The Weeping of Generations

Chaim Grade

1936

I

On the white garments of my great-grandfather
the cross of the middle ages flames anew.
My great-grandfather sits at the seder,
holding a staff from a wild almond tree
to rouse the forefathers.
Not three matzos but three moons glimmer on a tray:
the bottom one black, the middle red
and the top one—light, that bright Paschal light.
My great…
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