The Creak of the Doors Leading in to the Temple

A free translation of a Talmudic passage in B. Yoma 39b

The creak of the doors leading in to the Temple
—The intimate chamber, the Holy of Holies—
Resounds for a distance—for eight times the distance—
That one is permitted to walk on Shabbat.

The scent of the frankincense burned on the altar
—The cinnamon, saffron; the cassia, myrrh—
Is smelled for a distance—a ten parsa distance—
Jerusalem-Jericho, traveled by foot.

The goatherds of Jericho’s gated-in grazing ones
—Speckled and spotted, give glory to God!—
Sneeze tickled in nostril—a goat-a-choo nostril—
When breathing in frankincense wafted on high.

The brides of Jerusalem’s sages and scholars
—The henna-haired gazed-ats, gazelle-like in womb—
Purveyed not a perfume—forewent every fragrance—
The cinnamon, saffron; the cassia, myrrh.

My father raised goats in the high hills of Michmar
—Raised he-goats and she-goats and get-at-your-goats—
Who sneezed in a tempest—a lift-your-lamp tempest—
Who shuddered in pleasure from frankincense, myrrh.

An old man once told me: I went once to Shiloh
—The city of ruins, the mishkan dismantled—
I rested my face (My) between her two walls (God!)
The cinnamon, saffron! The cassia, myrrh!

—Ilana Kurshan