an old writer and his words

  • SPLIT

    Setting apart, that is our skill:bifurcating, creating dualities.Is it that unity scares us, certaintyunavoidable, no room to escape,to deny, to invoke missing nuance?One of my religious heritagessays you remove head coveringson entering a sanctuary, the otherthat you put one on upon doing so.One says you are born a sinnerthe other says until a certain ageyou…

    Lou Faber

  • A HELL OF A CHOICE

    But what if Heaven operateslike a restaurant, closedeach Monday, so you hadbetter die on Sunday, butthat doesn’t work becauseGod is resting and thereis no getting in on the sabbath. That leaves you five daysfrom which to chooseto die, but God also isthe ultimate physician,so Wednesdays the officeis closed, so that dayis out unless you canarrange…

    Lou Faber

  • UNCLE

    My uncle writes his journalin cramped Yiddish, Englishwill not do, it lacks the wordshe says, to describe his world. He describes the flavorof the capon left to stewon the stove, the sweet tasteof carrots and prunes. He carefully notes the thumbof the butcher sliding ontothe back of the scale, applyingjust a dollar of pressure. He…

    Lou Faber

  • SABBATH

    Fourth floor, Antwerp Hilton, night encasing the Schelde, ragout of boar and claret slowly regurgitating, I pause ancient words, stutteringly said, hand on my head a shoddy cover two parts of eight fully remembered one section only in part, turning East or a best guess. I ask nothing, or perhaps too much it is hard…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FIRST JEW ON MARS

    The first Jew on Mars sifts the red sands through gloved fingers and kicks the small stone, glares up at the heavens the cold sun returning his stare and waits patiently for the rain of manna. looks vacantly across the landscape and curses under his breath at the absence of a good lean pastrami and…

    Lou Faber

  • TUESDAYS ONLY

    Everything important, he declared, should happen on a Tuesday. Wednesday, he explained, was saddled with a deep burden of middleness, rendering it unfit for much else. Friday simply couldn’t be trusted, since five o’clock everywhere came earlier and earlier each year it seemed. The weekend was for battling Sabbaths and there would be no winners…

    Lou Faber