the best and the worst job I ever had
It was the first week of the
first Gulf War
and we were headed to the Jewish Community Center
in Berkeley.
When we arrived it was my job to patrol
the outside gate
and wait for
crazy men with bad intentions
who might want to open up
on the synagogue
with an AK-47
or
with a load of explosives strapped to
their chests
or inside their cars.
My job was to make sure
they didn’t get through the front gate.
The hours passed
as the rabbi’s continued
their lessons
in peace.
Baruch atah Adonai, Elohaynu, melech ha-olam, she-asah neeseem
la-avotaynu ba-yameem ha-heim ba-z'man ha-zeh.
(Blessed are you, Lord, our God, king of the universe, who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time.)
I wondered what my mother
and father back in Indiana would
think of their son now,
staring straight ahead
wondering what
the next moment would bring.
For two weeks I patrolled outside
the synagogue
without incident.
The same time in Israel,
suicide bombers
killed 6 and wounded 17.
I prayed for a return to the peace
of the cornfields. I was alive,
and it was time to go home.
