For Shavuot

Resisting her mother-in-law’s urging to leave her,

Unwilling to return to her father’s house,

The People and the G-d of Israel she chose;

Her mother-in-law’s lot she claimed unto herself.

Both slowly plodded across the Judean Desert,

At length to the town of Bethlehem they came

The townswomen gathered to greet them,

“How have you returned to us!” they exclaimed.

And she went down to the fields to glean,

Neither bending down in crude fashion

Nor immodestly eyeing the young men,

Any fallen stalks of barley she gathered.

Returning at dusk to her mother-in-law’s side,

Unperturbed by her back-breaking labor,

The day’s encounter she related,

“’Have you not heard, my daughter,’ their kinsman had urged her,

“’Behind my maidens you shall glean

“’And in these fields you shall gather grain.

“’The young men have I charged not to touch you.’”

He invited her from the vessels to drink,

And answered her that he knew of her deeds,

Ne’er leaving her mother-in-law’s side across deserts,

Ne’er leaving the People and G-d that she chose,

And he blessed her in the Name of the L-rd.

Readily obeying her mother-in-law’s charge,

Undaunted by the black velvet night,

To the threshing-floor she descended,

Her heart-beat rapid

Beneath the crescent-shaped moon

As she found the place where he lay, guarding the harvested grain.

 “Thou art a virtuous woman,” said he unto her.

He added, “For thy later loyalty is even greater than the first.”

 “Although there is a kinsman closer than I, stay now here.”

Nine and one elders at city’s gate he convened.

Nine and one elders before whom he redeemed

All the field and the widow of his close kin.

 “Restorer of life,” their new-born was called,

 “Unto the grandmother is born a son,”

The townswomen rallied and cried.

Her mother-in-law cradled the babe in her arms.

“Blessed is the L-rd,” the townswomen praised,

“And better is she who dearly loves thee

“Than seven sons,” they declared.

His name the townswomen gave him,

And with each year to manhood he matured.

 “Nourisher of your old age,” the townswomen proclaimed.

 “Now to take a wife of his own,” they sang.

And the father of David the newly-weds bore,

the House of David, King of Israel to build.

This poem was first published in Poetica, November 2003

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