to open their eyes. Other Rabbis
left them to serve the Romans
and the Sea. I called them out.
Now, as we recline at this borrowed table,
I look around at their young joyful faces,
sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
they have become my friends,
my brothers. I know they will soon question
everything. For a short time they will wonder,
like Job. They will feel the sting of betrayal,
pierced by its cold blade, and I too will taste its pain.
These sons of Moses watch
as I take the bread. They have been taught
from childhood its significance; soon they will see
this feast in new light, tasting its fresh meaning.
I pass them the bread, my heart beats faster
knowing the pain to come, I try to explain
what they cannot yet grasp,
my body torn, my blood poured out
on Jerusalem’s dusty and forsaken hill,
for these sons of David and his Mighty Men.
I pass them the cup, the wine paints their lips.
They will turn the world upside down.
I breathe deep
as Judas shifts in his seat.
“Go ahead my friend,
do what you have to do,”
I tell him and in a panic he leaves.
The rest, for the moment, oblivious.
The night is just beginning,
darkness will try to prevail
only to be overthrown
by the rising Sun.
In this I rest.
© Gabriel Forsyth 2012
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