Henry Wolstat
Andalusia 11/3/09
Andalusia, I glide past your
Sparkling olive tree groves
On a mountain path surrounded
By white-washed villages,
Castle ruins and nature parks.
Seville, Cordoba, Granada,
Magical cities where
Maimonides, Halevi, Gabirol
Resided centuries ago.
Cordoba, the Jewish quarter
Where there are no Jews.
The old synagogue,
The Maimonides statue,
Give evidence of a lost culture,
An exiled people.
Granada, the Alhambra,
Its Moorish beauty,
Modified by the crusading
Conquerors.
Where Isabel sent Columbus
On his journey financed
By Jews she soon expelled.
Conversion or expulsion
Were the choices.
St. Teresa of Avila,
Partly Jewish was
Subject to the inquisition.
She, who added to the beauty,
Of the massive cathedral
Within Alhambra’s walls.
I stood in awe of Andalusia’s
Treasures and whispered
“I’m back”.
Sunset at the Miramar,
A silent “Sh’ma”
Twenty years ago
I came home.
This wandering Jew
Began to discover
Who he was and
Who he will be.
At the Israeli Museum
I was confronted
By a candelabra
Recovered from
A shul in Poland
Where my mother
Was born.
Twenty years later
I returned.
I felt comfortable
But not at home.
I was again in
Awe of the
Antiquities, the
Hills, the sea,
Jerusalem.
But my home,
My identity,
Was within me,
More secure
Than ever.
Struggling no
More with my
Judaism,
Celebrating my
Life as I age,
To Life, to life,
L’Chaim.
Henry Wolstat is a 78 year old retired psychiatrist living in Brookline. He have been writing poetry for a number of years and in the last few years have also written short memoirs. He is married, with 2 children and 3 grandchildren (and 2 step-children and 3 step grand-children). In addition to writing, his interests include music, playing saxophone, and running.
