It was no surprise to me,
Yetta, when I discovered
you in the faint tracery lines
and vague morning frosts
of our family tree.
A name that gives wing to
my soul. Ah ha.
I could never have known -
with the limited words and
absent family stories about you
and other Speiers in our past -
there are cellular reasons
I love Talmud and the tales
of the Hasidism. Ah ha.
There are hematological side-trails
leading straight to shokeling and
niggunim - the resessive genes in
me for the swaying and the melody
muttering ecstasies of prayer. Ah ha.
That cooking chicken soup -
the way I have always done -
was not mine alone. More a
mystic strain from the deep
tune my soul was silently
humming. A culinary thrum
from my lineage. Ah ha.
I love you Yetta Speier. I have
always loved you. Even before
I knew you were A THING in
the long line of people at my
back throughout all time - my
caravan of nomads across space
and time. You showed me the
hidden precariousness of our
days on this earth-place and
how to shine in that trechery. Ah ha.
Dare I say it? You opened me
to the raw wonder and rapturous
truth that our lives without our
people and their ways - no matter
who our people may be - are as
shaky as a fiddler on the roof.
This and my indefatigible love
of Heschel are yours in me -
Yetta Speier. Thank you.
Thank you. Thank you.
Ah ha.
Now it is all clear.
Ah ha.
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