Waiting for the Messiah

Every year some student would claim to be the Messiah.

It was the rabbi who had to deal with them.

He had jumped, years ago, from a moving boxcar

on the way to a death camp. That jump

left him ready for anything.

This year at Pesach, a Jewish student proclaimed

Armageddon. "Burn the books! Burn the textbooks!"

he shouted to a cheerful crowd

in Harvard Square, sang Hebrew songs

to confuse the Gentiles,

dressed for the end like Belshazzar.

People stopped to whisper and laugh.

"T have a noble task to perform," the boy explained

gravely. "I am preparing myself to endure

the laughter of fools."

The rabbi was a skeptic.

Years ago he'd been taught, if you're planting a tree

and someone cries out, "The Messiah has come!"

finish planting the tree. Then

go see if it's true.

Still, he took the boy into his study

and questioned him slowly, stubbornly

as if the poor soul before him might be,

God help us, the Messiah.