Gerry Jacobson
In Black and White
He bends over that ancient book, squinting. Perhaps he can hardly see. No glasses. He’s inside a synagogue in the shtetl in 1910. Is he my great-grandfather?
treetops
that sway in the wind…
are they spirits
of the ancestors…
omg they’re talking Yiddish
There are candle holders on the desk. How was it in those long dark winters? Lighting candles is such a pleasant ritual for us. But for them … by three o’clock on a winter afternoon, they really needed them to read, to pray. Was the synagogue heated?
Where did they come from? Where did they get those long clothes, those skullcaps, and black hats? Where did they get their (Yiddish) language? Why am I writing “they”? Shouldn’t I write “we”?
who’s hiding
in a white skin
and layers
of merino wool…
a cowering Jewish child
The darkness, the ghosts and echoes of a century ago, two centuries, three centuries. Fragments of prayer, songs, stories vibrating in my world of iPads and flat whites, long-haul flights, and Facebook.
a choir pops up
sings "shalom aleinu"
peace will come
but all that comes
is tears to my eyes
About the Author
Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia, and can be found writing tanka in its cafés. He was a geologist in a past life and now celebrates reincarnation as a dancer.
This is a brilliant and powerful piece. You’ve created a haunting atmosphere as you show us the scene of a synagogue. We feel your observations as you contemplate your Jewish heritage and its rituals. Your use of questions gives us a window into your thoughts. ou show us that the spirit of your ancestors remains amidst the flat whites and facebook. And that final tanka – so sad. May peace come.