By Shlomoh
December, 2009

It is not Jerusalem
Nor even Manhattan
Yet it teems with life,
The life of my People.
Boro of Churches
It is called.
Better -
Boro of Synagogues,
The tiny, intimate places
Where they meet
To tell the world
We still live!
We still love!
We still adore
The One who made us
Unique among the nations.

The streets cry out
And proclaim our Presence
Written small and large
With letters of an ancient Tongue,
Those very letters with which
The Holy Book is written,
Now announce
Festivals, SIMCHAS, sales ....

The Food of God
Lingers in the air
In anticipation
of the Sabbaths
And the Holidays
On which
The Brooklyn streets
Are transformed
Into a reflection
Of the Age to Come
When swords and guns
Will be beaten down
And comraderie will abound.

Oh Brooklyn of my People
Rise up
Sing the Holy Songs
On every thoroughfare
And show the world
The black satins that you wear,
The Uniform
Of the Army
Of our God.

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