Thursday, April 3, 2014

Strong as Death, XI - End

Dear Father,

                        I will be taken out tomorrow.  This paper is supposed to carry my confession (I will get better ‘terms’ if I confess) but I’d just the same write to you, for it is you who I wish to offer my confession. You are the only one who I have sinned against.  I knew full well the extent of my failures. I was accustomed to disappointing you, Father, and now I see the circle of my disgrace has grown wider, larger.  I have failed Samson, Miriam, Maimonides, Abner, Esau, Laban… the Jewish people and their “nation” (which does not yet exist!)  I could have continued to pick oranges and visit that little red haired girl, and shoot over the heads of Arabs in the night, out among the trees… but I came here, to do this, and what have I accomplished?  Perhaps I did this for the wrong reasons.  I wished to be among Arabs again in an Arab country. Why, then I should have stayed in Baghdad. Perhaps I was trying to please you by pleasing Samson. Then why did I not return and live my life as you saw fit? Why please a substitute when you can please the real thing?

 The long shadow of your neglect, your influence, your awful weight, is cast even here, in a gaol in Damascus. Why should I care what you think of me at this moment?  Actually, it is all I care about.  If you leave for Palestine, you said, you will be dead to me. Oh, how prophetic were your words, Father!  How, even at the very end, I act the script you wrote me long ago, down to the very final act.  But I have failed you Father, even in this…


                                                Your son,

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