Soft and gentle was that music,
Soothing to the souls who’d sinned,
Healing to the ones they’d wounded,
Like a whisper in the wind.
Faint and fading though it sounded,
Seeming close, yet seeming far,
Yet it still was soothing, healing,
After all the sounds of war.
Whence this music of the angels,
Floating in the summer breeze?
Who were they, who made that music,
Setting tortured souls to ease?
So we wondered, while that music
Lasted, captured by its art.
How and why this blessing, fashioned
So to touch and heal the heart?
Just as it had risen, softly,
So it ebbed and then was gone.
Years have passed, and yet within
Our minds it still is playing on.
Some have said it was a mitzvah,
A message from a source divine.
All I know was that I heard it,
And it now is yours and mine.
If a human hand had made it,
Guided by a gentler god,
Then I thank the maker for it,
And I’m grateful for that god.
2016 April 20th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
|Yemenite Jew blowing the shofar (ram's horn), circa 1935|
U.S. Library of Congress archives
|Boy playing flute, Peru|
|Yemenite Jews studying the Torah in Sana'a, Yemen|