Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By P. M. Raskin“…Whom You Are to Blame”
O
Late at night I read
Israel’s ancient wondrous story;
How he shone and shed
Thriving free and great…
Then my thoughts passed to his later
Treacherous, cruel fate:
Into exile goes,
And the world has long forgotten
What to him it owes.
Springs from which you drank!”
And in bitter, sad reflections,
Tired and weak I sank….
My secluded room;
On his breast a cross suspended,
In his eyes—deep gloom.
I am not, you’ll find;
You accused me, and I came here,
Came to speak my mind.
Whom you are to blame
For your homelessness, your downfall,
For your grief and shame.
Your eternal spring;
Home and faith and pride abandoned,
And to exile cling.
Worship alien gods,
Even like in cast-off garments
Deal in cast-off thoughts.
No, your pride is gone!
For you glory that you have no
Table of your own….
You have prized of old;
For a lentil-pottage long since
You your birthright sold.
Of a slave’s disgrace.
Do you want me to respect you,
Honour such a race?
Noble, great and true;
How much of their daring spirit
Now is left in you?
If those heroes came
Saw their servile offsprings—they would
Die again—of shame!
Silent is your tongue,
Tongue of bards, and kings and prophets—
You forsook it long.
Do you e’er recall?
Where are all your rich and mighty—
Mammon’s High Priests all?
Under foreign flags,
Lackeys that their masters’ mantles
Wear—to hide their rags.
Dare no more expect!
No, a race that lost its self-pride
No one can respect.
Now, good-bye … I spoke….”
Stay”—and I awoke….