about us     |     subscribe     |     contact us     |     submit article     |     donate     |     speaking tour     |     store     |     ePaper
    Events    Issues    Tradition    E-Paper
2021 more..

2020 more..

2019 more..

2018 more..

2017 more..

2016 more..

2015 more..

2014 more..

2013 more..

2012 more..

2011 more..

2010 more..

2009 more..

2008 more..

2007 more..

2006 more..

2005 more..


Click here for a full index

email this article       print this article
Blindly, I See Him Looking At Me
To the First Yartzeit of my Grandfather Gershon Jacobson
By Mendel Jacobson

He sits there amused, watching the goings-on of a narrow-minded world. The nitpickiness of neophytes disguised (or undisguised), leaves him grinning from tear to tear – Why don’t they just open their eyes? he wonders.

It is comedic, sadly comedic I’m sure, as he watches the bespectacled lemmings: we run around like blind mice, and, when he tells us so, we say, “Not true, we are not blind mice at all – we are merely blind”.

Blind indeed.

We sit here mourning: the tears potent from a year’s maturation, the emptiness as unfulfilled as eyes filled. And he writes:

Why do they mourn for me when I rejoice for them?
Why do they cry up to me when I smile down at them?
Why are they empty of me when I'm full of them?

Anyway you put it, he is not here. No matter how brilliant the mind’s response, the heart’s question is never answered. And he is hysterical – Vus bulbest du? What the hell are you talking about? You think it’s about answers and questions? You are young, just be.

He is surprised – There you sit, crying over my no-show; you think I’ve disappeared, so you’ve despaired. O, you foolish child, why not look past the decay of skeleton and into the eternity of spirit; why not scrape away the surface of the body so you can touch the essence of the soul?

Yes, I know, a blind man cannot see his blindness; an ignorant man knows not of his ignorance; a sleeping man does not feel he sleeps.

But, alas, I, I who is neither blind, nor ignorant, nor asleep, can pry-open your eyes, teach-away your ignorance, shake-off your sleep.

Just let me, please. I know you do not understand – if you did, it wouldn’t be worth it – but, still, just believe in me, trust in me, have faith in me, for here I sit, in a place eternal, believing in you, trusting in you, having faith in you.

I’m sad, but I do not mourn: I'm sad because my eyes are closed; I do not mourn because I know his are open.

I mourn, but I am not sad: I mourn because I cannot see him; I am not sad because I know he sees me.

Email the author: Jakeyology@gmail.com,
or check out his blog: Jakeyology.blogspot.com.

Posted on May 16, 2006
email this article       print this article
Copyright 2005 by algemeiner.com. All rights reserved on text and illustrations