בס״ד
Terumah
The cheruvim slowly emerge,
from hammered gold, the dust of the earth,
the forged crust of the Aron itself.
They gaze softly, face to face,
through burnished eyes,
golden-feathered wings outspread,
a chuppah, gleaming, untarnished.
As if to say,
though adorned in Egypt’s trinkets,
love is the essential treasure,
around which to build,
a mishkan.
בס״ד
Mishpatim
He, who understood only harsh servitude,
had now witnessed awesome wonders -
plagues, a splitting sea, pillars of fire
and cloud.
The unearthly materialization
of coriander frost on desert sands,
rushing water from scorched stone,
pristine garments unwithered by time.
The terrifying voice of G-d,
careening down from
a mountain crowned in flame,
enwrapped in impenetrable cloud.
And yet, the life-long slave
gaped in humbled disbelief,
at that first mishpat,
that eleventh commandment,
which taught him, what it means to be,
a master.
בס״ד
Yisro
A d'var is a word, or simply a thing,
And letters make up each d'var,
But each letter itself is a note in G-d’s song,
Which at Sinai we heard from afar.
The Aseres Hadivros are not ten words,
And for certain not only ten things,
Imperatives, they are, on how to relate,
To each other, and also our King.
So why call them Aseres Hadivros?
Why not mitzva, tzivui or chok?
Plus the Torah itself never bothers to count,
We’re told: “All these d’varim G-d spoke”.
I’m thinking that words can be like letters too,
When they follow along in succession,
And each phrase or idea is itself a d'var,
To which the sum of its words gives expression.
Every utterance is only a part of the whole,
Each thought crucial to the intent,
They must harmonize into a minyan of song,
For the larger d’var to make sense.
