On Friday, the twilight of a summer day
While the smells of food and prayer rose from every house
And the sound of the Sabbath angels’ wings was in the air,
While still a child I started to lie to my father.
“I went to another synagogue.”
I don’t know if he believed me or not.
But the taste of the lie was good and sweet on my tongue
And in all the houses that night
Hymns rose up along the lies
To celebrate the sabbath.
And in all the houses that night
Sabbath angels died like flies in a lamp,
and lovers put mouth to mouth,
Blew each other up until they floated upward,
Or burst.
And since then the lie has been good and sweet on my tongue
And since then I always go to another synagogue.
And my father returned the lie when he said:
“I’ve gone to another life.”
My sister, the Christian (I converted) called me up to ask if the problem with Adam and Eve was the blaming one another. I told her I though it was the hiding, the lie. The thing to do is own it. I’m not sure you even need to be repentant. You just need to stand up to God, or your father or your spouse or your child, and say “Yes. I did it.”