath made of light, brilliant, flowing
How they returned to teach in dreams
How they lived in the hearts of their students

Maybe a yellow fish became the Baal Shem Tov’s carriage
transporting your neshama beyond your siddur of flesh
All the prayers are for the living
Maybe it was Chagall, swimming in stained glass
flying in the arms of the Beloved
Maybe you wrestled the Angel of the Deep
as your soul silently witnessed
Maybe the Angel was headed towards your loved ones on the shore
and you gave your own precious life

Maybe it was a vision, maybe you thought you could return
Maybe you found the spark that made the world whole
Maybe you are strolling through Gan Eden with Rabbi Akiba
Maybe the mythologies fused and scrambled, falling through space,
coyote tumbling from his tree, a bit of fur lodged in each of our hearts

Maybe it was the sun dance, the rock ridge, the eagle buckle holding up your jeans
Maybe you were laughing, an eel slithering beneath your heel
Maybe your Torah is made of light
Maybe you are the white space between the holy letters

Maybe you are still
floating in infinite, IN-spiring the hidden beauty beneath you
a tiny tube connecting you to the world of breath
the coral, the seaweed, the barnacled tortoise
the ripples of sunlight shimmering across your outstretched hands

Memory now, mayim, you are alive absolutely in our imagination
Inside our mouths, shaping the words of the ha motzi
Covering our eyes as we chant with you your last Shema
Ehad ehad ehad

January 8, 2009