My father, mother, brothers, and sisters

First Half of the 11th Century

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This moving eulogy is in the voice of a dead child addressing his family members. The child compares his former beauty to a citron (Hebrew: etrog), which is used in the celebration of the Sukkot festival and prized in the Jewish tradition as a beautiful, aromatic fruit. He likens his upbringing to that of a well-watered blade of grass. By burying him in “a house that will not disintegrate until my corpse disintegrates,” his family has lacked compassion for his youthful beauty. Ellipses indicate lacunae in the manuscript.

Illustration of a bearded, crying man in a robe and turban, his head surrounded by a gold halo, crouching beside a shrouded figure, also haloed, lying on a wooden bed.

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My father, mother, brothers, and sisters, hear my word and listen to my speech.

Was I not like a citron among you, in my beauty and comeliness, my aroma and my taste?

You raised me like a blade of grass, and withheld no water from me,

My stature was healthy and flourishing, fertile like branches, in the prime of my life.

My soul enjoyed pleasures, and I had delights, when I would retire and when I would awake—

But now, how can your hearts bear it, after all this, now that I have been placed in the earth?

You have covered my glowing beauty with earth and cast my body into a ditch.

You had no compassion in your heart, and you took no pity on my handsomeness, my image.

The evening’s shade is cast over me. My sun set while it was still day for me.

You made me a house [i.e., a grave] that will not disintegrate until my corpse disintegrates.

I sought a lamp, but they told me no, so I knew that I was in the place of darkness.

The moon will not illuminate my nights, and the sun will not shine in my region.

My sun has dimmed. My mother has forgotten me and not woken me from my sleepy slumber.

My face has not been washed from the dust of the grave. She has not rubbed me with oil, nor changed my clothes.

Youths of my age go to their tutor, but my sleep extends in silence.

Children will rejoice tomorrow . . . ; I am prevented from the joy of [discovering] concealed [wisdom].

All my mother’s children are far from me. My name is no longer on my relatives’ tongues.

Hear now what has befallen me, and I will tell you my bitter words.

Pains have seized me from my father’s bosom. They have slaughtered me, and my blood is not seen.

My hands have been bound, my feet have been unshod, my arms have been bent, and the ring has been taken from my finger.

My beauty has gone dark, my likeness has changed. Dust is my perfume, and earth is my food.

This has happened to me. My father and mother do not recognize me.

I call out, but I find no one to give me strength and let me rise from the earth.

Where are my homes? Where is my family? Where are those who love me? Where are my kinsmen?

Why have they abandoned me in the wilderness, with worms as my bed, to feel the maggots around me?

Have they rejected me? Spurned me? Not sought my well-being?

The wedding, days of your joy . . .

Remove the cup of poison from me, and be deeply moved for me, with compassion,

And fulfill your word, which you have promised: I will bring you up out of your graves, O my people (Ezekiel 37:12).

Translated by Gabriel Wasserman.

Credits

Bibliothèque nationale de France, Department of Manuscripts, Arabe 3929, fol. 78r, detail.

Published in: The Posen Library of Jewish Culture and Civilization, vol. 3: Encountering Christianity and Islam.

My father, mother, brothers, and sisters

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My father, mother, brothers, and sisters

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