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‫יהודה ה�וי‬
‫שירים נבחרים‬
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TH E S E LE CTE D P OE MS OF

Yehuda Halevi
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TRANSLATED & ANNOTATED BY

Hillel Halkin
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Copyright © 2011 by Hillel Halkin. All rights reserved.

Published by Nextbook, Inc., a not-for-profit project

devoted to the promotion of Jewish literature, culture,
and ideas. This material may not be copied without
crediting the translator and the publisher.
nextbookpress.com

ISBN: 978-0-615-43367-7

Designed and composed by Scott-Martin Kosofsky,

at The Philidor Company, Lexington, Massachusetts.
philidor.com
A note on the typefaces appears on the last page.
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Click on pages or titles
for quick links to the pages.
iv
Foreword by Jonathan Rosen

Table of Contents v
Introduction by Hillel Halkin
‫רשימת השירים‬
1
The Poet Thanks an Admirer for a Jug of Wine
‫בך אעיר זמרות‬
2
To Moshe ibn Ezra, on His Leaving Andalusia
‫איך אחריך אמצאה מרגוע‬
3 4
To Yitzhak ibn el-Yatom Carved on a Tombstone
‫ ארץ כילדה היתה יונקת‬ ‫הידעו הדמעות מי שפכם‬
5 6
A Wedding Poem Ofra
‫ עזוב לראות אשר יהיה והיה‬ ‫עפרה‬
7
Love’s War
‫לקראת חלל חשקך קרב החזיקי‬
8
Why, My Darling, Have You Barred All News? 
‫מה לך צביה תמנעי ציריך‬
9 10
On the Death of Yehuda ibn Ezra  A Lament for Moshe ibn Ezra
‫ ראה זמן כי האנוש הבל‬ ‫ידענוך נדד מימי עלומים‬
11 12
On the Death of a Daughter  Lord, Where Will I Find You?
‫ הה בתי השכחת משכנך‬ ‫יה אנה אמצאך‬
13 14
The Dream Nishmat
‫ נמת ונרדמת‬ ‫יחידה שחרי האל וספיו‬
15 16
Barkhu  Ge’ula
‫ יעירוני בשמך רעיוני‬ ‫יעבר עלי רצונך‬
17 18
Ahava  Waked By My Thoughts
‫ יעלת חן ממעונה רחקה‬ ‫יעירוני רעיוני‬
  19 20
Lord, You Are My Sole Desire  In the Temple
‫ אדני נגדך כל תאותי‬ ‫אלהי משכנותיך ידידות‬
21 22
My Heart in the East  To Jerusalem
‫ לבי במזרח‬ ‫יפה נוף משוש תבל‬
23
 Zion, Do You Wonder?
‫ציון הלא תשאלי לשלום אסיריך‬
24
A Man in Your Fifties
‫התרדף נערות אחר חמשים‬
25
Driven by Longing for the Living God
‫הציקתני תשוקתי לאל חי‬
26
A Letter from Aboard Ship
‫קראו עלי בנות ומשפחות‬
27 28
At Sea  Egypt
‫ הבא מבול‬ ‫ראה ערים‬
29
From Age to Age
‫אלהי פלאך דור דור ירחש‬
30
Let’s Have More Lutes for the Lovely Girls
‫יפי קול קדמו כנור ליפות‬
31
By the Nile
‫הפשט הזמן בגדי חרדות‬
32
On Shlomo ibn Gabbai  
‫בשוטי מעברות מזרח ותימן‬
33
On Boarding Ship in Alexandria 
‫לעת כזאת‬
34 35
On Parting from Aharon el-Ammani West Wind 
‫ הרף שאון ים‬ ‫ זה רוחך צד מערב רקוח‬
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YEHUDA  HALEVI, who lived more than 900 years ago, was arguably the greatest poet
Judaism has produced, and one of the world’s great poets. Nextbook Press is pleased
Foreword to make available this collection of 35 poems by Halevi in their original Hebrew,
alongside masterful translations by renowned essayist, critic, and translator Hillel
Jonathan Rosen
Halkin. Each poem has been annotated by Halkin to offer brief commentary and
Editorial Director
context for a poet who could be intensely erotic, confessional, spiritual, and liturgical,
Nextbook, Inc.
often at the same time.
   This collection of poems is a companion volume to Yehuda Halevi, the magiste-
rial biography written by Halkin and published by Nextbook/Schocken Books in
2010. In that book, Halkin tells one of the greatest romantic stories in all of Jewish
history. Halevi was born in Spain at the height of its Golden Age, but though he was
celebrated as a master of the poetic forms of this most poetic era, enjoying wealth and
fame as a poet, physician, and sage, in 1140, then in his late sixties, he turned his back
on Spain and sailed for Crusader-ruled Palestine.
   For hundreds of years, legend had it that Halevi was killed by a Muslim horse-
man at the gates of Jerusalem. Although even today it is not clear how much truth
there is in this, modern scholarship has revealed that he did die in the land of Israel
within several months of arriving there. Halkin traces the overlapping strands of
myth and history, the secular and the sacred, the rootedness of Spain and the un-
quenchable longing for the land of Israel that Halevi braided into his poetry, and that
Judaism braided into its legend of the poet. We hope readers of this volume will want
to turn to Halkin’s Yehuda Halevi for a full portrait of the man and his world and its
meaning. But we are extremely pleased to give readers a chance to encounter Halevi
purely as a poet, both in the original Hebrew and in the English of a master translator.
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THE ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS of the 35 poems posted below all appear as part of my
biography of Yehuda Halevi published by Schocken Books and Nextbook in 2010. In
Introduction preparing the book for publication, I had wanted to include the original poems in an
appendix, so that readers with some knowledge of Hebrew could read them with the
Hillel Halkin
help of the English and have a better idea of both what Yehuda Halevi and I had done.
Translator & Annotator
Unfortunately, this proved impractical. I am therefore grateful to Nextbook for mak-
ing possible on the Internet what could not be done in print.
   A few, brief words on technical matters for those who are interested:
   Translating Hispano-Hebrew poetry into English is in some respects a more dif-
ficult task than translating French, German, or Russian poetry. This is because, of its
two main formal characteristics, Arabic-style mono-rhyme and Arabic-style quantita-
tive meter, the first is rarely reproducible in English and the second never is.
   Mono-rhyme—the repetition of a single rhyming syllable throughout a poem, no
matter how long it is—is possible in Hebrew and Arabic because both languages have
numerous stressed grammatical suffixes that can be rhymed line after line. An example
of this is Poem 10, “A Lament For Moshe ibn Ezra,” in which the last word of every one
of the poem’s 34 Hebrew lines has the masculine plural ending –im. (A line in most
Hispano-Hebrew poems was a distich numbering between 20 and 30 syllables and
divided into two equal hemistichs. Because the Hebrew texts in this selection were
taken from different anthologies, some poems appear with longer, distich-length lines
and some with the shorter, hemistich-length ones into which their editors divided
them.) In English, on the other hand, grammatical suffixes like “–s,” “–ing,” and “–ed”
are unstressed and do not rhyme.
   To be sure, Arabic-style mono-rhyming in Hebrew is not so easy, either, since the
initial consonant of the rhyming syllable must repeat itself, too; thus, in “A Lament For
Moshe ibn Ezra,” each line ends in –mim and Halevi had to restrict himself to plurals
of nouns, verbs, and adjectives having the final Hebrew letter mem. Yet Hebrew has
large inventories of such words, whereas a mono-rhymed 34-line poem in English is all
but unimaginable.
   Although such a rhyme scheme in a Hispano-Hebrew poem, especially a long
one, may seem monotonous to our ears, its purpose is not the same as that of European
rhyme. Rather than create a varied pattern of sameness-within-difference that links
certain lines while separating them from others (as in a sonnet, for instance), it func-
tions like a repetitive drum beat or plucked chord, regularly marking the point where
one musical phrase ends and the next begins. Nor is the English translator completely
helpless in the face of it. He can rhyme in some places and not others, or resort to long
strings of slant-rhymes or unstressed English suffixes that do not rhyme. In different
translations, I have tried all of these methods.
   As for Arabic quantitative meter, it depends on a regular alteration of long and
short syllables, the distinction between which is intrinsic to Arabic phonetics and
grammar. In point of fact, not only English, but Hebrew as well, recognizes no such
distinction. Yet in Hispano-Hebrew poetry, starting with the mid-10th century, vow-
els came to be arbitrarily defined as long or short to adapt them to the Arabic system.
The shva na, h.ataf patah., h.ataf kamatz, and h.ataf segol, and sometimes the conjunctive
shuruk, were treated as short; all other vowels, as long. Apart from liturgical verse,
most Hispano-Hebrew poems of Halevi's age were composed according to this system,
which no English translation can convey.
   Here, too, however, the English translator is not without recourses. Since, for
grammatical reasons, Hispano-Hebrew’s “short” syllables are all unstressed, Arabic-
style quantitative meter in Hebrew tends to result in regular patterns of stressed and
unstressed syllables like those found in English poetry, so that a line of Yehuda Halevi’s
read aloud is not very different in its metrical effect from, say, a line of John Donne’s.
In translating Halevi’s poetry, therefore, I have generally fallen back on the common
English meters. These do not necessarily have the same stressed/unstressed sequences
as does Halevi’s Hebrew, and I often chose them on the basis of the first line or two of
a translation to come to mind, instinctively following my ear without noticing where
it was leading me—but this, after all, is how a great deal of metrical poetry gets writ-
ten. Because medieval Hebrew is a more highly inflected and compact language than
English, I also usually turned the hemistiches of Halevi’s Hebrew into separate lines of
English. In some cases, I broke Halevi’s verse into separate stanzas in places where he
did not have them.
   Hispano-Hebrew poets did not punctuate their work; all the punctuation marks
in this selection of poems have been added for intelligibility either by myself or by
other anthologists. Nor did the poets of Halevi’s time give titles to their poems, which
were known to their readers and to posterity by their first words or line. In some cases,
I have followed this practice in English. In others, I have given poems titles of my own.
   In short, in translating these poems I have not followed any one strategy. Each
poem was a challenge in its own right and I sometimes responded to similar challenges
in different ways. Like all Hispano-Hebrew poets, Halevi was extremely fond of puns,
complicated wordplay, and alliteration, and I have sought to represent these aspects of
his verse, too—although, again, not always on a direct basis: an alliterative cluster of
words in one of his lines may have been transferred by me to another, a play on words
that I could not capture where it occurred may have had a different one substituted for
it further on.
   Like all great poets, Yehuda Halevi is translatable, but like all great poets, too, he
is a greater poet in his own language. I hope the 35 poems appearing below in Hebrew
and English will convince the reader of both these truths.
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‫ָאע יר זְ ִמ רֹות‬
ִ �‫ְּב‬
The Poet Thanks an Admirer for a Jug of Wine 

Although not necessarily the earliest

poem of Halevi’s to have come down
,‫מֹותי ַּוב ְע ִס ְיס� ֲא ֶׁשר ָמצּו ְׂש ָפ ָתי‬
ַ ְ‫ָאעיר זְ ִמרֹות ָּכל י‬ ִ �‫ְּב‬
to us, this is the earliest that is datable,
written, as its last, punning stanza in-
,‫נֹותי‬
ָ ‫ָאחי ֶא ְק ְרָאה ֶאל ַּכד ְׁש ַל ְחּתֹו ִּומ ִּפיו ֶא ְט ֲע ָמה טּוב ִמגְ ְּד‬ ִ ְ‫ו‬
forms us, when the poet was not yet 24.
(In Hebrew, the pun is on the word kad,
”? ‫סֹובא וְ ֵע ֶקב ז ֹאת ְׁש ֵאלּונִ י “ ְל ָמ ַתי‬
ֵ ‫ֲע ֵדי ֵר ַעי ֲח ָׁשבּונִ י ְל‬
“jug,” whose two letters kaf and dalet ?‫לֹותי‬
ָ ‫ “ ֵאי� ְצ ִרי גִ ְל ָעד ְלנֶ גְ ִּדי– וְ �א ֶא ְׁש ֶּתה ְל ַר ֵּפא ַמ ֲח‬,‫ֲענִ ִיתים‬
have the numerical value of 20 and four.)
This does not, of course, mean that he
was 23, as he could have been quite a
”!‫נֹותי‬
ַ ‫וְ ֵא ָיכה ֶא ְמ ֲא ָסה ַב ַכד ֲע ֶדנָ ה– וְ עֹוד �א נָ גְ עּו ַעד ַּכ“ ד ְׁש‬
few years younger. In any event, he was
sitting, so it would seem, in a tavern I shall sing your praise all my days
with friends when an admirer sent over For the nectar you sent for my lips.
a jug of wine, to which he replied with
some improvised verse. Brother Jug joins in my lays,
  “The Poet Thanks an Admirer” is writ-
And from him I won’t cease my sips
ten in five mono-rhymed distichs, each
composed of two 11-syllable hemistichs.
Its meter, known in Hebrew as the Even though all my friends say, “Come, come!
m’rubeh, is short-long-long-long, short- How much longer will you play the rake?”
long-long-long, short-long-long. As was
customary in mono-rhymed poems, the “What?” I’ll reply. “I have Gilead’s balm
rhyming syllable is introduced by the in-
ternal rhyme of y’motai and s’fatai in the
And shan’t drink to cure every ache?
first distich. The poem’s 10 hemistichs
have been rearranged in my translation “I’m too young to put down the cup
as the 12 lines of three predominantly
I’ve only begun to pick up. To and for
anapestic, ABAB-rhymed English qua-
trains. What end should I stop
When my years are not yet two and four?”
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As an aspiring young poet, Yehuda
R2S
Halevi left the Christian north of Spain
in which he was born for the Muslim
south, with its more lively and sophis- ?‫ּגֹוע‬
ַ ‫ַאח ֶרי� ֶא ְמ ְצָאה ַמ ְר‬
ֲ �‫ֵאי‬
ticated literary culture. There, in Anda-
lusia, the great Hispano-Hebrew poet  To Moshe ibn Ezra, On His Leaving Andalusia 
and critic Moshe ibn Ezra (1055–1135)
was his first and most important literary
patron. Ibn Ezra belonged to a wealthy
and prominent family in Granada, but
following the Almoravid conquest of
? ‫ּגֹוע‬
ַ ‫ַאח ֶרי� ֶא ְמ ְצָאה ַמ ְר‬ ֲ �‫ֵאי‬ Where, now that you are gone, will I find rest?
that city in 1090, which took place .‫ּנֹוע‬
ַ ִ‫ָּתנַ ע וְ ַה ֵּלב ִע ְּמ� י‬ When you departed, with you went all hearts,
when Halevi was in his teens, he was And had they not believed you would return,
driven into exile in northern Spain. In �‫ׁשּוב‬
ְ ‫לּולי ְל ָבבֹות יִ ֲחלּו יֹום‬ ֵ
this poem of farewell, Halevi calls him The day you left them would have been their last.
“Beacon of the West” because Andalusia .‫ה תּ ְמנּו ִלגְ ַ�ע‬
ַ ‫ָאז יֹום ְּפ ִר ָיד‬ Be my witnesses, wild mountains that you crossed,
was at the western end of the medieval
Muslim world. To reach Christian terri- ‫ֵהן ַה ְר ֵרי ֶב ֶתר יְ ִעידון ּכִ י ְמ ַטר‬ That heaven’s rains are scant when set against
tory, Ibn Ezra would have had to cross
its high mountains to the Castilian pla- .‫ׁשֹוע‬
ַ ‫ַׁש ַחק ְמא ֹד ּכִ ַילי וְ ִד ְמ ִעי‬ My wealth of tears. Beacon of the West,
teau. These are refigured in the poem
as Mount Hermon, the Land of Israel’s ‫ ֶהיֵ ה‬,�‫נֵ ר ַמ ֲע ָר ִבי ׁשּוב ְל ַמ ְע ָר ָב‬ Be again our seal and coat-of-arms!
What will you do, O peerless tongue, among the dumb,
tallest peak, and lowly Mount Gilboa,
cursed with barrenness by the biblical !‫רֹוע‬
ַ ְ‫חֹותם ֲע ֵלי ָכל ֵלב וְ ָכל ֶאז‬ ָ
Like Hermon’s dew on bare Gilboa cast?
David, the two symbolizing the more
cultivated Spanish south and the less
,‫ ַמה ְל� ֶאל ִע ְּלגִ ים‬,‫רּורה‬ ָ ‫ָׂש ָפה ְב‬
lettered north.
  Like “The Poet Thanks an Admirer,”
? ‫ּבֹוע‬
ַ ‫אֹו ַמה ְל ַטל ֶח ְרמֹון ֱא ֵלי גִ ְל‬
“To Moshe ibn Ezra” consists of five
distichs, which have the mono-rhyme
of –o’a. Its meter, known as the shalem,
is long-long-short-long, long-long-short-
long. long-long-long. The m’rubeh and
the shalem were the two meters most
favored by Halevi, who wrote a high per-
centage of his poems in them. The meter
of the translation is that old English
mainstay, iambic pentameter, and I have
used similarly ending half-rhymes (“rest,”
“last,” “crossed,” “against,” “West,” “cast”)
in six of the translation’s ten lines.
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R3S

‫ֶא ֶרץ ְּכ יַ ְל ָּדה ָה יְ ָת ה יֹונֶ ֶקת‬

To Yitzhak ibn el-Yatom 

A wealthy Andalusian Jew, Yitzhak ibn

el-Yatom was a patron of Yehuda
‫ֶא ֶרץ ְּכיַ ְל ָּדה ָהיְ ָתה יֹונֶ ֶקת‬ The earth’s an infant, sucking at the breast
Halevi’s in the period following Moshe ,‫ּגִ ְׁש ֵמי ְס ָתו ֶא ְתמֹול וְ ָעב ֵמינֶ ֶקת‬ Of winter’s showers, the clouds her wet nurse—
ibn Ezra’s banishment from Andalusia. Or better yet, a maiden, long kept indoors by cold,
Hispano-Hebrew poets were expected ,‫אֹו ָהיְ ָתה כַ ָּלה ְּכלּוָאה בַ ְּס ָתו‬
to praise their patrons lavishly in verse, Who longed for love. Now, the warm days here,
and not all of the flattery in this poem ,‫ׁשֹוק ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫ַאה ָבה‬ ֲ ‫נַ ְפ ַׁשּה ְל ִעּתֹות‬ Her pining heart is healed. Coquettishly,
need be assumed to have been sincere.
Yet it is marvelously well-crafted flat- ‫ּדֹודים ֲע ֵדי נָ גַ ע זְ ַמן‬ ִ ‫ָח ְׁש ָקה ְל ֵעת‬ She stepped outside today in a new dress,
tery, written in an Arabic form known
as the qasida, a longish poem that .‫ַקיִ ץ ּובֹו נִ ְר ָּפא ְלבַ ב ח ֶֹׁש ֶקת‬ White-trimmed with gold embroidery,
begins with a secondary theme—here,
a description of a flower-strewn An- ‫ִּב ְלבּוׁש ֲערּוגַ ת ָּפז וְ ִר ְק ַמת ֵׁשׁש ְּכבַ ת‬ Long skirt spread wide. Yet every day
She wears a different pattern of wild flowers:
dalusian spring morning into which a
group of early-rising picnickers ventures ,‫ִמ ְת ַעּנְ גָ ה ִּב ְלבּוׁש ִּומ ְת ַּפּנֶ ֶקת‬
Now pink, now turquoise, now a pearly pale,
with a hamper of wine. Only when this
scene has been fully developed does
‫מֹות תּ ֲח ִליף‬ ַ ‫ָּכל יֹום ֲח ִליפֹות ָה ְר ָק‬ Now blushing red as though kissed by a lover.
the poet introduce his main theme,
the extolling of “the dearest friend,” Ibn
.‫ְּול ָכל ְס ִב ֶיב ָיה ְּכסּות ח ֶֹל ֶקת‬ So glorious a garland must have been
el-Yatom, whose first name of Yitzhak,
like that of the biblical patriarch, means
,�ֹ ‫ים תּ ֲהפ‬ ַ ‫ִמּיֹום ְליֹום ֵעינֵ י ְצ ָמ ִח‬ Stolen by her from the stars in heaven!
“he laughs.”
  The Hebrew is mono-rhymed. Apart
,‫ֵעין ַּדר ְל ֵעין א ֶ ֹדם וְ ֵעין ָּב ֶר ֶקת‬
from a few places, such as the poem’s ‫ת תּ ֲא ִּדים‬ ַ ‫תֹוריק ֵעת וְ גַ ם ֵע‬ ִ ְ‫ַתּ ְל ִּבין ו‬
closing lines, my translation foregoes
rhyming. .‫ִּת ְמ ִׁשיל ְצ ִבּיָ ה א ֲֹה ָבּה נ ֶֹׁש ֶקת‬
‫יָ פּו ְפ ָר ֶח ָיה ְמא ֹד ַעד ֶא ֱחׁשֹוב‬
.‫כֹוכבֵ י ֵאל ָהיְ ָתה ע ֶֹׁש ֶקת‬ ְ ‫ּכִ י‬
‫ַּפ ְר ֵּדס ְׁש ָל ֶח ָיה ְׁש ַח ְרנּוהּו ְּבבַ ת‬ Come, then, let us picnic on her greensward
,‫ַאה ָבה ַהנִ ֶּׁש ֶקת‬ ֲ ‫ּגֶ ֶפן ְּב ִר ְׁש ֵּפי‬ With the passionate daughters of the vine!
(Chilly to the touch, they’re inward fire,
‫ָק ָרה ְּכק ֹר ֶׁש ֶלג ְּביַ ד ּת ְֹפ ָׂשּה ֲא ָבל‬
Hot with sunshine hoarded in a pot
.‫ּדֹול ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫ֵּבינֹות ְק ָר ָביו ִהיא ְכ ֵאׁש‬ And poured from there into the finest crystal.)
‫ס תּ ֲע ֶלה‬ ַ ‫ִמּתֹו� ְּכ ִלי ֶח ֶרׂש ְּכ ֶח ֶר‬ We’ll greet the dawn in a tree-shaded park,
,‫מּוצ ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫נַ ּגִ יׁש ְּכ ֵלי ׁש ַֹהם וְ ִהיא‬ Whose boughs weep softly from a last
‫�� תּ ַחת ְצ ָל ִלים ַעל ְס ִביב‬ ַ ‫ָּבּה נַ ֲה‬   spring rain,
As through her tears she smiles and wipes away
.‫ּגַ ּנָ ּה ְל ִב ְכיַ ת ָה ְר ִביב ׂש ֶֹח ֶקת‬
The drops that fall like beads of glass unstrung,
‫ִּת ְׂש ַמח וְ ִד ְמ ַעת ָעב ְּב ָפנֶ ָיה ְר ִסיס‬ Rejoicing with the vine’s juice and the jays
;‫זֹור ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫דֹולח ֵמ ֲענָ ק‬ ַ ‫ּכִ זְ ר ֹק ְּב‬ And murmuring doves, and fluttering gaily,
‫ָּת ִׂשיׂש ֲע ֵלי קֹול ִסיס ְּכ ַעל ָע ִסיס וְ קֹול‬ Like a dancing girl, behind a veil of leaves.
;‫יֹונָ ה ְמנַ ֶהגֶ ת וְ סֹוד ַמ ְמ ֶּת ֶקת‬
‫ָּתרֹן ְּב ַעד ָע ֶלה ְּכרֹן ַע ְל ָמה ְּב ַעד‬
.‫ָמ ָס� וְ ר ֶֹק ֶדת ִּומ ְׁש ַתּ ְק ֶׁש ֶקת‬
‫רּוח ַה ְּׁש ָח ִרים ִׁש ֲח ָרה‬ ַ ‫נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְל‬ I fain would rise at such a sunrise to a breeze
.‫ּכִ י ָבּה ְל ֵר ַיח ַהיְ ִדיד ח ֶֹב ֶקת‬ That brings embraces from a dearest friend!
Let it play around the myrtle’s branches
‫רּוח ְמ ַׂש ֶח ֶקת וְ ָתנִ יף ַה ֲה ַדס‬ ַ
And bear their scent to cherished hearts afar
,‫ֵריחֹו ְלח ְֹׁש ִקים ָר ֲחקּו ַמ ְר ֶח ֶקת‬ While palm trees clap their hands at the
‫ְּוס ִעיף ֲה ַדס יִ גְ ֶאה וְ יִ ָּכ ֵפל וְ כַ ף‬   birds’ song,
,‫סֹופ ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫ָּת ָמר ְּברֹן ִצּפֹור ְלכַ ף‬ So that they wave and bow to Yitzhak,
‫נֹופ ָפה ִמ ְׁש ַתּ ֲחוָ ה נֶ גֶ ד ְּפנֵ י‬ ְ ‫ִמ ְת‬ Whose name means laughter and with whom
  all laugh.
.‫יִ ְצ ָחק וְ ֵת ֵבל ִעם ְׁשמֹו צ ֶֹח ֶקת‬
“It is a godly jest,” the whole world says,
‫ “ ֲה�א ָע ָׂשה ֱאלהיִ ֹ ם ִלי ְצחֹוק‬,‫ֹאמר‬ ַ ‫ת‬ “To put the All in thrall to just one man!”
”!‫ּכִ י בַ ֲעב ֹת יִ ְצ ָחק ֲאנִ י מֻ ְחזֶ ֶקת‬ And I reply: Refute me if you can,
‫ וְ ֵאין ֵמ ִׁשיב ֲא ָמ ַרי ַעל ְׁשבַ ח‬:‫א ַֹמר‬ But Yitzhak’s glory cannot be denied.
.‫הֹודֹו וְ אזֶ ֹ ן ָׁש ְמ ָעה ַמ ְצ ֶּד ֶקת‬ Although no ordinary grandee is all good
Without a modicum of bad, in him
–‫ֵׁשם ָּכל נְ ִד ִיבים נֶ ֱח ַלק ֶאל טֹוב וְ ַרע‬
Not a smatter of the latter’s to be had.
!‫ָאכן ְׁשמֹו ַרק טֹוב ְּב ִלי ַמ ְח ֶל ֶקת‬ ֵ My ears are gladdened when, thinking of him,
‫ַמה נָ ֲע ָמה ָאזְ נִ י ְב ִׁש ְמעֹו ַּכ ֲא ֶׁשר‬ I hear his name; think then how seeing him
,‫עֹוס ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְבזִ ְכרֹו ָהיְ ָתה‬ Would double and redouble my acclaim!
‫זֹותּה ֶאת ְּדמּותֹו יָ ְס ָפה‬ ָ ‫ַא� ַּב ֲח‬
!‫ֶׁשבַ ח וְ ִכ ְפ ַליִ ם ְל ִׁשיר ַמ ְע ֶּת ֶקת‬
‫ָּב� ַהּגְ ִביר יִ ְצ ָחק ְל ׁשֹונִ י ַת ֲענֶ ה‬ For you, Don Isaac, my voice flows in pure verse,
,‫יר תּ ְח ִּביר וְ �א ַמ ְפ ֶס ֶקת‬ ַ ‫ַצחֹות וְ ִׁש‬ The pursuance of your praises my life’s pledge.
Yet how win the race to add to these
‫ּכִ י ֶא ְכ ְר ָתה ִע ָּמ� יְ ֵמי ַחּיַ י ְּב ִרית‬
When you are surrounded by such honors?
.‫ִמ ַּמ ֲה ָל ְל� ַּבל ְּת ִהי ׁש ֶֹת ֶקת‬ All the virtues have pitched camp in you,
‫ַמה ז ֹאת ֲא ַק ֵדּם ִמ ְּׁש ָב ֶחי� וְ ֵהן‬ And your wisdom rallies their joint forces;
?‫נַ ְפ ָׁש� ְב ָכל ִמינֵ י יְ ָקר מֻ ְד ֶּב ֶקת‬ Drinking deeply from discernment’s sources,
‫ָאה ֵל ֶיהם ָּת ְקעּו‬ ֳ ‫ָּב� ַהּנְ ִדיבֹות‬ You plumb the mysteries of things unseen,
Whose knowledge nests and frolics in your being.
.‫ְּול� ְּתבּונָ ה ַמ ֲחנֶ ה ַמזְ ֶע ֶקת‬
Go forth and multiply, and give your progeny
‫דֹודי ַה ְּתבּונָ ה ָרוְ ָתה‬ ֵ ‫נַ ְפ ָׁש� ְּב‬ The spirit of your generosity,
,‫ּבֹוד ֶקת‬ֶ ‫ַאח ִרית‬ ֲ ‫ְּול ַת ֲעלֻ ָמה‬ And may their sons and son’s sons have more sons
‫ּכִ י ָמ ְצָאה ֵקן ָלּה ְּב ִל ָּב� וַ ְּת ִהי‬ On whom God’s grace rains down its benisons!
.‫ִמ ְׁש ַתּ ְע ְׁש ָעה ִע ָּמ� ִּומ ְת ַר ֶּפ ֶקת‬
�‫ָל ֵכן ְּפ ֵרה ְּור ֵבה וְ ַהנְ ֵחל זַ ְר ֲע‬
,‫רּוח נְ ִד ָיבה ָל� וְ יָ ד ַמ ְענֶ ֶקת‬ ַ
‫ְּור ֵאה ְבנֵ י ָבנִ ים ְל ָבנֶ י� וְ ָעב‬
.‫יֹוצ ֶקת‬ ֶ ‫ֶח ֶסד ֲע ֵל ֶיהם ִּת ְהיֶ ה‬
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‫ֲהיֵ ְד עּו ַה ְּד ָמ עֹות ִמ י ְׁש ָפ ָכ ם‬

Carved on a Tombstone 

In addition to the financial support of

patrons, the young Halevi made a liv-
‫ֲהיֵ ְדעּו ַה ְּד ָמעֹות ִמי ְׁש ָפ ָכם‬ Does the tear know whose cheek it runs down,
ing by writing verse to order for occa-
sions like weddings and funerals. Only
?‫וְ יֵ ְדעּו ַה ְּל ָבבֹות ִמי ֲה ָפ ָכם‬ Or the heart by whom it is turned?
It turns to its light that is now in the ground,
three distichs long, this little poem was ‫אֹורם ּתֹו� ְרגָ ִבים‬ ָ ‫ֲה ָפ ָכם ּבֹוא ְמ‬
composed for the tombstone of an And the ground knows not who has returned.
unknown “grandee.” Its lovely music .‫תֹוכם‬ָ ‫וְ �א יֵ ְדעּו ְרגָ ִבים ַמה ְּב‬ Returned is a grandee of our town,
depends equally on its mono-rhyme of
–kham and its repetition of key words ,‫ ָּתם וְ יָ ָׁשר‬,‫תֹוכם ַׂשר וְ גָ דֹול‬
ָ ‫ְּב‬ A man who feared God and was upright and learned.
(e.g., hafakham, r’gavim, b’tokham) at
the end and beginning of consecutive .‫יְ ֵרא ָה ֵאל וְ ִאיש נָ בֹון וְ ָח ָכם‬
lines, causing it to double back on itself
each time that it also moves forward.
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R5S

‫ֲע זֹוב ִל ְראֹות ֲא ֶׁש ר יִ ְה יֶ ה וְ ָה יָ ה‬

A Wedding Poem

The identity of the couple whose wed-

ding Halevi celebrated in this poem
‫ֲעזֹוב ִל ְראֹות ֲא ֶׁשר יִ ְהיֶ ה וְ ָהיָ ה‬ Leave what was and what will be.
is also unknown. Moving from initial
humor to ultimate gravity, his poem was
!‫וְ ַקח ָל� ֵמ ֲא ֶׁשר ִּת ְר ֶאה ְר ִאּיָ ה‬ Stick to what you plainly see!

undoubtedly meant to be read aloud ‫ְצ ִבי יָ צּוד ְּב ֵעינָ יו ָה ֲא ָריֹות‬ Every lad must hunt his lion,
to the wedding guests. For all its light
touch, its final declaration that every ,‫צּודּנּו ְב ֵעינֵ ָיה ְצ ִבּיָ ה‬
ֶ ‫ְּת‬ And each lass should keep her eye on

groom and bride are an Adam and Eve
illuminating, however briefly, a fallen ‫ְּב ַעיִ ן ִאם ְּת ִמ ֶיתּנּו וְ יָ מּות‬ Her young man: One look can bag him,
world with new hope is a solemn one.
  I have translated the poem’s six dis- .‫וְ ָׂש ָפה ִאם ְּת ַחיֵ הּו וְ ָחיָ ה‬ And a single word may snag him.
tichs as English couplets, each with its
own rhyme. ‫ַאבנֵ י יְ ָקר ֵה ָּמה וְ ָה ֵאל‬ ְ ‫ְׁשנֵ י‬ Yet when to a gem a gem engaged is,
,‫ֲא ָס ָפם ִל ְהיֹות ֶא ֶבן ְׁש ִתּיָ ה‬ God joins them in a rock of ages
‫אֹורי אֹור ְּב ֶא ֶרץ ַמ ֲא ֵפ ְליָ ה‬ ֵ ‫ְמ‬ Whose bright rays light up the dark
.‫וְ נַ ֲה ֵרי נַ ֲח ֵלי ֵע ֶדן ְּב ִצּיָ ה‬ And of this waste make Eden’s park.
‫יְ ָקר נִ ְת ָלה ְּב ָכבֹוד ִמין ְּב ִמינֹו‬ By two such souls we now stand blessed
.‫ְּכ ִה ָּתלֹות ְּכ ֻהּנָ ה בַ ְלוִ ּיָ ה‬ As though by Levite and by Priest.
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R6S

‫ָע ְפ ָר ה‬
Ofra

The subject of this bantering epigram

may have been a real woman with
‫ָע ְפ ָרה ְּתכַ ֵּבס ֶאת ְּבגָ ֶד ָיה ְּב ֵמי‬ Ofra does her laundry in my tears
whom the young Halevi conducted a :‫ִּד ְמ ִעי וְ ִת ְׁש ָט ֵחם ְל ֶׁש ֶמׁש זָ ֳה ָרּה‬ And dries it in the sunshine she gives off.
disappointing flirtation or simply a pre- She doesn’t have to take it to the trough,
text for a display of wit. “Ofra,” in any ‫�א ָׁש ֲא ָלה ֵמי ָה ֲעיָ נֹות– ִעם ְׁש ֵּתי‬
case, would certainly not have been the Or wait to hang it till the weather clears.
young lady’s real name. The word means .‫ וְ �א ֶׁש ֶמׁש– ְלי ִֹפי ָת ֳא ָרּה‬,‫ֵעינַ י‬
“doe” in Hebrew, and stags and does
were conventional metaphors for male
and female lovers in the Arabic and
Hebrew poetry of the age.
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R7S

‫יק י‬
ִ ִ‫ִל ְק ַראת ֲח ַלל ִח ְׁש ֵק� ְק ָר ב ַה ְח ז‬
Love’s War 

In their fusing together of the physical

and the spiritual, their love of fanciful
.‫ַאה ָבה ַה ְד ִל ִיקי‬
ֲ ‫ ְּוב ֵאׁש נְ ד ֹד ָה‬,‫ִל ְק ַראת ֲח ַלל ִח ְׁש ֵק� ְק ָרב ַה ְחזִ ִיקי‬
conceits, and the playful intricacy of !‫ וַ ְאנִ י ְּבנַ ְפ ִׁשי ֶא ְמ ֲא ָסה– ָה ִר ִיקי‬,‫ל־ּכן ְּת ִר ִיקין ִלי ֲחנִ ית‬ ֵ ‫ַאס ְּת ִּבי ַע‬ ְ ‫ָמ‬
their language, the great Hispano-
Hebrew poets of the 11th and 12th .‫ ִק ְר ִבי וְ ִר ְכ ֵבי ַהּנְ ד ֹד ַה ְר ִח ִיקי‬,‫ּדֹוד� ְׁש ִבי‬
ֵ ‫ �א־טֹוב ֱהיֹות‬,‫ַר ְעיַ ת ְצ ִבי‬
centuries have been compared to the
Metaphysical poets of 17th-century .‫ְּודבַ ׁש וְ ָח ָלב א ֲֹה ֵב� ָהנִ ִיקי‬ ,‫ׂש תּ ֲענּוג‬
ַ ‫ֶע ֶרׂש ְּדוָ י ִה ְפ ִכי ְל ֶע ֶר‬
England, and my rendition of this
four-distich poem of Halevi’s may
make some readers think of Robert Over this fallen soldier fight your war,
Herrick or Andrew Marvell. Yet the
poem, with its metaphor of sexual
Then make him burn still more as you withdraw.
warfare, is equally typical of its place You have stopped loving me, so cast your spear
and time. Like “Ofra,” it was most
probably written by Halevi when he And let it strike a heart that doesn’t care.
was in his twenties, prior to the poi-
gnant love affair described in “Why, And yet, my sweet, I deem it not seemly
My Darling, Have You Barred All
News?” That I should languish in captivity.
Reverse your chariot and with one kiss
Convert my sickbed to a bed of bliss!
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R8S

� ִ‫ ִּת ְמנְ ִע י ִצ ָיר י‬,‫ַמה ָּל� ְצ ִב ּיָ ה‬

Why, My Darling, Have You Barred All News? 

This is one of the greatest of Halevi’s

poems, probably the first written by
?� ִ‫ ְצ ָל ָעיו ָמ ְלאּו ִצ ָירי‬,‫ִמּדֹוד‬ � ִ‫ ִּת ְמנְ ִעי ִצ ָירי‬,‫ַמה ָּל� ְצ ִבּיָ ה‬
him to earn him a place in the pan- ?� ִ‫�מֹותי‬ ָ ‫ִּב ְל ִּתי ְׁשמ ַֹע קֹול ְׁש‬ ‫דֹוד� ִמּזְ ָמן‬ ֵ ‫י־אין ְל‬ ֵ ‫�א ֵת ְד ִעי ִּכ‬
theon of Hebrew verse. If the women
in “Ofra” and “Love’s War” were either !� ִ‫ד־א ֱחזֶ ה ָפנָ י‬ ֶ ‫ִע ְמ ִדי ְמ ַעט ַע‬ ,‫ל־ׁשנֵ ינּו נִ גְ זְ ָרה‬ ְ ‫ִאם ַה ְּפ ִר ָידה ַע‬
poetic inventions or passing episodes,
the woman in “Why, My Darling?” was .� ִ‫ִל ִּבי וְ ִאם יֵ ֵל� ְל ַמ ָּס ָעי‬ ‫�א ֵא ְד ָעה ִאם ֵּבין ְצ ָל ַעי נֶ ֱע ַצר‬
real and momentous. She was some-
one Halevi had an intense love affair ,� ִ‫ׁשּוקֹותי‬
ָ ‫ֶאזְ ּכ ֹר ֲאנִ י ֵלילֹות ְּת‬ ‫ ְּכמֹו‬,�‫ַאה ָבה! זִ ְכ ִרי יְ ֵמי ִח ְׁש ֵק‬ ֲ ‫ֵחי‬
with in the years before his marriage
and who then, to his anguish, left him !� ִ‫לֹומֹותי‬ ָ ‫ֵּכן ֶא ְע ְּב ָרה־נָ א ַּב ֲח‬ ,‫לֹומי יַ ֲעבֹר‬ ִ ‫מּות� ַּב ֲח‬ ֵ ‫ַּכ ֲא ֶׁשר ְּד‬
for a journey from which she sent no
word of herself. This is all we know ,� ִ‫ וְ �א־אּוכַ ל ֲעב ֹר ֵא ָלי‬,‫גַ ָּליו‬ ‫ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינֵ � יָ ם ְּד ָמעֹות יֶ ֱהמּו‬
about her.
  I have sought to imitate the poem’s .� ִ‫ָאז נִ ְב ְקעּו ֵמ ָימיו ְלכַ ף ַרגְ ָלי‬ ,‫ַא� לּו ְפ ָע ַמיִ � ְל ָע ְברֹו ָק ְרבּו‬
mono-rhyme of –ayikh, which occurs
in all of its 39 distichs, by ending each
,� ִ‫ׁשּולי‬ ָ ‫קֹול ַּפ ֲעמֹן זָ ָהב ֲע ֵלי‬ ‫מֹותי ְּבָאזְ נַ י יַ ֲע ֶלה‬ ִ ‫ַאח ֵרי‬ ֲ ‫לּו‬
of my translation’s 73 lines with an
“s” sound. Yet not only does this lack
!� ִ‫לֹומי‬ ָ ‫ֶא ְׁש ֵאל ְּבד ַ ֹדיִ � ִּוב ְׁש‬ ‫אֹו ִת ְׁש ֲא ִלי ִל ְׁשלֹום יְ ִד ֵיד�– ִמ ְּׁשאֹול‬
the musical effect of true rhyme, the
rhyme it fails to reproduce is inimi-
–� ִ‫תֹותי‬ ָ ‫ ְל ָחיַ יִ � וְ ִׂש ְפ‬:‫ֵע ִדים‬ ‫ָאכן ֲע ֵלי ָׁש ְפ ֵכ� ְּד ֵמי ִל ִּבי ְׁשנֵ י‬ ֵ
table. Consisting of the two syllables
of the second-person singular, femi-
!?� ִ‫ָד ִמי וְ ַעל־ּכִ י ָׁש ְפכּו יָ ָדי‬ ‫א־כן” וְ ֵהם ֵע ַדי ֲע ֵלי‬ ֵ ֹ ‫ֹאמ ִרי “ל‬ ְ ‫ֵאי� ּת‬
nine, possessive suffix –àyikh, “your,” .� ִ‫ל־ׁשנֵ י ַחיָ י‬ ְ ‫הֹוסיף ַע‬ ִ ‫ָׁשנִ ים ְל‬ ‫מֹותי? וְ ֵהן ֶא ְחּפ ֹץ ֲאנִ י‬ ִ ‫ה־תּ ְח ְפּ ִצי‬ ַ ‫ַמ‬
it builds up slowly into a haunted cry
for the missing loved one. Moreover, !� ִ‫ֶא ֵּתן ְׁשנָ ת ֵעינַ י ְל ַע ְפ ַע ָּפי‬ ‫נּומי ְּב ֵליל ִח ְׁש ִקי ֲה�א‬ ִ ‫ם־ּתגְ זְ ִלי‬ ִ ‫ִא‬
since it is close in sound to ayèkh, the
feminine form of “Where are you?,” this ,� ִ‫ַאבנֵ י ְל ָבבֹות ָׁש ֲחקּו ֵמ ָימי‬ ְ ‫ֵמ ֵימי ְד ָמעֹות ִל ֲח ָכה ִא ֵּׁשך וְ גַ ם‬
question repeats itself like a subliminal
lament at the end of each line. !� ִ‫עֹותי וְ גֶ ָח ָלי‬ ַ ‫ִל ִּבי ְב ִד ְמ‬ ,‫ ֲא ָהּה‬,‫אתי ְּב ֵאׁש ִח ְׁש ֵק� ֵּומי ִב ְכיִ י‬ ִ ‫ָּב‬
,� ִ‫יקֹותי‬ָ ‫ר ֹאׁש ַהּנְ ד ֹד ְּודבַ ׁש נְ ִׁש‬ :‫ וְ ֵהם‬,‫ֵּבין ַמר ָּומתֹוק יַ ֲעמ ֹד ִל ִּבי‬
.� ִ‫ ְּפ ִת ִילם ִק ְצצּו יָ ָדי‬,‫א ֹתֹו‬ ‫ַאח ֵרי ְד ָב ַריִ � ְּכ ַפ ִחים ִר ְקעּו‬ ֲ
,� ִ‫ֶא ְר ֶאה ְׂש ָפ ַתיִ � ֲע ֵלי ִׁשּנָ י‬ ‫ַמ ְר ֵאה ְדמּות א ֶ ֹדם ֲע ֵלי ַס ִּפיר ְּב ֵעת‬
;� ִ‫ֻּצֹותי‬ ָ ‫ַעל־זָ ֳהרֹו– ָע ֵבי ְּקו‬ ‫ וְ ַליִ ל ִּת ְפ ְר ִׂשי‬,� ִ‫ֶׁש ֶמׁש ְּב ָפנַ י‬
,� ִ‫ַה ֵחן וְ ַהי ִֹפי ְּכסּות ֵעינָ י‬ ‫ּגּופ� ֲא ָבל‬ ֵ ‫ֶמ ִׁשי וְ ִר ְק ָמה ֵהם ְּכסֹות‬
;� ִ‫ּיֹותי‬ ָ ‫ַאּת־ ַההֹוד וְ ַה ֶח ְמ ָּדה ְׂש ִכ‬ ְ ְ‫ ו‬,‫־איׁש‬ ִ ‫ַמ ְׂש ִּכית ֲע ָלמֹות ַמ ֲע ֵׁשה יְ ֵד‬
,� ִ‫יֹותי‬ ָ ‫ַאח‬ ְ ְ‫ַאחיִ � ו‬ ַ ‫ִל ְהיֹות ְּכ‬ ‫ ָעּׁש וְ ִכ ָימה ִקּנְ אּו‬,‫ֶח ֶרס וְ ַס ַהר‬
.� ִ‫חֹותי‬ ָ ‫ִל ְהיֹות ֲע ָב ַדיִ � וְ ִׁש ְפ‬ ,‫ ִאם ָח ְפׁשּו‬,‫ָּבנִ ים ָּובנֹות ָח ְׁשבּו‬
:� ִ‫ ֲחגֹור ָמ ְתנָ י‬,� ִ‫ִמחּוט ְׂש ָפ ַתּי‬ ‫�א־א ְׁש ֲא ָלה ֵמהֹון זְ ַמן ֶח ְל ֵקי ְלבַ ד‬ ֶ
.� ִ‫נִ ְר ִּדי ּומ ִ ֹרי ֵּבין ְׁשנֵ י ָׁש ָדי‬ ‫ ְּכמֹו‬,� ִ‫יַ ְע ִרי וְ ִד ְב ִׁשי ֵּבין ְׂש ָפ ַתי‬
:� ִ‫רֹועוֹתי‬ ָ ְ‫חֹותם ַעל ז‬ ָ ‫ֶא ְהיֶ ה ְּכ‬ ‫ לּו ֲאנִ י‬,‫חֹותם ַעל־יְ ִמינִ י‬ ָ ‫ַׂש ְמ ִּתי� ְּכ‬
.� ִ‫לּו�תי‬
ָ ‫ַאהבַ ת ְּכ‬ ֲ ‫ם־א ְׁש ְּכ ָחה‬ ֶ ‫ִא‬ ,‫ יַ ֲע ָלה‬,‫ֹאלי‬ ִ ‫ֶא ְׁש ַּכח יְ ִמינִ י ִמ ְּׂשמ‬
;� ִ‫יקֹותי‬ ָ ‫נ ֶֹפת ְׂש ָפ ִתי ִמּנְ ִׁש‬ ‫ֵה ַמר נְ ד ֹד ִל ִּבי ְּבזָ ְכ ִרי יַ ֲע ַרת‬
!� ִ‫ַאּפי‬ ָ ‫אּולי ְּב ֵר ִיחי ֶא ֳּׁש ָקה‬ ַ ,‫רֹור� ֶא ְמ ֲה ָלה‬ ֵ ‫ר־ּד‬
ְ ‫ֵר ִיחי ְּב ֵר ַיח ָמ‬
:� ִ‫ּלֹותי‬ ָ ‫ָּב� נִ ְכ ְּבדּו ַהּיֹום ְּת ִה‬ ‫ַאּת־‬ ְ ְ‫ ו‬,‫ִהּנֵ ה ְּכבֹוד נָ ִׁשים ְּת ִה ָּל ָתן‬
!� ִ‫ּמֹותי‬ָ ֻ‫ִּת ְׁש ַתּ ֲחוֶ יַ ן ַל ֲאל‬ ‫ַאה ָבה‬ ֲ ‫נֹות־ח ֶׁשק ֲאלֻ ּמֹות‬ ֵ ‫ִּב ְׂש ֵדה ְב‬
:� ִ‫יכֹותי‬ ָ ‫ּב ֶֹׂשם ּומ ֹר ִמ ֵּבין ֲה ִל‬ ‫ד־א ֱא ֶרה‬ ֶ ‫ִמי־יִ ְּתנֵ נִ י ֶא ְחיֶ ה ַע‬
!� ִ‫דֹותי‬ ָ ‫ִס ְת ֵרי ְל ָב ִבי קֹול ְצ ָע‬ ‫ ֲא ָבל ֶא ְׁש ַמע ֲע ֵלי‬,�‫קוֹל‬ ְ ‫�א־א ְׁש ְמ ָעה‬ ֶ
,� ִ‫ִח ְׁש ֵק� וְ יֹום ּבֹו יִ ְחיּו ֵמ ָתי‬ ‫ ְּביֹום ָּפ ְק ֵד� ְל ַחּיֹות ַח ְל ֵלי‬,‫ִּפ ְק ִדי‬
.� ִ‫ַאח ָרי‬ ֲ ‫את� יָ ְצָאה‬ ֵ ‫נָ ְס ֵע� ְּב ֵצ‬ ‫ ְּביֹום‬,‫נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְל ָה ִׁשיב ֶאל־ּגְ וִ ּיָ ִתי‬
:� ִ‫לֹותי‬ ָ ‫ִאם ַהּזְ ָמן יִ ְׁשַאל ְׁש ֵא‬ ‫ת־חן ַׁש ֲא ִלי‬ ֵ ‫ יַ ֲע ַל‬,�‫ִּב ְׁשלֹום יְ ִד ֵיד‬
!� ִ‫רֹותי‬ ָ ֻ‫ל־א ֶרץ ְמכ‬ ֶ ‫ֶח ְפ ֵצ� וְ ֶא‬ ‫ל־מחֹוז‬ ְ ‫צּורנּו יְ ִׁש ֵיב� ֶא‬ ֵ ְ‫ ו‬,‫ׁשּובי‬ ִ

Why, my darling, have you barred all news

From one who aches for you inside the bars of his own ribs?
Surely you know a lover’s thoughts
Care only for the sound of your hellos!
At least, if parting was the fate reserved for us,
You might have lingered till my gaze had left your face.
God knows if there’s a heart caged in these ribs
Or it has fled to join you in your journeys.

O swear by Love that you remember days of embraces

As I remember nights crammed with your kisses,
And that, as through my dreams your likeness passes,
So does mine through yours!
Between us lies a sea of tears I cannot cross,
Yet should you but approach its moaning waves,
They’d part beneath your steps,
And if, though dead, I heard the golden bells
Make music on your skirt, or your voice asking how I was,
I’d send my love to you from the grave’s depths.

That you have shed my blood, I have two witnesses—

Your lips and cheeks. Don’t say their crimson lies!
What makes you want to be my murderess
When I would only add years to your years?
You steal the slumber from my eyes,
Which, would it increase your sleep, I’d give you gratis.
My vaporous sighs are stoked by passion’s flames,
And I am battered by your icy floes,
And thus it is that I am caught, alas,
Between fire and the flood, hot coals and cold deluges.
My heart, half sweetness and half bitterness,
Honeyed kisses mixed with hemlock of adieus,
Has been shredded by you into pieces,
And each piece twisted into curlicues.

Yet picturing your fairness–

The pearl-and-coral of your teeth and lips;
The sunlight in your face, on which night falls in cloudy tresses;
Your beauty’s veil, which clothes your eyes
As you are clothed by silks and embroideries
(Though none’s the needlework that vies with Nature’s splendor, Nature’s grace)—
Yes, when I think of all the youths and maidens
Who, though freeborn, would rather be your slaves,
And know that even stars and constellations
Are of your sisters and your brothers envious –
Then all I ask of Time’s vast hoard is this:
Your girdled waist, the red thread of those lips
That were my honeycomb, and your two breasts,
In which are hidden myrrh and all good scents.

O would you wore me as a seal upon your arms
As I wear you on mine! May both my hands
Forget their cunning if I forget the days,
My dearest, of our love’s first bliss!
Hard for the heart made vagrant are the memories
Of your ambrosia on my lips–but could I mix
My exhalations with their perfumed essence,
I would have a way to kiss you always.
Are women praised for their perfections?
Perfection in you is praised for being yours.
The fields of love have many harvesters–
And your harvest is bowed down to by their sheaves.
God grant that I may live to drain the lees,
Once more, of your limbs’ sweet elixirs!
Although I cannot hear your voice,
I listen, deep within me, for your footsteps.
O on the day that you revive Love’s fallen legions
Slain by your sword, think of this corpse
Abandoned by its spirit for your travels!
If life, my love, will let you have your wishes,
Tell it you wish to send a friend regards.
May it bring you to your destinations,
And God return you to your native grounds!
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
R9S

‫ָרָאה זְ ָמ ן ִּכ י ָה ֱאנֹוׁש ֶה ֶב ל‬

On the Death of Yehuda ibn Ezra

Moshe ibn Ezra had three brothers,

Yehuda, Yitzhak, and Yosef. For a ‫ָרָאה זְ ָמן ּכִ י ָה ֱאנֹוׁש ֶה ֶבל וְ ָאז‬ Because it sees man is but a vain thing,
while in the early 12th century, all
four lived in Toledo, the capital of
,‫נֶ ְה ַפ� ְל ָצר ָע ָליו וְ ִהּנֹו ָקיִ ן‬ Time turns on him. Like Abel killed by Cain,
It lays the splendidest of our sons low
Christian Castile, as did Halevi, who
was practicing medicine there.
‫ַא� ָׁשת ְל ַָבבֹו ַל ֲהר ֹג ִּב ְבנֵ י יְ ָקר‬
And slays the darlings of our fancy.
Yehuda was the first of the Ibn Ezras
to die, and this elegy that Halevi
.‫וַ ּיַ ֲהר ֹג ּכ ֹל ַמ ֲח ַמ ֵּדי ַעיִ ן‬ Souring our wine until our tears taste sweet,
wrote for him begins with a pun,
since hevel, the biblical word for
‫ַאר ַּב ַעת ְּבנֵ י‬ ְ ‫ָפּ ָרץ ְּתמֹול ֶּפ ֶרץ ְּב‬ It has breached the Ibn Ezra’s foursquare lines.
“vanity,” is also the Hebrew name .‫ֶעזְ ָרא וְ ִה ְמ ִּתיק ַה ְּב ִכי ִמיָ יִ ן‬ For two of them, now far away, I pine,
of the biblical Abel. (Literally, the
poem’s first Hebrew distich reads, ‫חֹוקים ֶא ֱה ֶמה‬ ִ ‫ֶאל ַה ְׁשנַ יִ ם ָה ְר‬ And for the days in which they won the palm;
“Because it sees that man is hevel/ While asking for Yosef I’m told to wait,
Time turns on him and becomes ;‫ּכִ י ֶא ֱחזֶ ה יָ ִמים יְ נִ יפּון זָ יִ ן‬
Cain.”) The next-to-last line is a barb And for Yehuda, “He is gone.”
aimed at Yosef, an official in the Cas- ‫ֹאמרּו ִלי ֲח ֵּכה‬ ְ ‫יֹוסף וְ י‬ ֵ ‫ֶא ְׁשַאל ְּב ַעד‬
tilian administration Apparently hav-
ing gone to see him on some matter .‫ֹאמרּו ִלי ָאיִ ן‬ ְ ‫הּודה י‬ ָ ְ‫ְּוב ַעד י‬
following Yehuda’s death, Halevi was
told that he was too busy to receive
him.
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
R 10 S

‫לּומ ים‬
ִ ‫יְ ַד ְענּו� נְ ד ֹד ִמ ֵימ י ֲע‬
A Lament for Moshe ibn Ezra 

Moshe ibn Ezra left Toledo, under

unclear circumstances, for a life of
,‫לּומים‬ ִ ‫יְ ַד ְענּו� נְ ד ֹד ִמ ֵימי ֲע‬ Wander-life, you are an old friend—
unhappy wandering in northern Spain. .‫דּומים‬ ִ ‫וְ נַ ַחל ַה ְּב ִכי נַ ַחל ְק‬ And the River of Tears has flowed for long years.
(It has been conjectured on the basis Shall I quarrel with fate? But why fault what is fated?
of a poem of his that he departed ‫ֲהר ֹב ִעם ַהּזְ ָמן ַעל �א ֲח ָטָאה‬
due to a family rift caused by his fall- Or with time that goes by? What else should time do!
ing in love with his brother Yitzhak’s ?‫וְ ִעם יָ ִמים וְ ֵאין ָעֹון ְליָ ִמים‬ Like a skein from the spindle it runs straight and true,
daughter.) Although Halevi himself
continued to live in Toledo for many ‫ְפּ ָל ִכים ֵהם ְּב ַקו ֶצ ֶדק יְ רּוצּון‬ As does all made above. This may not be new;
more years, it was a city whose atmo-
sphere and inhabitants he disliked. He .‫רֹומים‬ ִ ‫וְ ֵאין נִ ְפ ָּתל וְ ִע ֵּקׁש ַּב ְמ‬ But the world is not new and its laws are writ in God’s hand.
never thought of it as a permanent
home and, prior to developing a de- ‫ֲהּזֶ ה ָח ָדׁש וְ ֵאין ֵּת ֵבל ֲח ָד ָׁשה‬ How expect them to change when they all bear His stamp,
And all things run their course and each cause has its cause?
termination to settle in the Land of
Israel, dreamed of returning to Anda- ,‫ׁשּומים‬ ִ ‫וְ ֻח ֶּק ָיה ְּב ֶא ְצ ַּבע ֵאל ְר‬
Men are joined in order to part—that’s how differences start,
lusia. This mono-rhymed verse letter
addressed by him to Moshe ibn Ezra
‫וְ ֵאי� יִ ְׁשנו ְד ָב ֶר ָיה וְ כֻ ָּלם‬ From which nations are born and the earth is peopled
is thus a lament for the transiency of
both their lives. The poet’s mining
?‫תּומים‬ ִ ‫ְּב ַט ַּב ַעת יְ ִמין ֶע ְליֹון ֲח‬   with tribes.
of “truth’s storerooms for its rarest
stones” is apparently a reference to
‫וְ ָכל ִס ָּבה ְמצּוָאה בַ ְמ ִס ָּבה‬ Nothing is all good or bad; every potion is also a poison,
the composition of The Kuzari, Halevi’s
great intellectual defense of Judaism,
,‫וְ ָכל ָח ָדׁש ְּכ ָבר ָהיָ ה ְפ ָע ִמים‬ And the day cursed as paltry by one man, others praise for
  its bounty.
which he began to work on in his ‫וְ �א ֻח ַּבר ֱאנֹוׁש ּכִ י ִאם ְל ֶפ ֶרד‬
Toledan years. A rich dish is a treat if you’re well, hot coals in your mouth
  I have not sought to reproduce this ,‫הֹוציא ִמ ְלא ֹם ֶא ָחד ְלאֻ ִּמים‬ ִ ‫ְל‬   when you’re ill,
poem’s monorhyme of –im. Its meter
is the shalem. I have used a longer ‫לּולא נִ ְפ ְרדּו ֵמָאז ְּבנֵ י ִאיׁש‬ ֵ ְ‫ו‬ And so black is the sight of the man who is vexed that it
English line in translating it than I did
with the same meter in “Why, My .‫ֲאזַ י �א ָמ ְלָאה ֶא ֶרץ ֲע ָמ ִמים‬   darkens all light,
Darling, Have You Barred All News?”,
resulting in a mere 41 English lines for ‫וְ יֵ ׁש ָּד ָבר ֲא ֶׁשר יִ ַיטב וְ יֵ ָרע‬ As my eyes are clouded and wet because Moshe is gone.
its 64 Hebrew distichs.
,‫ּובֹו ִׁשּקּוי וְ ָר ָקב ָל ֲע ָצ ִמים‬
‫ְּב ִה ְת ַק ֵּצף ֱאנֹוׁש יֹומֹו יְ ַק ֵּלל‬
‫עּומים‬ ִ ְ‫וְ יִ ּק ֹב ֶאת ְרגָ ָעיו ַהּז‬
‫וְ הּוא ַהּיֹום יְ ָב ְרכּוהּו ֲא ֵח ִרים‬
.‫ֲא ֶׁשר א ֹתֹו יְ בַ ּלּו בַ נְ ִע ִימים‬
‫וְ ָכל ַמ ְא ָכל ְּב ִפי ָב ִריא ְּכנ ֶֹפת‬
,‫וְ ַהּנ ֶֹפת ְּב ִפי ח ֶֹלה ְר ָת ִמים‬
‫אֹורים ְּב ֵעינָ יו‬ ִ ‫וְ ד ֵֹאג יֶ ְח ְׁשכּו‬
‫וְ �א יִ ְר ֵאם וְ ֵהם לֹו נַ ֲע ָל ִמים‬
‫ְּכ ֵעינַ י יֹום ְׁשכֹן ָענָ ן ֲע ֵל ֶיהם‬
.‫ְלנ ֹד מ ֶֹׁשה וְ ֵהם י ְ ֹרדֹות זְ ָר ִמים‬
‫ְמקֹור ָח ְכ ָמה ֲא ֶׁשר ֶא ְמ ָצא ְּב ִפיהּו‬ The source of all wisdom, his words were pure nuggets
.‫ְמקֹום ַה ָפּז ַּומ ְח ַצב ַה ְּכ ָת ִמים‬   of gold!
Our friendship is old; it goes back to when no one
‫יְ ִדידּות ָק ְׁש ָרה נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְּבנַ ְפׁשֹו‬
  harnessed or rode
,‫תּומים‬ ִ ‫ְּבעֹוד ִר ְכ ֵבי נְ ד ֹד ֵאינָ ם ְר‬ The wagons of wandering’s road, and my soul
‫ְּבעֹוד �א נִ ְּס ָתה נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְפ ִר ָידה‬ Was unpracticed at parting, and our days were
.‫וְ ִא ָּתנּו ְּבנֵ י יָ ִמים ְׁש ֵל ִמים‬   unfractured and whole.
‫יְ ָלדּונּו ְבנֹות יָ ִמים ְּפ ֻר ִדים‬ Time bore us separately, but Love, which bore us twins,
Raised us in her spice garden and suckled us with
,‫אֹומים‬ ִ ‫ַאה ָבה יְ ָל ַד ְתנּו ְת‬ ְ ‫ּובַ ת‬
  guzzled wines.
‫ֱאמֻ נִ ים ַעל ֲערּוגַ ת ַה ְּב ָׂש ִמים‬ When I think of you, many mountains away (why,
.‫וְ י ֹנְ ֵקי ׁש ֹד ְׁש ֵדי ַּבת ַה ְּכ ָר ִמים‬   just yesterday
;‫זְ כַ ְר ִּתי� ֲע ֵלי ָה ֵרי ְב ָת ִרים‬ You were my pleasure’s peak!), the blood leaves my cheeks
,‫ְּתמֹול ָהיּו ְּב� ָה ֵרי ְב ָׂש ִמים‬ For the tears running down them. I think—and remember
  the days
‫גֹול ִלים ְּב ִד ְמ ָעה‬ ָ ‫וְ ַע ְפ ַע ַּפי ְמ‬
That once were. Were we dreaming? What a traitor time is!
!‫גֹול ָלה ְב ָד ִמים‬ ָ ‫וְ ַה ִּד ְמ ָעה ְמ‬ It has taken you from me and given me strife-minded men
,‫זְ כַ ְר ִּתי� וְ נִ זְ ַכּ ְר ִתּי ְליָ ִמים‬ Who pretend to be friends. The more their manners
.‫�מים‬ ִ ‫יוּ כ ֲח‬ַ ‫ֲע ַב ְרנוּמוֹ וְ ָה‬ Stink like garlic, the more I miss the manna of your speech.
‫ֱה ִמ ְיר� ִלי זְ ָמן ּב ֹגֵ ד ְּב ָכל ִאיׁש‬ Damn the fools who are so wise in their own eyes
That their own lies they deem the dogmas of true faith,
.‫לֹומים‬ ִ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ִלּבֹו ְק ָרב ְּוב ִפיו ְש‬
And my faith sorcery! They sew and reap empty ears and
‫ֲא ַד ֶּבר ָּבם וְ ִאם ֶא ְמ ָצא ְב ִפ ֶיהם‬   call it grain;
.‫ׁשּומים‬ ִ ְ‫מּורת ַמּנְ � ָח ִציר ו‬ ַ ‫ְּת‬ With the exteriors of fashion they cover up the gems within.
‫ֲח ָמ ִסי וְ ֲח ָמ ִתי ַעל ְּפ ָת ִאים‬ But I will mine truth’s storerooms for its rarest stones
,‫ֲא ֶׁשר ֵה ָּמה ְּב ֵעינֵ ֶיהם ֲח ָכ ִמים‬ And rest not till their sheaves bow down to mine.
“What? And cast my pearls before the swine?”
‫ֲא ֶׁשר ָק ְראּו ְל ִׁש ְק ֵר ֶיהם ֱאמּונֹות‬
I’ll say when they come knocking. “Why on seedless soil
,‫וְ ָק ְראּו ֵׁשם ֱאמּונָ ִתי ְק ָס ִמים‬ Let fall my rain?” No, all I need from this poor age is what
‫ֲא ֶׁשר זָ ְרעּו וְ ָק ְצרּו ִׁש ֳּב ֵל ֶיהם‬   my soul
,‫וְ ָׂש ְמחּו ָבם וְ ִאם ֵה ָּמה ְצנֻ ִמים‬ Needs from my body: A place to live in while it lasts,
‫וְ ִחצוֹנֵ י ְ ּדבַ ר ָח ְכ ָמה ֲח ָד ִשׁים‬ And to abandon when it topples and we leave.

,‫ְלכַ ּסֹות ַה ְפנִ ינִ ים ַה ְּפנִ ִימים‬

‫ַאח ֶּפׂש ָּבם ֲח ָד ָריו‬ ֲ ‫וְ ִלי נֵ רֹות‬
,‫אֹוציא ִמּגְ נָ זָ יו ַה ְּל ָׁש ִמים‬ִ ְ‫ו‬
‫וְ ָס ָכל ּכִ י יְ בַ ֶּקׁש סֹוד ֲענִ ִיתיו‬
,‫ֲע ֵלי ַאף ַה ֲחזִ יר ַמה ַלּנְ זָ ִמים‬
‫וְ ֵאי� ַעל �א ְמקֹום זֶ ַרע ֲאבַ ֵּקש‬
?‫ֲענָ נִ י ַל ֲער ֹף ָע ָליו ּגְ ָׁש ִמים‬
‫וְ ָצ ְרּכִ י ַלּזְ ָמן נָ ֵקל וְ נִ ְד ֶמה‬
,‫ְּכמֹו צ ֶ ֹר� נְ ָׁש ָמה ַלּגְ ָׁש ִמים‬
‫ילּוה ְּת ַחּיֵ ם‬
ָ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ִמ ֵּדי יְ ִכ‬
.‫וְ ִאם נִ ְלאּו ֲעזָ ָב ַתם ְצ ָל ִמים‬
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� ֵ‫ָהּה ִּב ִּת י ֲה ָׁש ַכ ַח ְּת ִמ ְׁש ָּכנ‬

On the Death of a Daughter 

In purely formal terms, this moving

elegy written by Halevi for a teenage
� ֵ‫ָהּה ִּב ִּתי ֲה ָׁשכַ ַח ְּת ִמ ְׁש ָּכנ‬ My child!
girl of marriageable age who died in an ?� ֵ‫ּכִ י ִל ְׁשאֹול נָ ְסעּו נ ְֹׂש ֵאי ֲארֹונ‬ Had you forgotten the way
epidemic is unusual. Divided into six To your own home
stanzas ranging from six to nine lines, ,� ֵ‫וְ ֵאין ֶח ְל ִקי ִמ ֵּמ� ַרק זִ ְכרֹונ‬ That your pallbearers strayed
each with its own separate mono-
rhyme but all ending with the same � ֵ‫וַ ֲאחֹונֵ ן ֶאת ַע ְפרֹות ִצּיּונ‬ To the underworld’s gloom,
refrain, it is written not in Arabic-style
meter but according to the older He- ,� ֵ‫לֹומ� וְ ֵאינ‬ ֵ ‫ֵעת ָאסּור ִל ְׁשא ֹל ְׁש‬ Leaving me with
brew system of counting stressed syl- (Since you are not there
lables alone—in this case, four to the .� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬
line. Three different voices speak in it: To ask how you are)
the dead girl’s father’s, her mother’s, A grave’s clods to kiss
and her own. Each utters the refrain,
which is taken from the Book of Ruth, And your memory?
where Ruth tells her mother-in-law Ah, death has come between you and me.
Naomi: “Where thou diest I will die,
and there will I be buried. May the Lord
do unto me accordingly if aught but
,‫הֹור ָתּה‬ָ ‫מּוצאת ֵמ ֶח ֶדר‬ ֵ ‫ַּבת‬ O daughter torn
death come between you and me.”
  In all the biographical accounts of
?‫ֵאי� ֶא ְחיֶ ה ִּומנַ ְפ ִׁשי גִ זְ ָר ָתּה‬ From her mother’s rooms!
What life have I left when,
him, Halevi is mentioned as having
had a single daughter, who bore him
!‫צּור ָתּה‬ ָ ‫צּור ֲאבַ ַ ּקע ֵעת ֶא ְר ֶאה‬ Shaped from my soul,
at least one grandson. The possibility ‫ֵאי� ִת ְׁשנֶ ה ְל ָבנָ ה ֵמ ַה ְד ָר ָתּה‬ She makes my tears flow
that this poem is about the death of a
second daughter, and that he himself ?‫ָׁשם ִּב ְׁשאֹול ֶא ְר ֶאה יֹום ֲח ֻתּנָ ָתּה‬ Like a spring from split stone?
is the speaker in it, has never been How can she be so changed,
raised. Yet I believe that this was the ‫ֵאי� ָּת ִׂשים ּגּוׁש ָע ָפר ֻח ָּפ ָתּה‬
case, and that a third child, a small boy, Once white as the moon,
was probably mourned by him in yet ?‫בּור ָתּה‬ ָ ‫וְ ֵאי� ָמ ְתקּו ָלּה ִרגְ ֵבי ְק‬ That she now wears the earth
another poem that he wrote.
,� ֵ‫ל־ח ְסרֹונ‬ ֶ ‫ַמר ִלי ָמר ִּב ִּתי ַע‬ As her bridal gown,
.� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ Its sod the sweets
Of her wedding feast?
Bitter is my own misery,
For death has come between you and me.

‫ׁשוֹׁשּנָ ה ְּב�א ִע ָּתּה נִ ְק ֶט ֶפת‬ ַ Plucked like a flower

,‫ֲא ֶׁשר ַצ ְל ָמּה ֵּבין ֵעינַ י ט ֶֹט ֶפת‬ Before her time,
She always will be
,‫ֵאי� ִּד ְמ ָעה ַּכּנָ ָהר ׁש ֶֹט ֶפת‬ Before my eyes
,‫ֵאי� ַּבת ָעׁש ְּב ֵחיק ָע ָפר נֶ ֱא ֶס ֶפת‬ Like a frontlet.
,‫וְ ֵאי� ַח ָּמה ְּב ִר ָּמה ִמ ְת ַע ֶּל ֶפת‬ Yet were I to cry
Whole rivers for her,
?‫ֹאׁשּה ִמ ְצנֶ ֶפת‬ ָ ‫וְ ֶח ְב ֵלי ְׁשאֹול ַעל ר‬
Still she would lie,
,� ֵ‫ָהּה ִּב ִּתי ֵאין ָּדן ְל ָמזֹור ִּדינ‬ A fallen star
.� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ In a wormy pit,
Deep-sepulchered,
Earth-bonneted.
My child, there is no clemency,
For death has come between you and me.

.‫כּולה‬
ָ ‫חֹולה ָׁש ַמ ְע ִּתי ְל ֵאם ְׁש‬ ָ ‫קֹול ְּכ‬ Languishing,
Her mother’s voice,
,‫ַה ְר ֵּפה ָלּה ּכִ י נַ ְפ ָׁשּה ָמ ָרה ָלּה‬
Bereft, I hear.
.‫ּכִ י ָמוֶ ת ְּב ַחּלֹונֶ ָיה ָע ָלה‬ (Ah, let her be!
,‫בֹודּה ּגָ ָלה‬
ָ ‫ִעם ּגִ זְ ַרת ְּכ ֵב ָדּה ְּכ‬ She too grieves bitterly.
‫וַ יַ ֲהפ ֹ� ִׂש ְמ ָח ָתּה ְל ָיל ָלה‬ Death scaled her walls,
And pierced her side,
.‫תּולה‬
ָ ‫יֹום נֶ ְע ְק ָרה גֶ ֶפן ַּב ֵּלב ְׁש‬ And drove her pride
,‫“ ָמה ֶאזְ ַעק ִּב ִּתי וְ ָאזְ נֵ � ֲע ֵר ָלה‬ From its abode,
,� ֵ‫נֹותי ִמ ָּלה ֵאין ִּב ְלׁשֹונ‬ ִ ‫וְ ַל ֲע‬ And turned her joy
.� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ Into a dirge
The day it ripped
The vine she planted
From her heart.)
“What good, my child,
Does it to cry your name?
Your ears are deaf
And you are silenced utterly,
For death has come between you and me.

”!‫ָהה ִּב ִּתי ַה ְכ ַרע ִה ְכ ַר ְע ִּתנִ י‬ Alas, my child,

‫“אֹוי ִא ִּמי אֹוי ִלי ּכִ י יְ ִל ְד ִּתנִ י‬ You have laid me low!”
“O mother, O!
,‫ַאס ִּתנִ י‬
ְ ‫ַא� ַהּיֹום ֵאי� ָמאֹוס ְמ‬ You should not have had me
,‫ִכי ִל ְבכֹור ָמוֶ ת ּגִ ַּד ְל ִּתנִ י‬ If you meant to spurn me,
‫ְב ַהגִ ַיע ּת ֹר ְלנַ ְפ ִׁשי ְׁש ַל ְח ִּתנִ י‬ And when my turn came
To Death’s minion to wed me,
,‫ּובַ ֲע ֶט ֶרת ָע ָפר ִע ַּט ְר ִּתנִ י‬
And with dirt to wreathe me
.‫הֹוׁש ְב ִּתנִ י‬
ַ ‫ְּוב ֻח ַּפת ֲאבַ ּדֹון‬ And cruelly lead me
,� ֵ‫ּכר ֵח� ֱא ֶמת ּכִ י �א ִב ְרצֹונ‬ ְ ‫ְב ַעל‬ Under doom’s canopy.
”.� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ Yet in truth you did not do it willingly,
For death has come between you and me.”

‫רֹותיו‬ָ ֵ‫ַהּגזֵ ֹ ר וְ ֵאין ֵמ ֵפר ּגְ ז‬ May He

‫ימֹותיו‬
ָ ‫ֶאת ֶח ְב ֵל� יַ ִּפיל ִּבנְ ִע‬ Whose judgments
None repeal
.‫אֹותיו‬
ָ ‫וְ ַרב ִמ ְהיֹות ִק ְצּפֹו ַעל ִצ ְב‬ Unseal your bonds
,‫פֹותיו‬
ָ ֵ‫יִ ּנָ ֵחם וְ יַ ְעצ ֹר ַמּג‬ And heal your sleep
.‫ּקֹורֹותיו‬
ָ ‫וִ יְ נַ ֵחם ֵל ָבב ִמ‬ With angels’ song,
And be not wroth
;‫אֹורֹותיו‬
ָ ‫ְל ֵקץ יָ ִמין יְ ִק ֵיצ� ְּב ַטל‬
With His own flock
,� ֵ‫ּגָ ם יִ ְתמ ֹ� ִּב ִימין ִצ ְדקֹו יְ ִמינ‬ And stop the plague
.� ֵ‫ּכִ י ַה ָּמוֶ ת יַ ְפ ִריד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ That He sent forth,
And comfort every heart
For what it lost!
And may you wake
On the Last Day,
To light like dew,
And rise in the arms of His mercy,
For death has come between you and me.
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?� ‫יָ ּה ָאנָ ה ֶא ְמ ָצ ֲא‬

Lord, Where Will I Find You? 

Hispano-Hebrew poets sometimes

signed their work by weaving their
.‫קֹומ� נַ ֲע ֶלה וְ נֶ ְע ָלם‬
ְ ‫ְמ‬ ?�‫יָ ּה ָאנָ ה ֶא ְמ ָצ ֲא‬
names into it. The initial letters of .‫עֹולם‬ָ ‫בֹוד� ָמ ֵלא‬ ְ ‫ְּכ‬ ?�‫וְ ָאנָ ה �א ֶא ְמ ָצ ֲא‬
each stanza of this poem spell “Yehu-  
da.” One of Halevi’s most anthologized
poems, “Lord, Where Will I Find You?” .‫ַאפ ֵסי ֶא ֶרץ ֵה ִקים‬
ְ ‫ַהּנִ ְמ ָצא בַ ְּק ָר ִבים‬
deals with a central concern of his reli-
gious sensibility: the paradox of a tran- .‫חֹוקים‬
ִ ‫ַה ִּמ ְב ָטח ָל ְר‬ ,‫רֹובים‬ִ ‫ַה ִּמ ְׂשּגָ ב ַל ְּק‬
scendent and unknowable God who is
nevertheless present in this world and .‫ׁשֹוכן ְׁש ָח ִקים‬
ֵ ‫ַאּתה‬ ָ ,‫ים‬
‫רּוב‬ִ ‫יֹוׁשב ְּכ‬ ֵ ‫ַאּתה‬ ָ
“closer to man than his own skin and
bone.” The “Creator of All” is the same .‫ַאּת ַעל ר ֹאׁש ַמ ֲה ָל ָלם‬ְ ְ‫ ו‬ ,� ‫ ִּת ְת ַה ֵּלל ִּב ְצ ָב ֲא‬
God who was present in the Ark of
the Covenant in the room of the Holy .‫אּולם‬ָ ‫ ַאף ּכִ י ַח ְד ֵרי‬ ,� ‫ ּגַ ְלּגַ ל �א יִ ָּׂש ֲא‬
of Holies in the Temple. The poem
is written in the form of what the
Arabs called a muwashah. or “girdle”
,‫ַעל ֵּכס נִ ָּׂשא וָ ָרם‬ ‫ְּוב ִהּנָ ְׂש ֲא� ֲע ֵל ֶיהם‬
poem. The “girdles” or stanzas are
preceded by a “necklace,” an introduc-
.‫רּוחם ִּומ ְּב ָׂש ָרם‬
ָ ‫ִמ‬ ‫ַאּתה ָקרֹוב ֲא ֵל ֶיהם‬ ָ
tory distich that introduces a rhyme
(ne’elam/ olam) that runs through the
.‫יֹוצ ָרם‬
ְ �‫ּכִ י ֵאין ִּב ְל ְּת‬ ‫ִּפ ֶיהם יָ ִעיד ָּב ֶהם‬
second and fourth “girdles” and ends
the last two lines of all four. As in “On
.‫כּות� עֻ ָּלם‬
ְ ‫ ִמי זֶ ה �א יִ ָר ֲא �?– וְ ַעל ַמ ְל‬
the Death of a Daughter,” the poem .‫ָאכ ָלם‬
ְ ‫נֹותן‬
ֵ ‫ַאּתה‬ ָ ְ‫ אֹו ִמי �א יִ ְק ָר ֲא�?– ו‬
eschews Arabic-style metrics for the
older Hebrew system that counts only
the stressed syllables in each line. �‫אתי‬ ִ ‫ְּב ָכל ִל ִּבי ְק ָר‬ ,�‫ָּד ַר ְׁש ִּתי ִק ְר ָב ְת‬
,�‫אתי‬ ִ ‫אתי ְמ ָצ‬ ִ ‫ִל ְק ָר‬ �‫את‬ְ ‫אתי ִל ְק ָר‬ ִ ‫ְּוב ֵצ‬
.�‫ַּבּק ֶ ֹדׁש ֲחזִ ִיתי‬ �‫בּור ְת‬
ָ ְ‫לאי ג‬ ֵ ‫ְּוב ִפ‬
‫ֵהן ָׁש ַמיִ ם וְ ֵח ָילם‬ ?�‫ֹאמר �א ָר ֲא‬ ַ ‫ ִמי י‬
.‫קֹולם‬
ָ ‫ְּב ִלי נִ ְׁש ַמע‬ ,�‫מֹור ֲא‬ ָ ‫ יַ ּגִ ידּו‬
?‫ָאדם‬ ָ ‫�הים ֶאת ָה‬ ִ ‫ֱא‬ ‫ַהאֻ ְמנָ ם ִּכי יֵ ֵשב‬
?‫סֹודם‬
ָ ְ‫חֹוׁשב ֲא ֶׁשר ָּב ָע ָפר י‬
ֵ ‫ַּומה יַ ְחׁש ֹב ָּכל‬
.‫בֹודם‬
ָ ‫ּלֹותם ְּוכ‬
ָ ‫ְּת ִה‬ ‫יֹוׁשב‬
ֵ ‫ַאּתה ָקדֹוׁש‬ ָ ְ‫ו‬
.‫עֹולם‬
ָ ‫עֹומדֹות ְּברּום‬ ְ ‫ָה‬ �‫ ַחּיֹות יֹודּו ִפ ְל ֲ א‬
.‫נֹוׂשא כֻ ָּלם‬
ֵ ‫ַאּתה‬ָ ְ‫ ו‬,�‫אׁש ֶיהם ּכִ ְס ֲא‬ ֵ ‫ ַעל ָר‬
Lord, where will I find You?
  Your place is remote and concealed.
And where will I not find You?
  Your being fills the world.

Creator of All, You are in all that is small.

To the far You are near, to the near You are here.
An ark was Your home—so is heaven’s dome:
  Its Hosts sing Your praises and You are host to their clan.
  The spheres cannot hold You, but a room can.

Alone and unknown, above on Your throne,

You are closer to man than his own skin and bone.
His words proclaim that it was You who made him.
  Who does not know You? Your yoke is his guide.
  Who does not pray to You to provide?

I have longed for Your presence, I have called You in Your absence,
As I set out to greet You I have found You come to meet me:
In Your holiness I saw You, in the wonder of Your glory.
  Yet who has not seen You, if ever he saw,
  In skies that are silent, stars loud with awe?

Did You truly decide to reside in man’s midst?

O let him but trust in that, made out of dust,
Though You dwell in solitude, sacred and blessed!
  The seraphs extol You from their supreme height:
  They carry Your seat—and You, the world’s weight.
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‫נַ ְמ ָּת וְ נִ ְר ַּד ְמ ָּת‬

The Dream

In the year 1130, the Hebrew year 4890,

Yehuda Halevi, then a man in his late
–‫נַ ְמ ָּת וְ נִ ְר ַּד ְמ ָּת וְ ָח ֵרד ָק ְמ ָּת‬ Heart pounding, you wake. Is it as it seemed?
fifties, had a dream in which he saw ? ‫ ָמה ַה ֲחלֹום ַהּזֶ ה ֲא ֶׁשר ָח ָל ְמ ָת‬ What is this dream that you have dreamed?
the Jewish people “raised high” and
the downfall of the Arabs, symbol- �‫לֹומ� ֶה ְר ֲא� ׂשֹונַ ֲא‬ ְ ‫אּולי ֲח‬ ַ Did its vision truly show
ized by Ishma’el—Hagar’s son and the
biblical Isaac’s half-brother, called a .‫ַאּתה ָר ְמ ָּת‬ ָ ְ‫ ו‬,‫ ּכִ י ַדל וְ ִכי ָׁש ַפל‬ Yourself raised high and your foe laid low?
“wild ass of a man” by the Bible. The
Aramaic lines in the poem, which are ‫ ֱאס ֹף יַ ד ּגַ ֲאוָ ה‬:‫ִא ְמרּו ְל ֶבן ָהגָ ר‬ Tell Hagar’s son, then: “Cease to scorn
retained untranslated in my English,
come from the Book of Daniel, whose !‫ ִמ ֶּבן ּגְ ִב ְר ְּת� ֲא ֶׁשר זָ ָע ְמ ָּת‬ The son of Sarah, higher born,
arcane prophecies were traditionally
mined by Jews for their messianic ;‫ׁשֹומם ַּב ֲחלֹום‬ ֵ ְ‫ָׁש ֶפל ְר ִא ִיתי� ו‬ For in my dream you were undone.
hints. Daniel’s pum memalel ravrevan,
“a high-and-mighty mouth,” was prob- , ‫אּולי ְּב ָה ִקיץ ֵּכן ְּכ ָבר ָׁש ָמ ְמ ָּת‬ ַ Has your doom so soon begun
ably meant by Halevi to refer to the
bombastic language of Muhammed in
,‫ּוׁשנַ ת ְּת ַת“ ץ ֻּת ַתּץ ְל� ָּכל ּגַ ֲאוָ ה‬ ְ That in the year 4890
the Koran. H.asaf tina be-raglei farzela,
“feet of iron mixed with clay,” is from
.‫ ֵּתבֹוׁש וְ ֶת ְח ַּפר ֵמ ֲא ֶׁשר זָ ָמ ְמ ָּת‬ Your sway will end in naught also?
the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar’s
dream of a “great image” or idol, inter-
?‫ַאּת ֲא ֶׁשר נִ ְק ַרא ְׁש ֶמ� ֶּפ ֶרא ֱאנֹוׁש‬ ְ ‫ַה‬ Proud tyrant! Assailant of Heaven! Are you not the one
preted by Daniel to represent the four
evil kingdoms of history. Avna di-meh.at
!‫ ַמה ָּכ ְב ָדה יָ ְד� ֶּומה ָע ַצ ְמ ָּת‬ Called ‘wild ass of a man’ and pum memalel ravrevan,
tsalma, “the stone that smote the im- ‫ַאּת ְמק ָ ֹרא ּפֻ ם ְמ ַמ ִּלל ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬ ְ ‫ַה‬ The last to rise against God’s Law,
age,” signified for Halevi the smashing
of the fourth, Islamic kingdom. I have ? ‫יׁשי זְ בֻ ל נִ ְל ָח ְמ ָּת‬ֵ ‫ וַ ְא ֶׁשר ְּב ַק ִּד‬ H.asaf tina be-raglei farzela?
sought to reproduce his pun on tatatz,
“890” (the Hebrew letters taf, taf, and ‫ַאּת ֲח ַסף ִטינָ א ְּב ַרגְ ֵלי ַפ ְרזְ ָלא‬ ְ ‫ַה‬ Suppose He has struck you down with avna di-meh.at
tsadi, 400+400+90), and tutatz, “will
be smashed” with “will end in naught,” ? ‫רֹומ ְמ ָּת‬
ַ ‫את וְ ִה ְת‬ ָ ‫ַאח ִרית ָּב‬ ֲ ‫ ָּב‬ Tsalma, and paid you back for all that you begot!”
in which “naught” also refers to the
zero in 4890. ‫ַאבנָ א ִדי ְמ ָחת‬ ְ ‫אּולי נְ גָ ְפ� ֵאל ְּב‬ ַ
!‫ וְ ִׁש ֵּלם ָל� ֲא ֶׁשר ִה ְק ָּד ְמ ָּת‬,‫ ַצ ְל ָמא‬
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫ ַׁש ֲח ִר י ָה ֵא ל וְ ִס ָּפ יו‬,‫יְ ִח ָידה‬

Nishmat 

The preceding poems, with the excep-

tion of “Lord, Where Will I Find You?”,
:‫ַאּפיו‬
ָ ‫ וְ ִכ ְקט ֶ ֹרת ְּתנִ י ִׁש ֵיר� ְּב‬,‫ ַׁש ֲח ִרי ָה ֵאל וְ ִס ָּפיו‬,‫יְ ִח ָידה‬
would have been classified as shirey
h.ol, “secular poems,” by the standards
,‫ֹאמ ִרי ּכִ י ֱא ֶמת ֵהם ָּכל ְּכ ָׁש ָפיו‬ ְ ‫ וְ ת‬,� ֵ‫ֲה�א ִאם ִּת ְר ְּד ִפי ַה ְב ֵלי זְ ַמּנ‬
of Hispano-Hebrew poetry, since none
was intended to form part of the
,‫נּומה ִמּנְ ָׁש ָפיו‬
ָ ‫יֹומ� וְ ֶת ְע ַרב ָל� ְּת‬ ֵ ְ‫ַאח ָריו ֵל ֵיל� ו‬ ֲ ‫וְ ֵתזְ ִלי‬
liturgy of a Jewish synagogue service.
This poem and the three following
.‫אּומה ֲא ָבל ֵעץ יִ ְיבׁשּו ָמ ָחר ֲענָ ָפיו‬ ָ ‫ְּד ִעי ִּכי ֵאין ְּביָ ַדיִ � ְמ‬
ones would have been classified as
shirey kodesh or “sacred poems,” also
.‫�היִ � ַּומ ְל ֵּכ� ֲא ֵׁשר ָּבאת ַל ֲחסֹות ַתּ ַחת ְּכנָ ָפיו‬ ַ ‫ֲהיִ י ִל ְפנֵ י ֱא‬
known as piyyutim, because their pur- !‫ַאּפיו‬
ָ ‫לֹוּה ַחי ְּב‬ ַ ‫ְׁשמֹו יִ גְ ַּדל וְ יִ ְת ַק ַּדׁש ְּב ִפי כ ֹל ֲא ֶׁשר נִ ְׁש ַמת ֱא‬
pose was liturgical. Each was meant to
be sung by the cantor or prayer leader
at a specific juncture—this “Nishmat”
before the prayer in the morning ser- My soul!
vice beginning, Nishmat kol h.ai teva-
rekh et shimkha adonai eloheynu, “The Cross God’s threshold at dawn and breathe to Him sweet-incensed song.
breath of all that lives shall bless Your How long will you follow Time’s follies and think that their witchcraft is truth,
name, O Lord our God.” The poem’s
last words, asher nishmat eloha h.ai Though days’ and nights’ revels and mornings slept softly away
be’apav, would have led directly into Will soon leave you holding only the dead branch of a tree?
the Nishmat of the prayerbook. Prayer
is depicted here by Halevi as a kind of Shelter under the wing of your Lord and your King,
divine circuitry in which God exhales
the breath of life into the early morn-
May his great name be praised by all that lives from His breath!
ing worshiper and then re-inhales his
own exhalation in the form of prayer.
  The initial Hebrew letters of the
first five distichs of this poem spell
“Yehuda.”
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‫יְ ִעירּונִ י ְב ִׁש ְמ� ַר ֲע יֹונָ י‬

Barkhu 

A barkhu is a piyyut preceding the invo-

cation Barkhu et adonai ha-mevorakh,
.‫יְ ִעירּונִ י ְב ִׁש ְמ� ַר ֲעיֹונָ י וְ יָ ִשׂימּו ֲח ָס ֶדי� ְל ָפנַ י‬
“Bless ye the Lord who is blessed,” ,‫ׁשּורה ִבי– וְ ִהיא נִ ְפ ָלאת ְּב ֵעינָ י‬ ָ ‫ֱה ִבינּונִ י ְדבַ ר נֶ ֶפׁש יְ ַצ ְר ָּתּה ְק‬
which follows the Nishmat kol h.ai. This
one describes the poet waking from .‫וְ ִל ִּבי ָר ֲא� וַ ּיַ ֲא ֵמן ָּב� ְּכ ִאּלּו ָמ ֳע ָמד ָהיָ ה ְּב ִסינָ י‬
a “vision” or dream of God, which,
although not described, was clearly an .‫בֹוד� ִּבי וְ יָ ַרד ַּב ֲענָ נָ י‬
ְ ‫ְּד ַר ְׁש ִּתי� ְב ֶחזְ יֹונַ י וְ ָעבַ ר ְּכ‬
intense experience. A “soft” mystic who
never aspired, as more radical mystics .‫בֹוד� ֲאד ֹנָ י‬ ֶ ‫צּועי ְל ָב ֵר� ֵׁשם ְּכ‬ַ ְ‫ֱה ִקימּונִ י ְׂש ִע ַּפי ִמּי‬
do, to a waking union with the Divinity,
Halevi nevertheless regarded his reli-
gious dreams as revelatory moments in My thoughts of You wake me at night and I muse on Your kindness to me.
which God appeared to him.
  Once again, the first letters of this Through it I fathom the soul You have lodged in me, which yet is beyond me.
poem’s five distichs spell the name of I see and believe in You in my heart as though Sinai rose over me.
the poet.
I have sought You in visions and in their clouds Your glory swept down on me.
And I think: My Lord who is blessed, let me rise at day’s dawning to bless You!
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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� ְ‫יַ ֲעב ֹר ָע ַל י ְרצֹונ‬

Ge’ula 

A ge’ula, literally, a “redemption,” is a

piyyut sung before the blessing
–� ְ‫ַּכ ֲא ֶׁשר ָעבַ ר ֲחרֹונ‬ � ְ‫יַ ֲעב ֹר ָע ַלי ְרצֹונ‬
Barukh ata adonai, ga’al yisra’el, ?� ְ‫יַ ֲעמ ֹד ֵּבינִ י ֵּובינ‬ ‫עֹול ִמים ֲע�נִ י‬
ָ ‫ַה ְל‬
“Blessed are you O Lord, who re-
deems Israel,” which comes in the ?� ְ‫אֹות� ִע ִּמי– וְ ֵאינ‬ ְ ‫וַ ֲע ֵדי ָמ ַתי ֲאבַ ֵּקׁש‬
section of the prayer between the
barkhu and the Amidah. The theol- ,� ְ‫ל־ארֹונ‬
ֲ ‫ ַה ְּפ ֻר ִׂשים ַע‬,‫ָּדר ְּב ַכנְ ֵפי ַה ְּכ ֻר ִבים‬
ogy of this ge’ula is conventional:
inasmuch as God (characteristically !� ְ‫ֶה ֱעבַ ְד ַתּנִ י ְלזָ ִרים– וַ ֲאנִ י כַ ּנַ ת יְ ִמינ‬
described by Halevi as both near
and far, “Ark-dwelling” and “looking !� ְ‫ ִלגְ אֹול ֲהמֹונַ י ר ֹם וְ ַה ְׁש ֵקף ִמ ְּמעֹונ‬,‫ּג ֲֹא ִלי‬
down” from above) has not forgiven
Israel for its sins, the chastisement
of exile must be borne. Yet the final Your will be done until Your anger is gone.
line hints at rebellion. One would
have expected it to read, “Redeemer, Must I always be parted from You by my sin?
look down on Your folk from Your
How long must I seek You and of You find no sign?
place and redeem.” The unexpected
“my” as though declares to God: Why, O Ark-Dweller beneath cherubs’ wings,
“You say we are Your people—but
you are in Your place and we are in Have You enslaved me to strangers when You are mine?
ours, and from where we are, Your Redeemer, look down on my folk from Your place and redeem!
redemption is not discernible.”
  The name Yehuda is woven into
this piyyut, too.
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‫ ִמ ְּמעֹונָ ּה ָר ֲח ָקה‬,‫ת־חן‬
ֵ ‫יַ ֲע ַל‬
Ahava 

An ahava was a piyyut prefaced to the

blessing of Ohev amo yisra’el, “Who
?‫אֹוה ָבּה ּכ ֵֹעס– וְ ָל ָּמה ָצ ֲח ָקה‬ֲ ,‫ ִמ ְּמעֹונָ ּה ָר ֲח ָקה‬,‫ת־חן‬
ֵ ‫יַ ֲע ַל‬
loves His people Israel,” which occurs !‫ת־אדֹום ְּובנֹות ֲע ָרב ַה ְּמבַ ְקׁשֹות ַל ֲחׁש ֹק ּדֹוד ָח ְׁש ָקה‬ ֱ ‫ָצ ֲח ָקה ַעל ַּב‬
in the service before the Shma Yisra’el.
Like Halevi’s ge’ula, this ahava touches ?‫ל־ה ְּצ ִבי ִה ְת ַר ְּפ ָקה‬
ַ ‫ֵהן ְּפ ָר ִאים ֵהם – וְ ֵאי� יִ ְדמּו ֱא ֵלי יַ ֲע ָלה ַע‬
on God’s perceived abandonment of
Israel, but from a different perspective. ?‫ ֵאי ַה ְּׁש ִכינָ ה ָּד ְב ָקה‬,‫ַה ְּב ִרית‬ ‫ ֵאי ֲארֹון‬,‫נֹורה‬ ָ ‫ ֵאי ְמ‬,‫ֵאי נְ בּוָאה‬
Here the stress is on His love. The “rare
beauty” is the exiled Jewish people, !‫ּבּוה וְ ִהיא ֵאׁש נִ ְּׁש ָקה‬
ָ ַ‫ּכִ י ְתכ‬ ,‫ַאה ָבה‬
ֲ ‫ַאל־ּת ַכּבּו‬
ְ ,‫ַאל־מ ַׂשנְ ַאי‬
ְ
while Edom is a rabbinic term for
Christendom. Despite their degraded
condition, this ahava affirms, the fol- A rare beauty far from her place of high birth:
lowers of Judaism can mock their
Christian and Muslim rivals’ preten-
Why does she laugh when her true love is wroth?
sions in the confidence that they alone She laughs at the daughters of Edom and at
are God’s true partner. No matter how
long His quarrel with them lasts, He Arabia’s mignons and at the thought
could no more lose His heart to the That they covet her beau. Low-born sows!
“low-born sows” (pra’im or”wild asses,”
in Halevi’s Hebrew) who are vying with Don’t they know that she lay in his arms as his doe?
them than a king could choose a rude
peasant girl over a princess.
Where are their Prophets? Where their Menoráh?
  The poem’s last two lines invoke Where their Holy Ark and Shekhináh?
the verse in the Songs of Songs, “Many
waters cannot quench love, neither can Don’t, my foes, don’t hope to quench love’s desire.
the flood drown it.” Such incorpora- You will only be burned by love’s fire.
tion of biblical language for allusive
purposes, known in Hebrew literary
criticism as shibutz or “insetting,” was
a common technique in the Hispano-
Hebrew poetry of Halevi’s age.
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
R 18 S

‫יְ ִע ירּונִ י ַר ְע יֹונַ י‬

Waked By My Thoughts

A modified “girdle” poem (my

translation retains its original rhyme
,‫וְ סֹוד ִל ִּבי ִּומ ְׁשָאלֹו‬ ‫יְ ִעירּונִ י ַר ְעיֹונַ י‬
scheme), “Waked By My Thoughts” ,‫ְּבזִ ְמ ַרת ֵאל ַּומ ֲה ָללֹו‬ ‫ֲהגֹות ִּד ְב ֵרי ַ ת ֲחנּונַ י‬
compares God to a king in a cloud-
moated castle to which the poet, ,‫ֲחצֹות ַליְ ָלה ִּבגְ ָללֹו‬ ‫וְ �א ֶא ֵּתן ְׁשנָ ת ְל ֵעינַ י‬
likened to a slave, tearfully but boldly
seeks admission. The tension climaxes !‫ְּולבַ ֵּקר ְּב ֵה ָיכלֹו‬ ‫ם־אד ֹנָ י‬
ֲ ‫ַל ֲחזֹות ְּבנ ַֹע‬
in the fourth stanza, which starts
with an appeal, borrowed from the
imagery of romantic love, for dawn, ?‫ִמי הּוא ֲא ֶׁשר ֱה ִק ָיצנִ י‬ :‫ֱה ִקיצ ִֹתי וַ ֲא ַח ֵּׁשב‬
the enemy of trysting lovers, to be
delayed so that the petitioning slave ,‫ּלֹותיו ֱה ִא ָיצנִ י‬ ָ ‫ְּת ִה‬ ‫יֹוׁשב‬
ֵ ‫וְ ִהּנֵ ה ָקדֹוׁש‬
can finish “pouring out” his “heart's
blood,” and ends with his gaining a ,‫וְ ִחּזְ ַקנִ י וְ ִא ְּמ ָצנִ י‬ ,‫וְ נָ ַתן ְּבָאזְ נַ י ֶ ק ֶׁשב‬
seat at the king's nocturnal table.
  The image of “the king at his feast”
‫ֲא ָב ֵר� ֲא ֶׁשר יְ ָע ָצנִ י‬ ‫רּוחי ָה ֵׁשב‬
ִ ‫וְ ָכל־עֹוד‬
is taken from the Song of Songs. A
second biblical inset is “If He finds me
!‫וְ ַהּגְ וִ ּיָ ה ִמ ְפ ָעלֹו‬ ‫ ֲא ֶׁשר ַהּנְ ָׁש ָמה לֹו‬,‫צּור‬
proud”—in the Hebrew, “If my heart
is lifted up in His eyes.” This comes
from Ezekiel 28:2, which reads, “Son
,‫ִּוב ְת ִפ ָּלה ֶא ְת ַעּנָ ג‬ –‫וָ ֶא ְת ַּפ ֵּלל ְל ָפנָ יו‬
of man, say unto the prince of Tyre . . . ,‫ָּומ ְתקּו ִמּצּוף ַּופּנָ ג‬ –‫ָּוב ְקעּו ְד ָמ ַעי ֲענָ נָ יו‬
because thine heart is lifted up . . .
thou hast said, I am a God . . . yet thou ,‫ְּב ֵעת נָ ַמס ַּכדֹונָ ג‬ ,‫‫וְ גָ בַ ּה ִל ִּבי ְב ֵע ינָ יו‬
art a man and not God.” Although
“Waked By My Thoughts” is one of ,‫ִמ ַּפ ֲחדֹו יִ ְתמֹוגָ ג‬ ‫ְּכ ֶע ֶבד ִל ְפנֵ י ֲ אד ֹנָ יו‬
the most mystical of Halevi's poems,
he was nevertheless, by means of this !‫ל־ע ָמלֹו‬ֲ ‫ת־ּכ‬ ָ ‫יִ נְ ֶׁשה ֶא‬ ‫וְ ִכי יִ זְ ּכ ֹר ַמ ְח ַמּלֹו‬
inset, disassociating himself from
the radical goal of becoming God
through mystical union with Him. ,‫ַאחר ַׁש ַחר ִמּבֹוא‬ ֵ ְ‫ו‬ ‫ּדֹום ַליִ ל וְ ִה ָּכ ֵבד‬
While God is approachable when love
overcomes fear, the nearer one draws ,‫ל־רּבֹו‬
ַ ‫ְּב ַת ֲחנּונָ יו ֶא‬ ‫ַעד־יִ ְת ַר ֶּצה ֶ ע ֶבד‬
to Him, the more conscious one is, for
Halevi, of how far away He remains.
,‫וְ יַ ּגִ יד נִ גְ ֵעי ִלּבֹו‬ ,‫וְ יִ ְׁשּפ ֹ� ַּדם ֵלב וְ ָכ ֵבד‬
  This poem is a signed one.
,‫ם־ה ֶּמ ֶל� ִּב ְמ ִסּבֹו‬ַ ‫ִע‬ ‫וְ ְיתיַ ֵחד ָהע ֵֹב ד‬
!‫ְל ֵׁשם ִּדגְ לֹו ִּומגְ ָּדלֹו‬ ‫וְ יָ ִׁשיר וְ יִ ָּׂשא ְמ ָׁשלֹו‬
‬‫ִל ְפנֵ י ֶמ ֶל� ְמ ָל ִכים‬ ‫ִ‫הּנֵ ה ֶע ֶבד ֲע ָ ב ִדים‬
–‫ְּוד ָמ ָעיו נֶ ֱה ָל ִכים‬ ‫ וְ יָ ָדיו ְּכ ֵב ִדים‬,‫ע ֵֹמד‬
,‫ְּבעֹוד ַחּיָ יו נִ ְמ ָׁש ִכים‬ ‫ְל� יְ צֻ ָריו נֶ ְע ָ ּב ִדים‬
,‫ִּומ ְתוַ ִּדים ְּומ ָב ְר ִכים‬ ‫מֹודים‬ִ ‫ל־א ָב ָריו‬ ֵ ‫וְ ָכ‬
!‫ֲא ֶׁשר ַּכחֹול ִמ ְׁש ָקלֹו‬ ,‫ְס ַלח ְלר ַֹע ַמ ֲ ע ָללֹו‬
Waked by my thoughts and driven to profess
God’s praise in song and plead my neediness,
I from my eyes brush midnight’s sleepiness
To seek the pleasance of the Lord’s palace.

Roused from drowsiness, I ask: Who stirred me?

The holy dweller in glory has spurred me.
He has taught me to listen; stood by me and beside me;
To my undying thankfulness, advised me.
All souls are His, all forms bear His impress!

To Him I pray–and rapt is my prayer.

Its tears pierce His clouds and are sweeter than nectar.
If He finds me proud, my heart is like butter,
Melting with fear like a slave’s of his master.
May love make him forget his distress!

Stay, solemn night! Let dawn wait in the east

Till the vassal who offers his heart’s blood has ceased
Pouring it out and his lord is appeased,
And the slave is alone with the king at his feast,
Pledging his flag in his fortress!

A slave of slaves before the King of Kings!

With heavy hands and many tears he brings
His life and limbs as Your sworn underlings
To bless You and confess You in all things.
Forgive like so much sand his sinfulness!
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
R 19 S

‫ נֶ גְ ְּד� ָכ ל ַתּ ֲא וָ ִת י‬,‫ֲא ד ֹנָ י‬

Lord, You Are My Sole Desire 

Toward the end of his long stay in

Toledo, Yehuda Halevi underwent
‫ל תּ ֲאוָ ִתי‬ ַ ‫ נֶ גְ ְּד� ָכ‬,‫ֲאד ֹנָ י‬ Lord, You are my sole desire,
what today might be called a mid- .‫ַאע ֶלּנָ ה ַעל ְׂש ָפ ִתי‬ ֲ ‫ וְ ִאם �א‬ Though I keep it my soul’s secret.
life crisis. The sense that time was Could I but do Your will and die
running out and that, despite all his –‫ְרצֹונְ � ֶא ְׁש ֲא ָלה ֶרגַ ע וְ ֶאגְ וָ ע‬
poetic achievements, something of That moment, I would seek it.
ultimate importance had been left ,‫ ִּומי יִ ֵּתן וְ ָתבֹוא ֱׁש ֶא ָל ִתי‬ Placing in Your hands my spirit,
undone began to take hold of him. All
the honors and adulation that were �‫רּוחי ְּביָ ְד‬ ִ ‫ַאפ ִקיד ֶאת ְׁשָאר‬ ְ ְ‫ו‬ I would sleep—and sweet such sleep is.
his merely weighed on him. Growing
old, for most people a process of ac- .‫ וְ ָע ְר ָבה לי ְׁשנָ ִתי‬,‫ וְ יָ ַׁשנְ ִּתי‬ Far from You, all life is dying;
commodation to who they are, had
become for him the anxiety of who he ,‫מֹותי ְב ַחּיָ י‬ ִ �‫ְּב ָר ְח ִקי ִמ ְּמ‬ Death is life with You beside me.

still was not.
 “Lord, You Are My Sole Desire” is .‫מֹותי‬ִ ‫ וְ ִאם ֶא ְד ַּבק ְּב� ַחּיַ י ְּב‬
an expression of this state. The poem
begins with a declaration of extreme
,‫ֲא ָבל �א ֵא ְד ָעה ַּב ָּמה ֲא ַק ֵּדם‬ And yet I know not how to further
religious devotion coupled with a
fatigue so great that it is couched as
.‫בֹוד ִתי וְ ָד ִתי‬ ָ ‫ ַּומה ִּת ְהיֶ ה ֲע‬ Most my faith or best to serve it.
Instruct me in Your ways, then, Lord,
an open death wish; pulls back from
this brink with the reflection that, de-
,‫ ַל ְּמ ֵדנִ י‬,‫ ֲאד ֹנָ י‬,�‫ְּד ָר ֶכי‬
And free my mind from folly’s service.
spite the poet’s sense of having lived
enough, he is unprepared to cast off a
,‫בּותי‬
ִ ‫ וְ ׁשּוב ִמ ַּמ ֲא ַסר ִס ְכלּות ְׁש‬ Teach me while I have strength to suffer,
world in which he has not yet fulfilled, ‫הֹורנִ י ְבעֹוד יֶ ׁש ִּבי יְ כ ֶֹלת‬ ֵ ְ‫ו‬ Nor despise my suffering
or even clarified, his true mission; and
ends with the confession that this ‫נּותי‬
ִ ‫ וְ ַאל ִּת ְבזֶ ה ֱע‬,‫ ְל ִה ְת ַעּנֹות‬ In the time still left before,
failure makes him as frightened as the
next man of the death he thought he ,‫ְּב ֶט ֶרם יֹום ֱא ִהי ָע ַלי ְל ַמ ָּׂשא‬ Myself a burden to myself,
had longed for. The stage for a radical My cankered bones fail to support me
decision was being set. ,‫ וְ יֹום יִ ְכ ַּבד ְק ָצ ִתי ַעל ְק ָצ ִתי‬
And, my only choice submission,
‫ וְ י ֹאכַ ל‬,‫וְ ִא ָּכנַ ע ְּב ַעל ָּכ ְר ִחי‬ I make the voyage to my fathers,
,‫אוּ מ ְּׂש ֵא ִתי‬ ִ ‫ וְ נִ ְל‬,‫ ֲע ָצ ַמי ָעׁש‬ Stopping to rest at their last stop
,‫בֹותי‬ ָ ‫וְ ֶא ַּסע ֶאל ְמקֹום נָ ְסעּו ֲא‬ Deep in the earth, I who once was
.‫ם תּ ֲחנַ ִתי‬ ַ ‫נֹות‬ ָ ‫קֹום תּ ֲח‬
ַ ‫ ִּוב ְמ‬ A sojourner upon its surface.

,‫ּתֹוׁשב ֲאנִ י ַעל ּגַ ב ֲא ָד ָמה‬ ָ ‫ְּכגֵ ר‬

.‫אּולם ּכִ י ְּב ִב ְטנָ ּה נַ ֲח ָל ִתי‬ ָ ְ‫ ו‬
,‫עּורי ַעד ֲה�ם ָעׂשּו ְלנַ ְפ ָׁשם‬ ַ ְ‫נ‬ My young years thought of naught save themselves.
?‫ ָּומ ַתי ּגַ ם ֲאנִ י ֶא ֱע ֶׂשה ְל ֵב ִיתי‬ When will my world-sated soul save itself?
How worship my Maker when all He has made
‫עֹולם ֲא ֶׁשר נִ ַתּן ְּב ִל ִּבי‬ ָ ‫וְ ָה‬
Makes me passion’s captive and slave,
.‫ַאח ִר ִיתי‬ ֲ ‫ ְמנָ ַענִ י ְלבַ ֵּקׁש‬ Or strive for the heights when at the day’s end
‫עֹודי‬
ִ ‫יֹוצ ִרי ְּב‬ ְ ‫וְ ֵא ָיכה ֶא ֱעב ֹד‬ Sister worm awaits my descent?
?‫ד תּ ֲאוָ ִתי‬ ַ ‫ ֲא ִסיר יִ ְצ ִרי וְ ֶע ֶב‬ How, even, be glad in glad times,
‫וְ ֵא ָיכה ַמ ֲע ָלה ָר ָמה ֲאבַ ֵּקׁש‬ When none know what the future will spell,
And the days underwrite my decay
?‫חֹותי‬ ִ ‫ ָּומ ָחר ִּת ְהיֶ ה ִר ָּמה ֲא‬
With the nights, half of me to dispel
‫טֹובה ְל ָב ִבי‬ ָ ‫וְ ֵאי� יִ ַיטב ְּביֹום‬ To the wind and half to the dust?
?‫ וְ �א ֵא ַדע ֲהיִ ַיטב ָמ ֳח ָר ִתי‬ What can I plead when I am pursued
‫וְ ַהּיָ ִמים וְ ַה ֵּלילֹות ֲע ֵר ִבים‬ By my lust from my youth to my wane?
,‫לֹותי‬
ִ ‫­ ׁש ֵא ִרי ַעד ְּכ‬ ְ ‫ ְלכַ ּלֹות ֶאת‬ What of this world but Your will is my share,
And if You are not mine what is mine?
,‫רּוח יְ זָ רּון ַמ ֲח ִצ ִיתי‬ ַ ‫וְ ָל‬
What more can I ask or declare?
.‫ וְ ֶל ָע ָפר יְ ִׁשיבּון ַמ ֲח ִצ ִיתי‬ I am naked of deeds, Your justice my only attire.
‫ וְ יִ ְצ ִרי יִ ְר ְּד ֵפנִ י‬,‫ַּומה א ַֹמר‬ Lord, You are my sole desire.
?‫לֹותי‬ ִ ‫עּורי ַעד ְּכ‬ ַ ְ‫ ְּכאֹויֵ ב ִמּנ‬
?� ָ‫ַּומה ִּלי ַּבזְ ָמן ִאם �א ְרצֹונ‬
?‫ ַמה ְּמנָ ִתי‬,‫ וְ ִאם ֵאינְ � ְמנָ ִתי‬
,‫ׁשֹולל וְ ָער ֹם‬ ָ ‫ֲאנִ י ִמ ַּמ ֲע ִׂשים‬
.‫סּותי‬ ִ ‫ וְ ִצ ְד ָק ְת� ְלבַ ָּדּה ִהיא ְכ‬
?‫ַאא ִרי� ָל ׁשֹון וְ ֶא ְׁשַאל‬ ֲ ‫וְ עֹוד ָמה‬
.‫ל תּ ֲאוָ ִתי‬ ַ ‫ֲאד ֹנָ י נֶ גְ ְּד� ָכ‬
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
Most likely it was sometime after R 20 S
the Crusader conquest of Jerusalem

‫נֹות י� יְ ִד ידֹות‬
ֶ ‫�הי! ִמ ְׁש ְּכ‬
ַ ‫ֱא‬
in 1099 that Halevi had the dream
described in this poem, in which
he took part in the ancient Temple
sacrifices and listened to the song of In the Temple 
the Levites. Since he was a Levite and
“singer” himself, his dream was also
about his own sense of religious and
literary vocation.
 “In the Temple” also has another
,‫נֹותי� יְ ִדידֹות‬ ֶ ‫�הי! ִמ ְׁש ְּכ‬ ַ ‫ֱא‬ Your dwellings, Lord, are places of love,
dimension. We have seen how Halevi
both struggled with, and delighted in,
.‫ �א ְב ִחידֹות‬,‫ וְ ִק ְר ָב ְת� ְּב ַמ ְר ֶאה‬ And Your nearness is clear as things seen,
  not guessed of.
the paradox of a God who created the ,‫לֹומי ִמ ְק ְּד ֵׁשי ֵאל‬ ִ ‫ֱה ִביַאנִ י ֲח‬
world from without yet dwelt within My dream took me to Your Temple’s mount to sing
His creation. Though how this could
be was a conundrum that human
,‫כֹותיו ַה ֲחמּודֹות‬ ָ ‫ וְ ַׁש ְר ִּתי ַמ ְל ֲא‬ In all its lovely worshiping and bring
reason could not resolve, God’s “near- ,‫עֹולה ִּומנְ ָח ָתּה וְ נִ ְס ָּכּה‬
ָ ‫וְ ָה‬ My offerings with their libations.
ness” in Halevi’s dream is as “clear as
things seen.” What is unknowable to .‫ וְ ָס ִביב ִּת ְימרֹות ָע ָׁשן ְּכ ֵבדֹות‬ Around me swirled thick smoke and ministrations,
the intellect, “In the Temple” pro-
claims, can nevertheless be grasped ‫וְ נָ ַע ְמ ִּתי ְּב ָׁש ְמ ִעי ִׁשיר ְלוִ ּיִ ם‬ Sweet to my ears, of Levites at their stations.
by direct experience. I woke, but when I did You still were there
  If we look at the remarkable se- .‫סֹוד ֶיהם ְל ֵס ֶדר ָה ֲעבֹודֹות‬ ֵ ‫ְ ּב‬
For me to thank You as befits my prayer.
quence of poems about Jerusalem
and the Land of Israel that came to be ,‫עֹודי ִע ְּמ� ֵאל‬ ִ ְ‫ ו‬,‫יצֹותי‬
ִ ‫ֱה ִק‬
known to posterity as Yehuda Halevi's
shirey tsiyon, his “songs of Zion,” “Your .‫ וְ ָל� נָ ֶאה ְלהֹודֹות‬,‫הֹוד ִיתי‬ ֵ ְ‫ ו‬
Dwellings, Lord” was probably the
first of them. This is because, unlike
the others, it does not express the
thought or hope of actually going to
live in the Land of Israel—a hope that,
for Halevi, came as a response to the
crisis described in “Lord, You Are My
Sole Desire.” It is as if when Halevi
wrote 'Your Dwellings, Lord' such a
hope did not yet exist—or, going a
step farther, as if the hope were en-
gendered by the dream
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‫ִל ִּב י ְב ִמ זְ ָר ח‬
My Heart in the East 

“My Heart in the East” is probably the

best-known and most translated of all
.‫ִל ִּבי ְב ִמזְ ָרח וְ ָאנ ִֹכי ְּבסֹוף ַמ ֲע ָרב‬ My heart in the East
Halevi’s poems. In formal terms, it is ?‫ֵ אי� ֶא ְט ֲע ָמה ֵאת ֲא ֶׁשר א ֹכַ ל וְ ֵאי� יֶ ֱע ָרב‬ But the rest of me far in the West—
easily described. Its three 28- or 29-syl- How can I savor this life, even taste what I eat?
lable distichs have the meter, known as ‫ ְּבעֹוד‬,‫ֵא ָיכה ֲא ַׁש ֵּלם נְ ָד ַרי וֶ ֱא ָס ַרי‬
the mitpashetet, long-long-short-long, How, in the bonds of the Moor,
long-short-long, long-long-short-long, ?‫ִ צּיֹון ְּב ֶח ֶבל ֱאדֹום וַ ְאנִ י ְּב ֶכ ֶבל ֲע ָרב‬ Zion chained to the Cross,
long-short-long. The poem has the
mono-rhyme of -rav. It has one pun, ‫ ְּכמֹו‬,‫יֵ ַקל ְּב ֵעינַ י ֲעזֹוב ָּכל טּוב ְס ָפ ַרד‬ Can I do what I’ve vowed to and must?
a double play on h.evel, “domain,”
but also “rope,” and khevel, “chain,” .‫ יֵ ַקר ְּב ֵעינַ י ְראֹות ַע ְפרֹות ְּד ִביר נֶ ֱח ָרב‬ Gladly I’d leave
and three phonetically linked pairs All the best of grand Spain
of words: mizrah., “East,” and ma’arav,
West,” yeykal, “it would be little,” and For one glimpse of the ruined Shrine’s dust.
yeykar, “it would be precious,” and tuv
s’farad, “the goodness of Spain,” and
d’vir neh.erav, “the Shrine [i.e., Temple]
in ruins.”
  All this is cut-and-dried. Yet, de-
scribing the conflict of a man who has
decided to journey to Crusader-ruled
Palestine and live there, yet who is
frighteningly aware of the difficulties
of doing so, “My Heart in the East” is a
living poem. Indeed, it is a perfect one,
a miniature marvel of balance in which
opposites tug in different directions
while remaining musically joined.
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‫ ְמׂשֹוׂש ֵתּ ֵב ל‬,‫יְ ֵפה נֹוף‬

To Jerusalem 

In this poem, the dust of Jerusalem’s

ruins that the poet sought a mere
!‫ ִק ְריָ ה ְל ֶמ ֶל� ָרב‬,‫ ְמׂשֹוׂש ֵּת ֵבל‬,‫יְ ֵפה נֹוף‬ O fair of view! World’s joy! Great monarch’s home!
glimpse of in “My Heart in the East” is .‫ָ ל� נִ ְכ ְס ָפה נַ ְפ ִׁשי ִמ ַּפ ֲא ֵתי ַמ ְע ָרב‬ For you, from earth’s far end, my spirit yearns.
imagined as a more intense sweetness, Compassion stirs in me when my mind turns
the taste of a lover’s kiss. Indeed, “To ,‫ֲהמֹון ַר ֲח ַמי נִ ְכ ָמר ּכִ י ֶאזְ ְּכ ָרה ֶק ֶדם‬
Jerusalem,” with its beauteous queen To your lost cloister and its splendor’s doom.
banished from her “cloister” of the .‫בֹוד� ֲא ֶׁשר ּגָ ָלה וְ נָ וֵ � ֲא ֶׁשר ָח ָרב‬ ֵ ‫ְ ּכ‬ Would that on an eagle’s wings I flew
Temple, has the motifs of a romantic
love poem. Its pining lover; its beloved ‫ִּומי יִ ְּתנֵ נִ י ַעל ַּכנְ ֵפי נְ ָׁש ִרים ַעד‬ To mix the water of my tears with your parched clay!
he has been torn from by a cruel fate;
its hope for a blissful reunion with !‫ֲ א ַרּוֶ ה ְב ִד ְמ ָע ִתי ֲע ָפ ֵרך וְ יִ ְת ָע ָרב‬ Always I think of you—and though your king’s away,
her—all are met with often in the me-
dieval poetry of the troubadors and ‫ וְ ִאם ִּב ְמקֹום‬,�‫ְּד ַר ְׁש ִּתי� וְ ִאם ַמ ְל ֵּכ� ֵאין ָּב‬ And snakes and scorpions scuttle where once grew
Your balm of Gilead, your stones and earth
in romances like Tristan and Isolde. In
many of Halevi’s “songs of Zion,” of ,‫ֳ צ ִרי ּגִ ְל ֲע ֵדך נָ ָחׁש ָׂש ָרף וְ גַ ם ַע ְק ָרב‬
Would taste when kissed like honey in my mouth.
which this is one of the most consum-
mate, one finds, uniquely, the themes
,‫ֲה�א ֶאת ֲא ָבנַ יִ � ֲאח ֹנֵ ן וְ ֶא ָּׁש ֵקם‬
of romantic love fully integrated with
the theme of Jewish exile and the
.‫ וְ ַט ַעם ְרגָ בַ יִ � ְל ִפי ִמ ְּדבַ ׁש יֶ ְע ָרב‬
yearning for an end to it.
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� ִ‫ִצּיֹון ֲה�א ִת ְׁש ֲא ִל י ִל ְׁש לֹום ֲא ִס ַיר י‬

Zion, Do You Wonder? 

“Zion, Do You Wonder?” is another

of Halevi’s best-known poems, one
,� ִ‫ִצּיֹון ֲה�א ִת ְׁש ֲא ִלי ִל ְׁשלֹום ֲא ִס ַירי‬ Zion! Do you wonder how and where your captives
familiar to many Jews from the book ?� ִ‫לֹומ� וְ ֵהם יֶ ֶתר ֲע ָד ָרי‬ ֵ ‫ּדֹור ֵׁשי ְׁש‬ ְ Are now, and if they think of you, the far-flocked
of lamentations for Tisha b’Av, the day  remnants?
of mourning for the destruction of the ‫ִמּיָ ם ִּומזְ ָרח ִּומ ָּצפֹון וְ ֵת ָימן ְׁשלֹום‬
Temple. Yet despite its inclusion there From north and south, east, west, and all directions,
by Jewish tradition, it was not originally ,� ִ‫ָרחֹוק וְ ָקרֹוב ְׂש ִאי ִמּכ ֹל ֲע ָב ָרי‬ Near and far, they send their greetings
written for liturgical use and would
have been considered a “secular” –‫נֹותן ְּד ָמ ָעיו ְּכ ַטל‬ ֵ ,‫יר תּ ֲאוָ ה‬ ַ ‫ּוׁשלֹום ֲא ִס‬ ְ As I send mine, captured by my longings
rather than a “sacred” poem by Halevi’s
contemporaries. .� ִ‫ֶח ְרמֹון וְ נִ ְכ ַסף ְל ִר ְד ָּתם ַעל ֲה ָר ָרי‬ To weep like Hermon’s dew upon your mountains.
  Indeed, the poem that “Zion, Do
You Wonder?” most has to be read ‫נּות� ֲאנִ י ַתּנִ ים וְ ֵעת ֶא ֱח�ם‬ ֵ ‫ִל ְבּכֹות ֱע‬ Mourning your lowliness, I am the wail of jackals;
Dreaming your sons’ return, the song of lute strings.
in conjunction with is “Why, My Dar-
ling, Have You Barred All News?” Like .� ִ‫בּותך ֲאנִ י ִכּנֹור ְל ִׁש ָירי‬ ֵ ‫ִׁשיבַ ת ְׁש‬
My heart stirs for Peniel, and for Bethel, and all
it—and unlike anything else Halevi
ever wrote—the 34 distichs of “Zion,
‫ִל ִּבי ְל ֵבית ֵאל וְ ִל ְפנִ ֵיאל ְמא ֹד יֶ ֱה ֶמה‬   those places
Do You Wonder?” have the haunting
mono-rhyme of “–ayikh,” and like it,
,� ִ‫הֹורי‬ָ ‫ְּול ַמ ֲחנַ יִ ם וְ כ ֹל ִּפגְ ֵעי ְט‬ With their pure traces of God’s presence, where
too, they follow the same progression
of emotions from bereaved longing to
�‫ּיֹוצ ֵר‬ְ ‫ָׁשם ַה ְּׁש ִכינָ ה ְׁש ֵכנָ ה ָל� וְ ַה‬   your gates,
bitter grief to hope for love’s restora-
tion. In composing this, the greatest
,� ִ‫ָּפ ַתח ְלמּול ַׁש ֲע ֵרי ַׁש ַחק ְׁש ָע ָרי‬ Facing the portals of the highest heavens,
Stand opened by your Maker. You He illumines
of his songs of Zion, Halevi was clearly ‫אֹור� וְ ֵאין‬ ֵ ‫ְּוכבֹוד יְ יָ ְלבַ ד ָהיָ ה ְמ‬
aware of having modeled it on the Not with the sun, or moon, or stars, but with
greatest of his love poems. .� ִ‫כֹוכ ִבים ְמ ִא ָירי‬ ָ ְ‫ֶׁש ֶמׁש וְ ַס ַהר ו‬   the rays
  As in my translation of “Why, My
Darling, Have You Barred All News?”, ‫ֶא ְב ַחר ְלנַ ְפ ִׁשי ְל ִה ְׁש ַתּ ֵּפ� ְּב ָמקֹום ֲא ֶשר‬ Of His own glory. Gladly I would choose
I have substituted a final “s” sound
for Halevi's mono-rhyme. The poem's .� ִ‫פּוכה ַעל ְּב ִח ָירי‬ ָ ‫�הים ְׁש‬ ִ ‫רּוח ֱא‬
ַ To pour my soul out where your chosen ones
Hebrew meter is the mitpashetet, for
which I have once again fallen back on ‫ַאּת ּכִ ֵּסא יְ יָ וְ ִאם‬ ְ ְ‫לּוכה ו‬ ָ ‫ַאּת ֵּבית ְמ‬ ְ Stood in a downpour of God’s effluence.
You are the throne of the Lord, His royal house—
an English iambic line.
.� ִ‫יָ ְׁשבּו ֲע ָב ִדים ֲע ֵלי ִכ ְסאֹות ּגְ ִב ָירי‬
How then are slaves enthroned in your lords’
‫ׁשֹוטט ַּב ְּמקֹומֹות ֲא ֶׁשר‬ ֵ ‫ִמי יִ ְּתנֵ נִ י ְמ‬  houses?
!� ִ‫�הים ְלחֹוזַ יִ � וְ ִצ ָירי‬ ִ ‫נִ גְ לּו ֱא‬ If only I could wander past the way points
‫ַאר ִחיק נְ ד ֹד‬ ְ ְ‫ִמי יַ ֲע ֶׂשה ִלי ְכנָ ַפיִ ם ו‬ Where God appeared to your appointed and
!� ִ‫ָאנִ יד ְל ִב ְת ֵרי ְל ָב ִבי ֵּבין ְּב ָת ָרי‬   your seers,
And, flying to you with a bird’s wings,
‫ַאר ֵצ� וְ ֶא ְר ֶצה ֲא ָב־‬ ְ ‫ַאּפי ֲע ֵלי‬ ַ ‫ֶאּפ ֹל ְל‬
Shake woeful head, remembering the throes
,� ִ‫נַ יִ � ְמא ֹד וַ ֲאח ֹנֵ ן ֶאת ֲע ָפ ָרי‬ Of your dismemberment, my face
‫ַאף ּכִ י ְב ָע ְמ ִדי ֲע ֵלי ִק ְברֹות ֲאב ַֹתי וְ ֶא ְׁש־‬ Pressed to your earth, cherishing its soil and
.� ִ‫ּתֹומם ְּב ֶח ְברֹון ֲע ֵלי ִמ ְב ַחר ְק ָב ָרי‬ ֵ  stones–
‫ֶא ְעב ֹר ְּביַ ְע ֵר� וְ כַ ְר ִמ ֵּל� וְ ֶא ְעמ ֹד ְּבגִ ְל־‬ Yes, even so, the graves of patriarchs.
Wondrous in Hebron at your choicest tombs,
,� ִ‫ר־ע ָב ָרי‬ ֲ ‫ּתֹומ ָמה ֶאל ַה‬ ֲ ‫ָע ֵד� וְ ֶא ְׁש‬
I would cross Gilead, and Carmel’s woods,
‫ר־ה ֲע ָב ִרים וְ ה ֹר ָה ָהר ֲא ֶׁשר ָׁשם ְׁשנֵ י‬ ָ ‫ַה‬ And stop to marvel at your lofty peaks
.� ִ‫ּומֹורי‬
ָ � ִ‫דֹולים ְמ ִא ַירי‬ ִ ְ‫אֹורים ּג‬ ִ Across the Jordan, on which, illustrious,
‫ר־דרֹור‬ ְ ‫ַאר ֵצ� ִּומ ָּמ‬ ְ ‫ַחּיֵ י נְ ָׁשמֹות ֲאוֵ יר‬ Lie buried the two greatest of your teachers.
.� ִ‫ַאב ַקת ֲע ָפ ֵר� וְ נ ֶֹפת צּוף נְ ָה ָרי‬ ְ Your very air’s alive with souls;
Your earth breathes incense and your rivers
‫יִ נְ ַעם ְלנַ ְפ ִׁשי ֲהלֹו� ָער ֹם וְ יָ ֵחף ֲע ֵלי‬
Run with balm. I would rejoice
,� ִ‫ָח ְרבֹות ְׁש ָמ ָמה ֲא ֶׁשר ָהיּו ְ ּד ִב ָירי‬ To walk with my bare feet, in tatters,
‫ִּב ְמקֹום ֲארֹונֵ � ֲא ֶׁשר נִ גְ נַ ז ִּוב ְמקֹום ְּכרּו־‬ Upon the ruins of your Sanctuaries,
.� ִ‫בַ יִ � ֲא ֶׁשר ָׁש ְכנּו ַח ְד ֵרי ֲח ָד ָרי‬ In which, before it was removed from us,
‫ַאׁש ִלי� ְּפ ֵאר נִ זְ ִרי וְ ֶאּק ֹב זְ ָמן‬ ְ ְ‫ָאגֹז ו‬ The Holy Ark stood guarded by its Cherubs
Posted at the innermost of chambers—
.� ִ‫ִח ֵּלל ְּב ֶא ֶרץ ְט ֵמָאה ֶאת־נְ זִ ָירי‬ And then, all worldly pomp cast off, I’d curse
‫ּוׁשתֹות ְּב ֵעת ֶא ֱחזֶ ה‬ ְ ‫ֵאי� יֶ ֱע ַרב ִלי ֲאכֹול‬ The fate that did defile your peerless pilgrims.
?� ִ‫ּכִ י ּיִ ְס ֲחבּו ַה ְּכ ָל ִבים ֶאת ְּכ ִפ ָירי‬ How could I eat or drink, seeing the dogs
‫אֹו ֵאי� ְמאֹור יֹום יְ ִהי ָמתֹוק ְל ֵעינַ י ְּבעֹוד‬ Make off with the remains of your proud lions?
?� ִ‫ֶא ְר ֶאה ְּב ִפי ע ְ ֹר ִבים ִּפגְ ֵרי נְ ָׁש ָרי‬ How find the daylight sweet when my two eyes
Were forced to witness crows feast on your eagles?
‫ּכֹוס ַהיְ גֹונִ ים ְלַאט ַה ְר ִּפי ְמ ַעט ּכִ י ְכ ָבר‬
!� ִ‫רֹורי‬ ָ ‫ָמ ְלאּו ְכ ָס ַלי וְ נַ ְפ ִׁשי ַמ ְּמ‬ Enough, desist from me, O cup of sorrows,
Drained to the dregs of all its bitterness!
‫ָאה ָלה ֶא ְׁש ֶּתה ֲח ָמ ֵת� וְ ֶאזְ ּכ ֹר‬ ֳ ‫ֵעת ֶאזְ ְּכ ָרה‬
Zion! God’s love, combined with Beauty’s grace,
!� ִ‫ת־ׁש ָמ ָרי‬ ְ ‫ָאה ִל ָיבה וְ ֶא ְמ ֶצה ֶא‬ ֳ Has bound to you the souls of all your friends,
‫ַאה ָבה וְ ֵחן ִּת ְק ְׁש ִרי‬ ְ ,‫ִצּיֹון ְּכ ִל ַילת יֳ ִפי‬ So that they joy when you’re at peace
,� ִ‫ֵמָאז ָּוב� נִ ְק ְׁשרּו נַ ְפׁשֹות ֲח ֵב ָרי‬ And weep when you’re all wounds and wilderness.
‫ וְ ַהּכ ֲֹא ִבים‬,�‫ֵהם ַה ְּׂש ֵמ ִחים ְל ַׁש ְלוָ ֵת‬ Imprisoned, they yearn for you, each from his place
Turning to bow in prayer to your gates–
.� ִ‫ּובֹוכים ַעל ְׁש ָב ָרי‬ ִ ,�‫מּות‬ ֵ ‫ׁשֹומ‬ ֲ ‫ַעל‬
Your many flocks, dispersed to distant hills
‫ׁשֹוא ִפים נֶ גְ ֵּד� ִּומ ְׁש ַתּ ֲחוִ ים‬ ֲ ‫ִמּבֹור ְׁש ִבי‬ Yet ever mindful of their vows
,� ִ‫ִאיׁש ִמ ְּמקֹומֹו ֱא ֵלי נ ֹכַ ח ְׁש ָע ָרי‬ To re-ascend to you and reach your heights,
‫ֶע ְד ֵרי ֲהמֹונֵ � ֲא ֶׁשר ּגָ לּו וְ ִה ְת ַּפּזְ רּו‬ As the palm tree, rising above all else,
,� ִ‫ֵמ ַהר ְלגִ ְב ָעה וְ �א ָׁש ְכחּו גְ ֵד ָרי‬ Is scaled by the bold climber. Who compares
To you? Not ancient Babylon, nor Greece:
‫ַאּמ ִצים‬ ְ ‫ׁשּוליִ � ִּומ ְת‬ ַ ‫ַה ַּמ ֲחזִ ִיקים ְּב‬
What are all their empty oracles
.� ִ‫ַל ְעלֹות וְ ֶל ְאחֹז ְּב ַסנְ ִסּנֵ י ְּת ָמ ָרי‬ Beside your Prophets and the breastplates of
‫ִׁשנְ ָער ַּופ ְתרֹוס ֲהיַ ַע ְרכּו� ְּבגָ ְד ָלם וְ ִאם‬   your priests?
?� ִ‫אּורי‬ ָ ְ‫ֶה ְב ָלם יְ ַדּמּו ְל ֻת ַּמיִ � ו‬ The heathen kingdoms lapse, collapse, and pass,
–‫ֶאל ִמי יְ ַדּמּו ְמ ִׁש ַיחיִ � וְ ֶאל ִמי נְ ִבי‬ But you remain forever, crowned for the ages.
God makes His home in you: Blesséd are those
?� ִ‫ַאיִ � וְ ֶאל ִמי ְלוִ ּיַ יִ � וְ ָׁש ָרי‬
Who dwell with Him, residing in your courts.
,‫יִ ְׁשנֶ ה וְ יַ ְח�ף ְּכ ִליל ָּכל ַמ ְמ ְלכֹות ָה ֱא ִליל‬ Blesséd is he who comes, and waits, and sees
.� ִ‫עֹולם ְלדֹור וָ דֹור נְ זָ ָרי‬ ָ ‫ָח ְסנֵ � ְל‬ The rising sun illuminate your dawns,
‫ַאׁש ֵרי ֱאנֹוׁש‬ ְ ְ‫�היִ � ו‬ ַ ‫מֹוׁשב ֱא‬ ָ ‫ִאּוָ � ְל‬ In which your steadfast share the happiness
!� ִ‫יִ ְב ַחר יְ ָק ֵרב וְ יִ ְׁשּכֹן ַּב ֲח ֵצ ָרי‬ Of your lost youth, restored as it once was.

‫ַאׁש ֵרי ְמ ַח ֶּכה וְ יַ ּגִ ַיע וְ יִ ְר ֶאה ֲעלֹות‬ ְ

,� ִ‫אֹור� וְ יִ ָּב ְקעּו ָע ָליו ְׁש ָח ָרי‬ ֵ
–‫ִל ְראֹות ְּבטֹובַ ת ְּב ִח ַיריִ � וְ ַל ְע�ז ְּב ִׂש ְמ‬
.� ִ‫עּורי‬ ָ ְ‫ׁשּוב� ֱא ֵלי ַק ְד ַמת נ‬ ֵ ‫ָח ֵת� ְּב‬
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJ
R 24 S

?‫ַאח ר ֲח ִמ ִּׁש ים‬

ַ ‫ֲה ִת ְרּד ֹף נַ ֲע רּות‬
A Man in Your Fifties 

Yehuda Halevi was in his fifties from

the early 1120s to the early 1130s, and
!‫עֹופף ֲחמֻ ִׁשים‬ ֵ ‫וְ יָ ֶמיך ְל ִה ְת‬ ?‫ַאחר ֲח ִמ ִּׁשים‬ ַ ‫ֲה ִת ְרּד ֹף נַ ֲערּות‬
while the idea of leaving Spain for the ,‫ל־עב ַ ֹדת ָה ֲאנָ ִׁשים‬ ֲ ‫וְ ִת ְכס ֹף ֶא‬ ,‫�הים‬ ִ ‫וְ ִת ְב ַרח ֵמ ֲעב ַ ֹדת ָה ֱא‬
Land of Israel increasingly preoccupied
him during this period, he repeatedly ,‫רּוׁשים‬ ִ ‫ל־ח ֶפץ ְּד‬ ֵ ‫ְּפנֵ י ֶא ָחד ְל ָכ‬ ‫ וְ ִתּטֹׁש‬,‫י־ר ִּבים‬ ַ ֵ‫וְ ִת ְדר ֹׁש ֶאת ְּפנ‬
put off its implementation. As the
friends who urged him to abandon it ?‫וְ ִת ְמּכ ֹר ֶח ְל ְק� ִבנְ זִ יד ֲע ָד ִׁשים‬ ,�‫וְ ֵת ָע ֵצל ְל ִה ְצ ַטּיֵ ד ְל ַד ְר ָּכ‬
kept reminding him, Crusader Palestine
was a war zone, its Jewish population ?‫ הֹון!– וְ ַת ֲאוָ ָתּה ְּתבַ ֵּכר ָל ֳח ָד ִׁשים‬:�‫ָאמ ָרה ְל� עֹוד נַ ְפ ְׁש‬ ְ ‫ֲה�א‬
decimated by its Christian conquerors.
Mediterranean travel was dangerous, ,‫וְ סּור ֵמ ַעל ֲח ֵמ ֶׁשת ָה ְרגָ ִׁשים‬ ,‫ת־אל‬ ֵ ‫ל־ע ַצ‬ ֲ ‫נְ ֵטה ֵמ ַעל ֲע ָצ ָתּה ֶא‬
and even if he arrived safely, Halevi, a
lionized figure in Spain, would have ,‫ָאצים וְ ָח ִׁשים‬ ִ ‫מֹותי� ֲא ֶׁשר‬ ֶ ְ‫י‬ ‫וְ ִה ְת ַר ֵּצה ְלי ֶֹצ ְר� ְּביֶ ֶתר‬
nothing but a life of social and cultural
isolation to look forward to. The entire ;‫ַאל־ּת ֵל� ְל� ִל ְק ַראת נְ ָח ִׁשים‬ ֵ ְ‫ו‬ ,‫ַאל־ּת ְדר ֹׁש ְּב ֵלב וָ ֵלב ְרצֹונֹו‬ ִ ְ‫ו‬
plan seemed like madness.
  Halevi hesitated—and castigated
,‫וְ ַקל ּכִ ְצ ִבי וְ גִ ּבֹור ַּכ ְּליָ ִׁשים‬ ‫ֱהיֵ ה ַל ְעׂשֹות ְרצֹונֹו ַעז ְּכנָ ֵמר‬
himself for doing so. The perilous sea
voyage imagined in this poem is a met-
,‫וְ ָה ִרים ֶּת ֱחזֶ ה ָמ ִטים ָּומ ִׁשים‬ ,�‫וְ ַאל־יִ ּמֹוט ְּב ֵלב יַ ִּמים ְל ָב ָב‬
aphor for the entire project of settling
in Palestine. The poem can be read
,‫יׁשים‬ ִ ‫וְ ַח ְכ ֵמי ַה ֲח ָר ִׁשים ַמ ֲח ִר‬ ,‫ַּומ ָּל ִחים יְ ֵד ֶיהם ַּכ ְּמ ָל ִחים‬
as a waking dream in which the poet
masters his anxiety by letting the worst
,‫חֹור ֶיהם ּוב ִֹׁשים‬ ֵ ‫ל־א‬ ֲ ‫וְ ָׁש ִבים ֶא‬  –‫ְׂש ֵמ ִחים ה ְֹל ִכים נ ַֹכח ְּפנֵ ֶיהם‬
happen in his thoughts, so that his ,‫קּוׁשים‬ ִ ְ‫וְ ֵאין ִמ ְב ָרח ְל� ּכִ י ִאם־י‬ ,‫וְ אֻ ְקיָ נֹוס ְל ָפנֶ י� ְל ָמנֹוס‬
heart beats as wildly as a ship tossing in
high seas and then, the winds subsiding ,‫וְ יָ נּועּו וְ יָ זּועּו ְק ָר ִׁשים‬ ,‫וְ יָ מּוטּו וְ יָ נּוטּו ְק ָל ִעים‬
as he regains control of his fears and his
breathing becomes regular again, reas- ,‫ְּכנ ְֹׁש ֵאי ָה ֳע ָמ ִרים ַּב ְּדיָ ִׁשים‬ ,‫ד־רּוח ְמ ַצ ֶח ֶקת ְּב ַמיִ ם‬ ַ ַ‫וְ י‬
suringly slows to the steady pulse of
the certitude of being in God’s hands. ,‫יׁשים‬ ִ ‫ם תּ ֲע ֶׁשה ֵמ ֶהם ּגְ ִד‬ ַ ‫ַּופ ַע‬ ,‫ם תּ ֲע ֶׁשה ֵמ ֶהם ּגְ ָרנֹות‬ ַ ‫ַּופ ַע‬
,‫וְ ֵעת ֵה ָח ְל ָׁשם ָּדמּו נְ ָח ִׁשים‬ ,‫ְּב ֵעת ִה ְתּגַ ְּב ָרם ָּדמּו ֲא ָריֹות‬
;‫ְּכ ִצ ְפע ֹנִ ים וְ ֵאין ָל ֶהם ְל ָח ִׁשים‬ ‫ַאחר ֹנִ ים‬ ֲ ‫וְ ִראׁש ֹנִ ים ְּד ָלקּום‬
,‫וְ ַהּת ֶ ֹרן וְ ַהּנֵ ס נֶ ֱח ָל ִׁשים‬ ,‫ַאּדיר‬ ִ ‫ַאּדיר ְּכ ָקט יִ ּפ ֹל ְּב‬ ִ ‫וְ ִצי‬
,‫ְּכ ַת ְח ִּתּיִ ם ְׁשנִ ּיִ ם ַּכ ְּׁש ִל ִׁשיִ ם‬ ,‫וְ ַה ֵּת ָבה וְ ִקּנֶ ָיה נְ בֻ ִכים‬
,‫וְ נָ ִׁשים וַ ֲאנָ ִׁשים– נֶ ֱאנָ ִׁשים‬ ,‫ּומ ְֹׁש ֵכי ַה ֲח ָב ִלים– ַּב ֲח ָב ִלים‬
,‫וְ ָקצּו ַהּגְ וִ ּיֹות ַּבּנְ ָפ ִׁשים‬ ,‫רּוח ֻח ְּב ָלה ֵמח ְֹב ֵל ֶיהם‬ ַ ְ‫ו‬
,‫יׁשים‬ ִ ‫וְ ֵאין ֶח ְמ ָּדה ְל ַת ְחּבֻ ַלת יְ ִׁש‬ ,‫וְ ֵאין יִ ְתרֹון ְלחזֶ ֹ ק ַה ְּת ָרנִ ים‬
,‫רֹוׁשים‬ ִ ‫וְ נֶ ֶה ְפכּו ְל ָקנִ ים ַה ְּב‬ ,‫וְ נֶ ֶח ְׁשבּו ְל ַקׁש ָּת ְרנֵ י ֲא ָרזִ ים‬
,‫ּובַ ְרזִ ֵּלי ֲא ָדנִ ים ַּכ ֲח ָׁש ִׁשים‬ ,‫וְ נֵ ֶטל חֹול ְּבגַ ב ַהּיָ ם ְּכ ֶת ֶבן‬
,‫ַאּת ּפ ֹנֶ ה ְלק ֶ ֹדׁש ַה ֳּק ָד ִׁשים‬ ְ ְ‫ו‬ –‫ל־איׁש ְל ָק ְדשֹו‬ ִ ‫וְ ָעם יִ ְת ַּפ ֲללּו ָכ‬
,‫רּוׁשים‬
ִ ‫ל־ל ָבבֹות ֵהם ֲח‬ ְ ‫ל־ּכ‬ ָ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ַע‬ ,‫וְ ִתזְ ּכ ֹר ִמ ְפ ְלאֹות יַ ם־סּוף וְ יַ ְר ֵּדן‬
,‫ְּב ֵעת ֶׁשּיִ גְ ְרׁשּו ֵמ ָימיו ְר ָפ ִׁשים‬ ,‫ְּת ַׁש ֵּב ַח ְל ַמ ְׁש ִּב ַיח ְׁשאֹון יָ ם‬
!‫ר־ל� זְ כּות ָאבֹות ְקד ִֹׁשים‬ ָ ‫וְ יִ זְ ָּכ‬ – ‫וְ ִתזְ ָּכר־לֹו זְ כֹות ִלּבֹות ְט ֵמ ִאים‬
,‫ּומּוׁשים‬
ִ ‫ְל ָפנָ יו ִׁשיר ְמחֹול ַמ ְח ִלים‬ ‫אֹותיו ִּכי ְת ַח ֵּדׁש‬ ָ ‫נֹור‬ ְ ‫יְ ַח ֵּדׁש‬
,‫וְ יִ ְחיּו ָה ֲע ָצ ִמים ַהיְ ֵב ִׁשים‬ ,‫וְ יָ ִׁשיב ַהּנְ ָׁשמֹות ַל ְּפגָ ִרים‬
,‫ל־ּפנֵ י ֶא ֶרץ נְ ֻט ִׁשים‬ ְ ‫ֲע ָד ִרים ַע‬ ‫ וְ יִ ְדמּו‬,‫וְ ֶרגַ ע יִ ְׁש ְּתקּו גַ ִּלים‬
–‫ְצ ָבא ָמרֹום וְ ָע ָליו ַׂשר ֲח ִמ ִּׁשים‬ ‫וְ ַה ַּליִ ל– ְּכבֹוא ֶׁש ֶמׁש ְּב ַמ ְעלֹות‬
,‫יׁשים‬ ִ ‫וְ ִכ ְת ֵכ ֶלת ְּב ִמּלֻ ַאת ּגְ ִב‬ ,‫בּוׁשּה‬ ָ ‫כּוׁשית ִמ ְׁש ְּבצֹות זָ ָהב ְל‬ ִ ‫ְּכ‬
,‫רּוׁשים‬ ִ ְ‫ְּכגֵ ִרים ִמ ְּמעֹונֵ ֶיהם ּג‬ ,‫כֹוכ ִבים ְּב ֵלב ַהּיָ ם נְ בֻ ִכים‬ ָ ְ‫ו‬
,‫ְּב ֵלב ַהּיָ ם ְּכ ֶל ָהבֹות וְ ִא ִּׁשים‬ ‫מּותם ְּב ַצ ְל ָמם יַ ֲעׁשּו אֹור‬ ָ ‫וְ ִכ ְד‬
,‫טּוׁשים‬ ִ ‫ֲע ֵדי ַליִ ל ְמט ָֹה ִרים ְל‬ ‫ְּפנֵ י ַמיִ ם וְ ָׁש ַמיִ ם ֲע ֵדיִ ־יָ ם‬
–‫בּוׁשים‬ ִ ‫ְשנֵ ֶיהם ָאז ְׁשנֵ י יַ ִּמים ֲח‬ ,‫ּדֹומה ְל ָר ִק ַיע ְּב ֵעינֹו‬ ֶ ‫וְ יָ ם‬
!‫ְּבׂשֹוא גַ ֵּלי ְׁש ָב ַחי ַה ֲח ָד ִׁשים‬ ,‫יׁשי‬ ִ ‫ינֹותם ְל ָב ִבי יָ ם ְׁש ִל‬ ָ ‫ֵּוב‬
A man in your fifties–and you still would be young?
Soon your life will have flown like a bird from a branch!
Yet you shirk the service of God, and crave the service of men,
And run after the many, and shun the One
From whom the multitudes of all things come,
And laze about instead of setting out
On your true way, and for a mess of pottage
Sell your immortal part. Has not your soul had enough?
Why then yield each day to its lusts?
Leave its counsel for God’s, put the five senses aside,
And make amends to your Maker before your last days rush away.
Don’t pretend you have to seek to know His will,
Or wait for auguries. Will but to do it!
Be bold as a panther, swift as a deer!
Fear not the open sea, though mountains of waves crest and crash,
And hands shake like rags in a gale,
And speechless ships’ carpenters quail,
And crews leap to the task and in dismay stagger back,
Trapped in an ocean with nowhere to flee
While the sails flap and crack, and the deck creaks and groans,
And the wind whips the water into haystack-high bales.
One day it towers like ricks and the next it’s flat as a field,
A ripple of snakes without even a whisper or hiss.
Yet when roiled to a prideful of lions, each hot on the other one’s heels,
Mighty fleets reel and are wrecked. Masts totter and fall;
Bulwarks are breeched; the tiers of great triremes are pierced,
Unmanning their oarsmen; men, women, grow faint with dread;
Sailors stand stunned by their shrouds; the living would rather be dead;
The heft of the yards counts for nothing, for nothing the tricks of old tars;
Tall spars are no stronger than straws; cedar beams snap like stems;
The ballast cast out is but chaff; keels have the resistance of grass.

At such times, when each man prays to what is holy to him,

You turn to face the Holiest of Holies.
Recount, then, stamped in men’s memories,
The wonders of the Red Sea’s parting,
And of the Jordan’s in the days of Joshua.
Praise the Soother of the storms that stir the depths,
The Pardoner of stained souls, who for His sainted Patriarchs’ sakes
Will pardon yours. Sing Him a Levite’s song while He renews
His awesome world, restoring souls to bodies, life to dry bones.
Now, the waves subside; like flocks of sheep they graze upon the sea.
The sun has set, departing by the stairs
Up which ascends the night watch, led by its silver-sworded captain.
The heavens are an African spangled with gold, blue-black
Within a frame of milky crystal. Stars roam the water,
Flare and flicker there, outcasts far from home.
The seaward-dipping sky, the night-clasped sea, both polished bright,
Are indistinguishable, two oceans cupped alike,
Between which, surging with thanksgiving, lies a third, my heart.
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
R 25 S

‫ׁשּוק ִת י ְל ֵא ל ָח י‬
ָ ‫ֱה ִצ ַיק ְתנִ י ְת‬
Driven by Longing for the Living God 

In this poem, we see Halevi finally

setting out on the voyage he had
‫ׁשּוק ִתי ְל ֵאל ָחי‬ ָ ‫ֱה ִצ ַיק ְתנִ י ְת‬ Driven by longing
debated for years. The poem’s ‫ְל ַׁש ֵחר ֶאת ְמקֹום ּכִ ְסאֹות ְמ ִׁש ָיחי‬ for the living God
“drivenness,” with its opening de- to hasten to where
scription of a hasty departure from ‫ֲע ֵדי ּכִ י �א נְ ָט ַׁש ְתנִ י ְלנַ ֵּׁשק‬
Spain, led me to render its m’rubeh- His anointed ones dwelt,
metered, 11-syllable hemistichs in ,‫ת־ר ַעי וְ ֶא ָחי‬
ֵ ‫ְּבנֵ י ֵב ִיתי וְ ֶא‬ I had no time
short three-to-six-syllable lines. I
wanted to convey their breathless ‫וְ �א ֶא ְב ֶּכה ֲע ֵלי ַּפ ְר ֵּדס נְ ַט ְע ִּתיו‬ to kiss my friends
quality, their feeling that now, his
journey begun at last, events were ,‫וְ ִה ְׁש ִק ִיתיו וְ ִה ְצ ִליחּו ְצ ָמ ָחי‬ or family
taking place for Halevi with a rapid-
ity that was the opposite of the ‫הּודה וַ ְעזַ ְר ֵאל‬
ָ ְ‫וְ �א ֶאזְ ּכ ֹר י‬ a last farewell;
no time to weep
long delays that preceded it. Since
this makes the English poem many ,‫ְׁשנֵ י ִפ ְר ֵחי יְ ָקר ִמ ְב ַחר ְּפ ָר ָחי‬
for the garden I grew,
lines longer than the Hebrew one, I
have broken the latter into separate
‫וְ ֶאת יִ ְצ ָחק ֲא ֶׁשר ַּכ ֵּבן ֲח ַׁש ְב ִּתיו‬ the trees watered and watched
stanzas that do not exist in Halevi’s
version.
.‫יְ בּול ִׁש ְמ ִׁשי וְ טּוב ּגֶ ֶרׁש יְ ָר ָחי‬ as they branched and did well;
 Of the three names mentioned no time to think
in this poem, only one can be cer-
tainly identified, that of Halevi’s of the blossoms they bore,
grandson Yehuda. (Sephardic Jews, of Yehuda
unlike Ashkenazim, permitted the
naming of children for living grand- and Azarel,
parents.) A second may be that of
Halevi’s son-in-law Yitzhak ibn Ezra,
or of Yitzhak,
son of the renowned Hebrew poet, so like a son,
Bible critic, and polymath Avraham
ibn Ezra. Azriel could have been a my sun-blessed crop,
second grandson, but this is con- the years’ rich yield.
jectural. The poem was apparently
written in the course of a land
journey that was to be followed by ‫וְ ִכ ְמ ַעט ֶא ְׁש ְּכ ָחה ֵּבית ַה ְּת ִפ ָּלה‬ Forgotten are
a sea voyage.
,‫נּוחי‬
ָ ‫ֲא ֶׁשר ָהיּו ְב ִמ ְד ָר ָׁשיו ְמ‬ my synagogue,
the peace that was
‫ח תּ ֲענּוגֵ י ַׁש ְּבת ַֹתי‬
ַ ‫וְ ֶא ְׁש ַּכ‬
its study hall,
,‫מֹוע ַדי ְּוכבֹוד ְּפ ָס ָחי‬ ֲ ‫וְ ַה ְד ַרת‬ my Sabbaths
‫בֹודי ַל ֲא ֵח ִרים‬ ִ ‫וְ ֶא ֵּתן ֶאת ְּכ‬ and their sweet delights,
.‫וְ ֶא ְעז ֹב ַל ְּפ ִס ִילים ֶאת ְׁש ָב ָחי‬ the splendor of
‫ֲה ִמיר ִֹתי ְּב ֵצל ִׂש ִיחים ֲח ָד ַרי‬ my festivals:
I’ve left them all.
,‫ִּוּב ְמׂשּוכַ ת ְסבַ � ח ֶֹסן ְּב ִר ָיחי‬
Let others have
‫אׁשי ְּב ָׂש ִמים‬ ֵ ‫וְ נַ ְפ ִׁשי ָׂש ְב ָעה ָר‬ the idol’s honors
,‫וְ ֵר ַיח נַ ֲעצּוץ ַׂש ְמ ִּתי ְר ָק ָחי‬ and be hailed—
‫וְ ָח ַד ְל ִּתי ֲהלֹו� ַעל ַּכף וְ ַעל ַאף‬ I’ve swapped my bedroom
‫וְ נָ ַת ִּתי ְּב ֵלב יַ ִּמים ֳא ָר ָחי‬ for dry brush,
its safety
.‫�הי‬ָ ‫ֲע ֵדי ֶא ְמ ָצא ֲהדֹום ַרגְ ֵלי ֱא‬
for wild chaparral,
the scents
and subtle fragrances
that cloyed my soul
for thistles’ smells,
and put away
the mincing gait
of landlubbers
to hoist my sail
and cross the sea
until I reach
the land that is
the Lord’s footstool.

‫וְ ָׁש ָּמה ֶא ְׁש ְּפ ָכה נַ ְפ ִׁשי וְ ִׂש ָיחי‬ There will I
‫ַאק ִּביל‬
ְ ְ‫ ו‬,‫ּתֹופף ְּב ַהר ָק ְדׁשֹו‬ ֵ ‫וְ ֶא ְס‬ pour out my heart
and huddle by
,‫ְל ִפ ְת ֵחי ַׁש ֲע ֵרי ַׁש ַחק ְּפ ָת ָחי‬
His holy hill,
‫ַאפ ִר ַיח ְּב ֵמי יַ ְר ֵּדן נְ ָר ָדי‬
ְ ְ‫ו‬ and pitch my tent
.‫�ח ְׁש ָל ָחי‬ ַ ‫ַאׁש ִל ַיח ְּב ִׁש‬ְ ְ‫ו‬ at heaven’s gate,
‫ֲאד ֹנָ י ִּלי וְ ֵאי� ִא ָירא וְ ֶא ְפ ַחד‬ and irrigate
?‫ַּומ ְלַא� ַר ֲח ָמיו נ ֵֹׂשא ְׁש ָל ָחי‬ from Jordan’s rill
and the pool
‫יֹותי‬
ִ ‫ֲא ַה ֵּלל ֶאת ְׁשמֹו ִמ ֵּדי ֲח‬
of Siloam
.‫אֹודּנּו ֲע ֵדי נֶ ַצח נְ ָצ ָחי‬ ֶ ְ‫ו‬ the sacred spikenard
of my soul.
I am the Lord’s
and fear no ill
as long as His
own angels shall
take up cudgels
for me while
I praise Him till
my breath falls still.
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫ּומ ְׁש ָּפ חֹות‬

ִ ‫ִק ְראּו ֲע ֵל י ָב נֹות‬
A Letter from Aboard Ship 

Halevi sailed for Palestine via Egypt

in the summer of 1140, when he was
‫ִק ְראּו ֲע ֵלי ָבנֹות ִּומ ְׁש ָּפחֹות‬ To sisters, brothers, family, and friends:
in his late sixties, and “A Letter From ,‫ַאחים וְ ַעל ֲאחֹות‬ ִ ‫ וְ ַעל‬,‫ָׁשלֹום‬   Greetings from one,
Aboard Ship” may have been posted    a prisoner of hope sold to the sea,
by him to family and friends in Spain ‫ָאסיר ִּת ְקוָ ה ֲא ֶׁשר נִ ְקנָ ה‬ ִ ‫ֵמ ֵאת‬
from one of the North African ports     his spirit hostage to the winds
his vessel docked in on its way to ,‫ וְ ָׂשם רּוחֹו ְּביַ ד רּוחֹות‬,‫ַלּיָ ם‬      that blow from west to east and back again!
Alexandria. Alternately, however, it
may have been a mere poetic conceit. ,‫ָּדחּוי ְּביַ ד ַמ ְע ָרב ְליַ ד ִמזְ ָרח‬ Between him and death is nothing more
In either case, it is a playful poem, in
response to which I allowed myself a .‫זֶ ה יַ ֲעבֹור ַלנְ חֹות וְ זֶ ה ִל ְדחֹות‬   than a thin sliver of a board
free arrangement on the page of its
twelve distichs. �‫ ַא‬,‫ֵּבינֹו ֵּובין ָמוֶ ת ְכ ֶפ ַׂשע‬    (unless death already has occurred,
    since he is buried in a wooden box
  The poem’s account of a 12th-cen-
tury sea voyage is entirely accurate. ,‫ֵּבינֹו ֵּובינָ יו ַמ ֲע ֵבה לּוחֹות‬
     six feet under water without a coffin’s worth of space).
Medieval ships were small, crowded,
and unsanitary, and their passengers
‫ �א‬,‫ָקבּור ְּב ַחּיָ יו ַּב ֲארֹון ֵעץ‬ Seasick and scared of pirates, tempests, and Mohammedans,
slept one against another in an un-
ventilated hold beneath the deck and
,‫ַאר ַּבע וְ �א ָּפחֹות‬ ְ ‫ַק ְר ָקע וְ �א‬   he sits because there isn’t room to stand,
prayed they would not be capsized by
storms or attacked by pirates. Halevi’s
,‫יֹוׁשב וְ ֵאין ַל ֲעמ ֹד ֲע ֵלי ַרגְ ָליו‬ ֵ    lies down and has no place to put his feet.
high spirits in the face of this testifies
to the enormous relief felt by him at
,‫ׁשֹוכב וְ ֵאין ַרגְ ָליו ְמ ֻׁש ָּלחֹות‬
ֵ The captain is a brute, the crew are no-accounts,
  yet they’re this kingdom’s king and counts
finally being on his way. ‫חֹולה וַ יִ ָירא ִמ ְּפנֵ י גֹויִ ם‬
ֶ
   with whom no education counts if you can’t swim.
.‫ּגַ ם ִמ ְּפנֵ י ִל ְס ִטים ֵּומרּוחֹות‬ I’ll tell you, though, what makes them glum:
‫ח ֵֹבל ַּומ ָּלח ָּכל ְּבנֵ י ִפ ְר ָחח‬ It’s when I smile because I know
;‫ֵהם ַה ְּסגָ נִ ים ָׁשם וְ ַה ַּפחֹות‬   that soon I’ll lay my soul in my Lord’s lap.
‫�א ַל ֲח ָכ ִמים ֵׁשם וְ גַ ם �א ֵחן‬ There, where once His ark and altar stood,
  I’ll thank Him, requiter of men’s guilt with good,
.‫יֹוד ִעים ִל ְשׂחֹות‬ ְ ‫ ַרק‬,‫ּיֹוד ִעים‬ ְ ‫ַל‬
   with all the song and praise I can bestow.
:‫יִ ְת ַעּצְ בּו ֶרגַ ע ְלז ֹאת ָּפנַ י‬
‫ֵאי� יַ ֲע�ז ַה ֵּלב וְ ַהּטּוחֹות‬
‫ַעד ֶא ְׁש ְּפ ָכה נַ ְפ ִׁשי ְּב ֵחיק ָה ֵאל‬
?‫נ ֹכַ ח ְמקֹום ָארֹון ִּומזְ ָּבחֹות‬
‫ּגֹומל ְל ַחּיָ ִבים‬ ֵ ‫ֶאגְ מ ֹל ְל ֵאל‬
.‫ ּבטּוב ִׁשירֹות וְ ִת ְש ָּבחֹות‬,‫טֹובֹות‬
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫ֲה ָב א ַמ ּבּול‬
At Sea

Although Mediterranean sea captains

in the Middle Ages generally sought
‫ֲה ָבא ַמּבּול וְ ָׂשם ֵּת ֵבל ֳח ָר ָבה‬ Has a new Flood drowned the land
to stay close to land, they sometimes ,‫וְ ֵאין ִל ְראֹות ְּפנֵ י ֶא ֶרץ ֲח ֵר ָבה‬ And left no patch of dry ground,
strayed out of sight of it in good Neither bird, beast, nor man?
weather, as Halevi’s ship is described ?‫ָאדם וְ ֵאין ַחּיָ ה וְ ֵאין עֹוף‬ ָ ‫וְ ֵאין‬
in this poem as having done. I have Has nothing remained?
partially reproduced the poem’s mono- ?‫ֲה ָסף ַהּכ ֹל וְ ָׁש ְכנּו ַמ ֲע ֵצ ָבה‬ A strip of bare sand
rhyme by slant-rhyming all 17 lines of
my translation: “land,” “ground,” “man,” ,‫נּוחה‬
ָ ‫ׁשּוחה ִלי ְמ‬ ָ ְ‫ִּוב ְראֹות ַהר ו‬ Would be balm for the mind;
“remained,” “sand,” “mind,” etc. While
these may not have the same effect as ,‫וְ ֶא ֶרץ ָה ֲע ָר ָבה ִלי ֲע ֵר ָבה‬ The dreariest plain,
the single repeated –va of the Hebrew,
they do give some idea of it. ‫ַאׁשּגִ ַיח ְל ָכל ֵע ֶבר וְ ֵאין ּכ ֹל‬ ְ ְ‫ו‬ A pleasure to scan.
But all that is seen
‫ֲא ָבל ַמיִ ם וְ ָׁש ַמיִ ם וְ ֵת ָבה‬
Is a ship and the span
,‫צּולה‬ָ ‫וְ ִלוְ יָ ָתן ְּב ַה ְר ִּתיחֹו ְמ‬ Of the sea and the sky, and Leviathan
‫וְ ֶא ְחׁש ֹב ּכִ י ְתהֹום יַ ְחׁש ֹב ְל ֵׂש ָיבה‬ As he churns up the brine,
‫וְ ֵלב ַהּיָ ם יְ כַ ֵחׁש ָּב ֳאנִ ּיָ ה‬ Which shakes its white mane,
.‫ְּכ ִאּלּו ִהיא ְּביַ ד ַהּיָ ם ּגְ נֵ ָבה‬ Gripping the ship as the hand
Of a thief grips its find.
‫ ּכִ י‬,‫וְ יָ ם יִ זְ ַעף וְ נַ ְפ ִׁשי ַת ֲע�ז‬
Let it foam! My heart bounds
.‫�ה ָיה ְק ֵר ָבה‬ ֶ ‫ֱא ֵלי ִמ ְק ַּדׁש ֱא‬ As I near the Lord’s shrine.
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫ְר ֵא ה ָע ִר ים‬
Egypt 

Letters discovered in the Cairo Geniza

in the 1950s tell us thatYehuda Halevi
,‫ְר ֵאה ָע ִרים וְ ִה ְתּבֹונֵ ן ְּפ ָרזֹות ֲא ֶׁשר ָהיּו ְליִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל ֲא ֻחּזֹות‬
landed in Alexandria in early Septem- ‫ וְ ָה ֵקל ְּפ ָע ֶמי� וְ ַאל ִּת ְדרֹו� ֱעזּוזֹות‬,‫וְ ֵתן ָּכבֹוד ְל ִמ ְצ ַריִ ם‬
ber, 1140 and remained there until
mid-May, 1141. Although the length of ,‫ְּבחּוצֹות ָע ְב ָרה ָּבם ַה ְּׁש ִכינָ ה ְלבַ ֵּקׁש ַּדם ְּב ִרית ַעל ַה ְּמזּוזֹות‬
his stay might seem to indicate a re-
newed uncertainty about continuing ,‫ וְ ֵעינֵ י ּכ ֹל ְמ ַצּפֹות ָּבם וְ חֹוזֹות‬,‫ּמּודי ֲענָ נִ ים‬
ֵ ‫וְ ַעּמּוד ֵאׁש וְ ַע‬
on to Palestine, the difficulties were in
fact largely logistical. Yet Halevi was .‫ִּומ ָּׁשם ֻח ְּצבּו ַּב ְע ֵלי ְּב ִרית ֵאל ִּופּנֹות ַעם ֲאד ֹנָ י ָׁשם ּגְ רּוזֹות‬
deeply impressed by the richness and
lushness of Egypt and by its wealthy
and sophisticated Jewish community. These great cities, these country villages,
Moreover, he felt he was already
treading on semi-sacred ground, since Were of old lived in by Israel.
much of the biblical account of the All honor then to Egypt!
Patriarchs, as well as the entire story
of the exodus, takes place in Egypt. Tread gingerly in streets
The biblical references in this poem
Through which God’s presence roamed,
are to the blood of the paschal sacri-
fice that the fleeing Israelites painted Seeking His blood-pact on the doors.
on their door jambs and to the col-
umns of cloud and fire that led them Columns of fire, columns of cloud,
through the desert to the Red Sea. Seen by every eye!
The people of the Covenant carved out,
Its mighty cornerstones
Cut for the ages!
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫�הי ִּפ ְל ֲא � ּדֹור ּדֹור יְ ֻר ָחׁש‬

ַ ‫ֱא‬
From Age to Age 

Halevi remained in Alexandria until

mid-November 1140, staying at the
,‫�הי ִּפ ְל ֲא� ּדֹור ּדֹור יְ ֻר ָחׁש ִּומ ִּפי ָאב ְל ָבנִ ים �א יְ כֻ ָחׁש‬
ַ ‫ֱא‬
home of the prominent, Jerusalem- ,‫וְ זֶ ה ַהּיְ אֹור ְל ֵעד ִּכי ָדם ֲה ַפ ְכּתֹו ּב�א ַל ַהט וְ �א ֶק ֶסם וְ נַ ַחׁש‬
born rabbinical judge Aharon el-
Ammani before traveling up the Nile ,‫ַאהרֹן וְ ַה ַּמ ֶּטה ֲא ֶׁשר נֶ ְה ַּפ� ְלנָ ָחׁש‬
ְ ְ‫ֲא ָבל ִׁש ְמ� ְּביַ ד מ ֶֹׁשה ו‬
to Fustat or old Cairo. Watching the
great river flow, he felt he was look- !‫ֱהיֵ ה ֵעזֶ ר ְל ֶע ֶבד ֶה ֱא ִמין ָּב� וְ ִל ְראֹות ֶאת ְמקֹומֹות ִּפ ְל ֲא� ָחׁש‬
ing at the same water that Moses
and Aaron had turned to blood with
a wave of their staffs in the first of From age to age Your wonders, God, are told
the Ten Plagues. Yet as he was to
write elsewhere, whereas God’s pres- And not denied by father or by son.
ence in Egypt had been “like a trav- This river Nile has always testified
eler’s,/ Resting in the shade beneath
a tree,/ In Zion, it’s at home and To how its waters were turned into blood.
dwells/ Grandly, as all Scripture tells.”
Egypt was once the site of sacred
No hierophants performed the magic trick,
events. The Land of Israel—“a place But only Your name and Moses and Aaron’s rod,
more wondrous yet than this”—was
sacred. Nothing he saw in Egypt Transformed by You into a hissing snake.
could take its place. Help then Your trusting servant to make haste
To a place more wondrous yet than this!
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
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‫יְ ֵפי קֹול ַק ְּדמּו ִכּנֹור ְל יָ פֹות‬

from “Let’s Have More Lutes for the Lovely Girls” 

At a dinner party in Fustat, Yehuda

Halevi took part in a poetic competi-
‫יְ ֵפי קֹול ַק ְּדמּו ִכּנֹור ְליָ פֹות‬ Let’s have more lutes
tion in which the guests were asked ,‫ַאח ֵרי נ ֹגְ נִ ים ֲח ִליפֹות‬
ֲ ‫וְ ָשׁ ִרים‬ For the lovely girls,
to improvise a tribute to the absent You sweet singers!
Aharon el-Ammani. He chose to do ‫ֲע ָלמֹות ַל ֲע ָלמֹות נַ ֲע ָלמֹות‬
so in the form of a qasida, choosing Give the instrumentalists their chance
for its preliminary theme a musical ,‫וְ נִ ְׁש ָקפֹות ְּב ַעד ֶא ְׁשנָ ב וְ צ ֹפֹות‬ To serenade the secrets sirens
concert he had recently attended. Fac-
ing the garden that its male audience ‫תּואל‬
ֵ ‫ְּבתּולֹות ָל ְמדּו ִמ ַּבת ְּב‬ Looking through the lattice!
sat in was a latticed window through
which a crowd of attractive young ,‫ְק ֻד ַּׁשת ָט ֳה ַרת ִלּבֹות וְ גּופֹות‬ Well-behaved they learned to be
women had gathered to watch. It was
easier for Halevi to let his eyes stray in ‫ֲא ָבל ּכִ י ָמ ְׁשכּו ֶק ֶׁשת ְל ֻת ָּמם‬ From Laban’s daughter at the well;
Is it their fault,
their direction when the singers were
silent, and his poem, reliving this mo- ‫ וְ ֵהם זַ ּכֹות וְ ָחפֹות‬,‫וְ ָה ְרגּו ִאיׁש‬
Unwitting archers that they are,
ment, begins with an appeal for the
instrumentalists to play by themselves
‫ֲא ֶׁשר �א ָׁש ֲאלּו ִל ְק ָרב ֲח ָרבֹות‬ That their arrows have pierced hearts,
before turning to a teasing description
of the female beauty that, too old to
.‫וְ ַדּיָ ם ַּבּזְ ר ֹעֹות ַה ֲחׂשּופֹות‬ Though their bare arms
bid for its favors, the aging poet can
still appreciate..
‫וְ ֵאי� נָ ְׂשאּו ְצ ִמ ִידים אֹו ְצ ָעדֹות‬ Never sought to lift a sword?
 “Laban’s daughter” is the biblical
Rachel, who dutifully runs to tell her
?‫ֲע ֵצלֹות ִמּנְ ׂשֹוא ַע ְפ ַעף יְ ֵעפֹות‬ So languidly they move
That you would think
father that Jacob has kissed her at the ‫וְ לּו נָ ְׁשאּו ֱא ֵלי ַח ָּמה ְפנֵ ֶיהם‬ They could barely lift an eyebrow,
well. Only the first part of the qasida
appears here. It represents, one might !‫ֲאזַ י ָעזְ בּו ְּפנֵ י ַח ָּמה ְׁשזּופֹות‬ Much less bear
say, an old man’s last, wry experience
of sexual desire, whose cessation frees ‫ֹאמ ְרנָ ה יְ ִהי ח ֶֹׁש� יְ ִהי אֹור‬ ַ ‫וְ ת‬ The armor of their ankle-bands and bracelets.
the soul to contemplate beauty undis-
turbed by the wish to possess it, yet ,‫ְּבאֹור ָּפנִ ים ִּוב ְׁשחֹור ַמ ֲח ָלפֹות‬ One look at the sun from them
whose unexpected return, if only for a
final parting, comes as an even greater ‫וְ ָכ ְתנֹות אֹור ְּכאֹור ֶח ְב ָרה ְלבּוׁשֹות‬ And it would be sunburned!
“Let there be light,” they say,
moment of grace.
,‫ְּב ֵליל ֵׂש ָער ְּכ ֵליל ֵּפרּוד ְצנּופֹות‬ And it shines in their faces;
‫ְמאֹורֹות נָ ְתנּו ִל ִּבי ְר ִק ִיעים‬ “Let it be dark”—
,‫ְּתסֹובַ ְבנָ ה ֲע ֵלי ַּכ ָּמה ְתקּופֹות‬ It’s in their raven tresses.
‫וְ יֵ ׁש ִל ְׁשּגֹות ְּב ַרּכֹות וַ ֲענֻ ּגֹות‬ Their tunics are bright
,‫ּופֹורּיֹות ֲעבֻ ּתֹות וַ ֲענֵ פֹות‬
ִ Like the splendors of friendship;
Their hair is as black
‫הפּיֹות ֲא ֻדּמֹות‬ ִ ‫ִּופ ִיפּיֹות יְ ֵפ‬ As the gloom of goodbyes.
.‫טּורי ְבד ָֹל ִחים ְרצּופֹות‬ ֵ ‫ֲע ֵלי‬ They’re so like stars
,‫ְלַאט ִּב ְמ ַׂש ְּקרֹות ְּומ ַׁש ְּקרֹות ִלי‬ That I would be the sky
,‫ְלַאט ָּב ֵהן וְ לּו ָהיּו ֲחנֵ פֹות‬ In which they orbited forever.
‫ּפּוח וְ ִרּמֹון‬
ַ ‫ְמסֻ ָּבלֹות ְּב ַת‬ Full or delicate, lush, lithe, or lanky–
I could fall for them all
!‫ׁשֹוׁשּנִ ים וְ ָע ֵל ֶיהן ְּתרּופֹות‬
ַ ְ‫ו‬ And for their perilous red mouths,
‫קֹומה ְּכ ָת ָמר‬ ָ ‫ַּומה א ַֹמר ְּבהֹוד‬ Each perfect with two rows of pearly crystal.
?‫רּוח יְ נִ ֶיפ ָה ְתנּופֹות‬
ַ ‫וְ ָה‬ Be gentle if you catch them making eyes
!‫ְר ֵאה ּכִ י נִ ְט ְרפּו ִלּבֹות ְל ָקחּום‬ (At me, I hope),
,‫ְׁשַאל ַהיְ ַׁש ְּלמּו ֶאת ַה ְּט ֵרפֹות‬ Gentle with their wiles,
For they are burdened by
‫וְ ִאם ָל ְקחּו נְ ַקם ִצ ַיצת ְל ֵח ֶיהם‬ Silver bells of apples and of pomegranates,
?‫ֲא ֶׁשר ָהיּו ְב ֵעינֵ ינּו ְקטּופֹות‬ And roses sprinkled with rare essences.
And what about that stately one back there,
Swaying like a palm tree in the breeze?
Just count the hearts they’ve stolen!
I ask you:
Will they pay for them,
Or is it retribution
For the curls on their soft cheeks
Our eyes have poached on?
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‫ֲה ָפ ַׁשט ַה ּזְ ָמ ן ִּב גְ ֵד י ֲח ָרדֹות‬

By the Nile 

During the winter of 1140–41, Halevi

took a boat trip up the Nile, from
,‫ֲה ָפ ַׁשט ַהּזְ ָמן ִּבגְ ֵדי ֲח ָרדֹות וְ ָלבַ ׁש ֶאת ְּבגָ ָדיו ַה ֲחמּודֹות‬
where he wrote a letter to an acquain- ?‫וְ ָל ְב ָׁשה ָה ֲא ָד ָמה ֵׁשׁש וְ ִר ְק ָמה וְ ָע ְׂש ָתה ִמ ְׁש ְּבצֹות זָ ָהב ְר ִפידֹות‬
tance in Fustat that included these
lines. Their mood is of a piece with ,‫אֹור תּ ְׁש ֵּבץ ְּכ ִאּלּו נְ אֹות ּג ֶֹׁשן ְּבח ֶֹׁשן ֵהן ֲאפּודֹות‬
ַ ְ‫וְ כ ֹל ִמזְ ַרע י‬
the calm but joyous acceptance of old
age’s still-enduring ability to respond to .‫ַּומ ְרבַ ֵּדי נְ אֹות ִמ ְד ָּבר ֲחטּובֹות וְ ַר ַע ְמ ֵסס ִּופת ֹם ָּפז ְרבּודֹות‬
beauty that we find in “Let’s Have More
Lutes For The Lovely Girls.” Not far ,‫ ֲא ָבל ֶׁש ֵהם ְּכ ֵבדֹות‬,‫וְ ִׁש ָּדה ַעל ְׂש ַפת ַהּיְ א ֹר וְ ִׁשּדֹות ְצ ָבאֹות ֵהם‬
from where the poet stood flowed the
river. A bare-armed girl walked beside .‫יְ ֵד ֶיהם ָּכ ְבדּו ִמן ַה ְּצ ִמ ִידים וְ ָצרּו ַצ ֲע ֵד ֵיהם ַּב ְצ ָעדֹות‬
it. In the distance, where the watered
valley yielded to the desert, were the ‫וְ ֵלב יִ ְפ ֶּתה וְ יִ ְׁש ַּכח ֶאת זְ קּונָ יו וְ יִ זְ ּכ ֹר עֹוד יְ ָל ִדים אֹו יְ ָלדֹות‬
cones of pyramids and the fronds of
oases rising from the sands. A north .‫ ְּבגַ ּנֹות ַעל ְׂש ַפת נָ ָהר וְ ָׂשדֹות‬,‫ְּבגַ ן ֵע ֶדן ְּב ִמ ְצ ַריִ ם ְּב ִפיׁשֹון‬
wind bent the stalks of wheat low. An
old man about to set out on his last
,‫וְ ַה ָּקמֹות יְ ַר ְק ַרּקֹות ֲא ֻדּמֹות וְ ְל ִר ְקמֹות ְמלֻ ָּבׁשֹות ְּבגָ דֹות‬
journey, Halevi was filled with a great
thankfulness for everything.
.‫ וְ נִ ְראּו ְּכמֹו ִמ ְׁש ַתּ ֲחֹות ֶאל ֵאל ּומֹודֹות‬,‫רּוח יָ ם ְּתנִ ֵיפמֹו‬ ַ ְ‫ו‬
Has time cast off its grim old clothes
And dressed itself in its holiday best,
And the earth put on an embroidered vest
Festooned with patterns of checkered gold?
The vale of the Nile is a blazon of fields,
The land of Goshen an ocean of grain,
Palm islands etched against the sky,
The glint of far pyramids bright in the sun.

A girl by the banks of the river:

So like gazelles they are, but heavy-laden,
Heavy the bracelets on their arms,
The anklets circling their slim steps.
And the foolish heart forgets how old it is,
And remembers other boys and other girls,
Here, in this paradise of Egypt,
In these gardens, by the river, in these fields.
The yellow stalks are a rich brocade,
And when the sea breeze ripples through them,
They bow and pray in gratitude to God.
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‫ימ ן‬
ָ ‫ׁשּוטי ַמ ְע ְב רֹות ִמ זְ ָר ח וְ ֵת‬
ִ ‫ְּב‬
On Shlomo ibn Gabbai

Shlomo ibn Gabbai was one of two

young traveling companions who
,‫ַאל ָמן‬
ְ ‫ יְ ִח ִידי ִמ ְּב ִלי ָקרֹוב ְּכ‬,‫ׁשּוטי ַמ ְע ְברֹות ִמזְ ָרח וְ ֵת ָימן‬ ִ ‫ְּב‬
accompanied Yehuda Halevi from
Spain to Egypt, where he remained ”?‫חֹומל ְל ַר ֲעבֹונְ � וְ ַר ְח ָמן‬ ֵ ‫ “ ֲה ִת ְצ ַטּיֵ ד ְּב ִלי יָ ד וְ ֵאין‬:‫ְׁש ֵאלּונִ י‬
devotedly by his side. The other was
Halevi’s son-in-law, Yitzhak ibn Ezra,
‫ “ ַהּזְ ָמן זִ ֵּמן ְליָ ִדי ֲא ִחי ֶצ ֶדק וְ ִאיׁש יָ ׁ ָשר וְ נֶ ֱא ָמן‬:‫ֲענִ ִיתים‬
who informed Halevi in Fustat that he
did not intend to return to his family
”.‫ֲא ֶׁשר ָמן יַ ֲא ִכ ֵילנִ י ְּב ָכל יֹום ַּומ ְט ַע ָּמיו ְּב ִפי– ַמ ְמ ָּתק ִּומ ְׁש ָמן‬
in Spain. For Halevi, who had to blame
his voyage for his daughter’s loss of
”.‫ “וְ ִאם ֵאין ָמן ְּב ֵת ֵבל– ָׁשם ֲא ִחי ָמן‬:‫ “ ֵאין ְּב ֵת ֵבל ָמן!” ֲענִ ִיתים‬:‫ָאמרו‬ ְ ְ‫ו‬
her husband, this was a bitter blow.
  Though humorous, Halevi’s tribute An ever-eastward wanderer,
to Shlomo ibn Gabbai is heartfelt. A
literal translation of its final Hebrew
Lone as a childless widower,
distich would be: “They said: ‘There is I’m asked, “How could you get along
no manna in this world.’ I answered: ‘If
there isn’t, there is manna’s brother.’” Without the kindness of a helping hand?”
“Manna’s brother” is ah.i man, a pun “My luck,” I say, “is that a righteous man
on the biblical name Ahiman in the
Book of Numbers. When a play on Feeds me manna every day
words can’t be gracefully conveyed in
translation, the translator has to try
That tastes like sweets and choice viands.”
something different in meaning but “Manna?” they say. “Don’t you anachronize?”
similar in spirit, which is what I sought
to do here. “Not,” I reply, “when it’s Ibn-Gabbai’s!”
 IJIJIJIJIJIJ
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‫ְל ֵעת ָּכ ז ֹאת‬

On Boarding Ship in Alexandria 

Halevi boarded the ship that took him

to the Land of Israel on May 7, 1141.
‫מֹורד‬
ָ ‫ְל ֵעת ָּכז ֹאת ְּת ַכל ֵעינִ י וְ ֵת ַרד וְ ָת ִׂשים נַ ֲח ֵלי ִד ְמ ִעי ְּב‬
Although he was wined and dined con- .‫ֲא ֶׁשר ִה ְת ַל ְּקחּו ִביקֹוד ְל ָב ִבי ְּכ ִה ְת ַל ַּקח יְ קֹוד ּגַ ַחל ְּב ָב ָרד‬
stantly during his months in Egypt, not
a single one of his hosts volunteered ,‫ וְ ִאם יִ ַתּר ְל ָב ִבי לֹו וְ ָח ַרד‬,‫ְּתמֹול נָ ַקל ְּפר ֹד יִ ְצ ָחק ְּב ֵעינַ י‬
to travel with him to Palestine, whose
Crusader rulers had a reputation for .‫ֲא ָבל נָ ד ִמ ְּמקֹומֹו ַעל ְׁש�מ ֹה ֲא ֶׁשר נָ ד וַ ֲעזָ בַ נִ י ְמפ ָ ֹרד‬
viciousness and were greatly feared.
Having already parted angrily from !‫ֲאיָ ֵאׁש ֵמ ְראֹות ֲא ִחי וְ ֵר ַעי– וְ זֶ ה סֹוף ָּכל יְ ִד ַידי ִמ ְּס ָפ ַרד‬
Yitzhak ibn Ezra in Fustat, he now
said goodbye to Shlomo ibn Gabbai,
describing it in one of the simplest and At such a time, my eyes can’t hold
most moving poems he ever wrote.
The tears back any more.
They pour like hailstones,
Hot from a storm-wracked heart.
To part from Yitzhak was the easy part,
Even though the shock of it was rude.
But now that Shlomo is gone too,
I’m left in solitude
With no hope of seeing anyone again.
And that’s the last of all my friends from Spain!
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‫ֶה ֶרף ְׁשאֹון יָ ם‬

On Parting from Aharon Al-Ammani 

Yehuda Halevi’s ship remained in

port for a week after boarding its
.‫ב תּ ְל ִמיד וְ יִ ַּׁשק ֶאת ְּפנֵ י ָה ָרב‬ַ ‫ֶה ֶרף ְׁשאֹון יָ ם ַעד ֲא ֶׁשר יִ ְק ַר‬
passengers, waiting for the east ,‫ ֲא ֶׁשר ִׁש ְבטֹו �א נָ ס נְ ִעים ֵלח ֹה וְ �א ָח ַרב‬,‫ַאהרֹן ָה ָרב‬ ֲ ‫יַ ד‬
wind that was blowing to change
to a westerly. Passengers were re-
quired to stay nearby and Halevi,
”.‫ָאמר ְליָ דֹו “ ַרב‬ ַ ‫” ִּפּזֵ ר וְ �א‬,‫ָאמר ְל ִפיהּו “הֹון‬ ַ ‫ִל ֵּמד וְ �א‬
unable to pay his friend Aharon ,‫ ּכִ י ָמ ֳח ָרת ֶאּק ֹב ְּכנַ ף ַמ ְע ָרב‬,‫מֹודה ְכנַ ף ִמזְ ָרח‬
ֶ ‫ַהּיֹום ֲאנִ י‬
el-Ammani a last visit, wrote him
this poem. ,‫חֹולה נְ ׁשּו� ַע ְק ַרב‬ֶ ‫ וְ הּוא‬,‫ַאח ָריו‬ ְ ‫ֵאי� יַ ֲעז ֹב ִאיׁש ֶאת ְצ ִרי גִ ְל ָעד‬
 “Master Aaron” and his “unflag-
ging staff” are perfunctory allu- ,‫חליף ֶאת ֵצל ֲענַ ף ָעבֹות ַּבחֹום ּובַ ֶּק ַרח ּובַ ָּׁש ָרב‬ ִ ַ‫אֹו י‬
sions to the biblical Aaron, whose
name El-Ammani bore. Yet the ?‫קֹורת נְ וַ ת ָה ַרב ִצ ִּלי ְמעֹון ִק ְריָ ה ְל ֶמ ֶל� ָרב‬ַ ‫ֵח ֶלף ְל ֵצל‬
poet’s wish that the east wind keep
blowing is a startling confession of
last-minute fear that the Land of Be still, you booming surf, enough to let
Israel might prove to be a disap-
A pupil go to kiss his master’s cheek.
pointment. Always in the many
poems written during his sea voy- (That’s Master Aaron, whose unflagging staff
age, Halevi depicted the west wind
as his ally, pushing him onward to The years have not made tremulous or weak.)
his destination, and the east wind A teacher who never says, “The lesson’s done,”
as a foe holding him back. Now, all
this was reversed. Suddenly it was A giver who never fears to give too much,
the west wind that was dreaded, He makes me bless the east wind’s wings today
threatening to bring Halevi to a
land of torrid heat and icy cold in And curse tomorrow’s gusts out of the west.
which he would not find his place,
while Egypt, the “leafy tree” be-
How can a man who feels as though a scorpion
neath which the poet had likened Has stung him leave Gilead’s balm behind?
God’s presence in biblical times to
a homeless traveler’s, now seemed How trade the shade of a grand, leafy tree
like home—as indeed Aharon el- For winter’s ice and summer’s savagery,
Ammani’s grand mansion in Alex-
andria had been for many months. The shelter of a masterly mansion
For the shriving of God’s rain and sun?
 IJIJIJIJIJIJIJI
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‫קּוח‬
ַ ‫רּוח � ַצד ַמ ֲע ָר ב ָר‬
ֲ ‫ַהזֶ ה‬
West Wind 

The wind, letters from the Cairo

Geniza tell us, finally changed on May
,‫קּוח‬ַ ‫רּוח� ַצד ַמ ֲע ָרב ָר‬ ֲ ‫זֶ ה‬ Spikenard-and-apple-tinged,
14, the day on which Halevi’s ship – ‫ּפּוח‬
ַ ‫ַהּנֵ ְר ְּד ִּב ְכנָ ָפיו וְ ַה ַתּ‬ Winged from the west,
sailed. Since May 14, 1141, was the first You, wind,
day of the holiday of Shavu’ot, on �‫מֹוצ ֲא‬ָ ‫אֹוצרֹות ָהר ְֹכ ִלים‬ ְ ‫ֵמ‬
which writing was forbidden (sailing Come not from the Cavern of Winds,
on the holiday, on the other hand, .‫רּוח‬
ַ ‫אֹוצרֹות ָה‬ ְ ‫ּכִ י ֵאינְ � ֵמ‬ But from the storerooms of a spice merchant:
was permitted by rabbinic law), we
know that this poem could not have ‫ַּכנְ ֵפי ְּדרֹור ָּתנִ יף וַ ִּת ְק ָרא ִלי ְדרֹור‬ Scented like incense,
been written, as it was long thought
to have been, on that day. Rather, it .‫קּוח‬
ַ ‫ר־ּדרֹור ִמן ַה ְּצרֹור ָל‬ ְ ‫ְּוכ ָמ‬ Swift as a bird,
must have been composed in similar
circumstances en route to Egypt, in a �‫ַמה־ּנִ ְכ ְספּו ָל� ָעם ֲא ֶׁשר ִּבגְ ָל ְל‬ Bearing my freedom.
North African port where, too, east
winds had held up Halevi’s voyage. !‫ב־לּוח‬
ַ ַ‫ָר ְכבּו ְבגַ ב יָ ם ֲע ֵלי ּג‬ How you were longed for
Yet there is nothing to keep us from
imagining Halevi thinking of it as his
‫ַאל נָ א ְת ַר ֶּפה יָ ְד� ִמן ָה ֳאנִ י‬ By those who rode
The sea’s back this far
ship raised its sails in Alexandria. Did
his heart rebound as they went up,
,‫פּוח‬
ַ ָ‫ּכִ י יַ ֲחנֶ ה ַהּיֹום וְ ִכי י‬
While they bestrode
his doubts and fears drop away like
the stage fright of an actor when the
‫ וְ גַ ע‬,‫ְּור ַקע ְּתהֹום ְּוק ַרע ְלבַ ב יַ ִּמים‬ The deck of a bark!
curtain rises? No more poems of his
have survived to tell us. We know
,‫נּוח‬
ַ ‫ֶאל ַה ְר ֵרי ק ֶ ֹדׁש וְ ָׁשם ָּת‬
Stay not your hand from us now.
only, informed again by letters from ‫ּוגְ ַער ְּב ָק ִדים ַה ְמ ָס ֵער יָ ם ֲע ֵדי‬ Fill our sails, long becalmed.
the Geniza, that he died less than
three months later, in July or early !‫פּוח‬
ַ ָ‫יָ ִׂשים ְלבַ ב ַהּיָ ם ְּכ ִסיר נ‬ Stamp flat the depths.
August, in the Land of Israel.
‫ַמה יַ ֲע ֶׂשה ָאסּור ְּביַ ד ַהּצּור ֲא ֶׁשר‬ Part the water in two.
? ‫לּוח‬
ַ ‫ַּפ ַעם יְ ִהי ָעצּור וְ ֵעת ָׁש‬ Rest not till you reach the most sacred of mounts.
Rebuff the easterlies that stir the sea like a bubbling stew!
‫ וְ הּוא‬,‫ַא� סֹוד ְׁש ֵא ָל ִתי ְּביַ ד ָמרֹום‬
.‫רּוח‬
ַ ‫ּובֹורא‬ ֵ ‫יֹוצר ְמרֹום ָה ִרים‬ ֵ Now leashed, now loosed—
What could a Lord-lashed prisoner do
But trust in him,
Maker of mountains and winds,
To send you?
IJIJIJIJIJIJ

IJIJIJIJIJIJ
The Hebrew Types of Guillaume Le Bé
From 1559 through 1565, the punchcutter Guillaume Le Bé made
a series of Hebrew types that he sold to the Antwerp printer
Christophe Plantin, who would use them in the magnificent
Polyglot Bible, regarded as one of the masterpieces of typographic
art. Le Bé (1525–1598), who had learned his craft with the Paris
printer Robert Estienne, had become a specialist in “oriental”
languages, especially Hebrew. Settling in Venice by 1546, he
produced types for some of the earliest printed editions of the
Talmud and other Judaic works for the printers Marc’Antonio
Giustiniani, Meir de Parenzo, and others. The types sold to
Plantin are Le Bé’s most mature work and, as such, are among
the finest of the Golden Age of Hebrew printing—bold, elegant,
spirited, and easy to read.

The Hebrew types used here are digital versions of Le Bé’s types
made by Matthew Carter and Scott-Martin Kosofsky. They
are very close renderings of two sizes of the original types, the
larger gros double canon, and the texte, both of which survive at
the Plantin-Moretus Museum, in Antwerp. This is their début
appearance. Historical type forms have not played a significant
role in modern Hebrew typography, as they have in Latin types,
but we hope this might inspire further interest. The other
types used in this e-book are Garamond Small Text, by Robert
Slimbach, and Trinité, by Bram de Does.