Send a carrier pigeon

Samuel ha-Nagid

Mid-11th Century

When the enemies attacking the city Lorca became aware that the troops were coming to meet them, they fled it without delay, and our troops hastened to Lorca and camped in it. He wrote to me from there:

Send a carrier pigeon, though it cannot speak the story.

It will have a small letter attached to its wings,

with saffron water coloring the letter and the aroma of frankincense.

When it flies aloft, send a letter with another pigeon,

so that if the first is met by a hawk, or if it falls into a trap,

or if it is delayed and does not hasten, the second one will come first.

And when it arrives at Joseph’s house, let it chirp in the high places of the city,

and when it descends upon his hands, let him play with it like a little bird,

and untie the letter from its wings, and read as follows:

My son, know that the cursed horde of attackers has already fled,

and dispersed over the mountains, like chaff on a windy plot of land,

and upon the roads, like a flock scattered without a shepherd.

And they did not get to see their enemies in the state that they had hoped.

When we went forth to destroy them, they fled, in the wee hours,

and they were killed, each man killing his fellows at the river-passing.

They were kept from what they had hoped for, in the city surrounded by a wall.

They were shamed, like a thief who is found digging.

They wore their embarrassment upon their faces, like a cloak,

and shame clung to them, like the lobe to the kidney.

They drank scorn in a goblet and fully quaffed its intoxicating cup.

I had been trembling in my heart, like a woman trembling in her first childbirth,

but God put balm upon it, like rain ending a drought.

Then my two eyes were given light, but my enemies were given darkness.

I sing with happy heart, while they speak lamentations,

and the sound of joy is in my house, while they are in bitter tears.

To You, [O God], my rock, my stronghold, my soul sings.

To You, it prayed its supplications during the time of trouble.

My son, set your heart unto God’s beautiful hand.¹

Arise and read my praise in a convocation of people, an assembly,

and place it like a phylactery, bound upon your arm,

and write it upon your heart, with a pen of iron or lead.

Translated by Gabriel Wasserman.

Notes

[That is: Give your active attention to the miracle that God has wrought for Lorca.—Trans.]

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

Send a carrier pigeon

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Send a carrier pigeon

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