Everyone who comes to the grave of Eliahu, the Gaon of Vilna,
lies down on the grave and receives the grace of the Gaon.
The sick – their health again. The barren woman
fertility, the most impoverished
a scrap of living.
Many shards in strange shapes
cover the grave of the Gaon,
and many who come here are strange.
And all those who come
are needy. They leave little notes
about what they need.
I wasn’t allowed to visit the sacred place.
So I wouldn’t know how sorrow cries.
Or maybe I was too young.
Now my friends are amazed
As I prepare for a pilgrimage to his tomb:
I earn my living, my wife has children,
my wounds, they say, are healed. I
lack nothing, nothing
|comments: Leave a comment|