A poem for Chanukka: The Olive and the Oil

||| BY CHAYA ROSEN |||

The Olive and the Oil

From the midst of constellations
and the distance of the ages
A Maccabean miracle unfolds
How does this story get told?

It’s all about the olive and the oil.

She was crushed and beaten
humbled and pressed
a distinct purity
it’s my nature, she said.

I refuse to penetrate
as I rise above
the waters and the others.

I am the oil.

Between oppressions and dedications
Between the destruction and commemoration.

I am the oil.

From a vessel into the light
The kindling for eight nights.

I am the oil.

I don’t assimilate integrate
Our sparks will hold
We are humble not arrogant
A spiritual reach- over and beyond
You and I an eternal bond.

We won’t be consumed nor nullified
We’ll burn and spread a victorious warmth
From yesterday’s past to tomorrow’s future
As our generations have seen
the dead and the living
dreidel souls in a spin.

I am an internal oil,

From confusion to retribution
Awakening and reinvigorating
From childhood to old age.

I am the oil.

A source for our branches
the menorah with her candles
We stand upright multi -colored to ignite

Arms reach and ache
Towards the eternal never-ending Eight
The Ohr the miracles
Your brilliance re-creates.

Chaya Rosen