He sees the flame
He sees the wicks
And suddenly
His eyes transfix
I stand away
And wonder what
The rebbe sees
That I see not
In that small flame
What does he see?
History?
Eternity?
A burning bush
That does entice?
The fire burning
In thick ice?
Perhaps he sees
Within the spark
The amud aish
That lights the dark
Or just the fire
Aharon brought
Day in, day out
No change, as taught
And standing back
Behind his chair
Gazing as
I watch him stare
A tiny krechtz
Is what I hear
And now I know
What he does see
The fire of
A destiny
The flames that come
From Paris carts
When burning our
Souls and hearts
The flames from Spain’s
Auto de fé
From Chelminicki’s
Foul play
From pogroms
Through the Russian night
Crematoriums
Do ignite
His eyes now close
He stops the stares
And from those eyes
The flow of tears
He shuckels, stops
And then a smile
It widens and
Remains a while
And eyes that pierced
The flames he lit
Now drift upward
Just a bit
And back he looks
I know he saw
The fire that
We all wait for
That will descend
So suddenly
To build our home
Bayis Shlishi
And from the flame
Before his eyes
The secret of
The smile lies
For what he feels
His ner does burn
Aharon’s menorah
Shall return
