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But this I guess: ‘He didn’t repeat the words you said, at least as best as I can tell.” “He was talking so hoarse and faint I barely heard. “Why did he shoot the translator Jew? What did he say? He took that arrow tellin’ my words.” If we do, they’re charged to slaughter us all. That Umar told his men to watch our town, and see that we don’t rebel. Just that one apostate lyin’ in a pool of blood, and two of their soldiers posted so no one could come and bury the man. But torches weren’t lit and heads didn’t roll. They commandeered homes around the square, and at the synagogue set up command. Umar shouted his furious commands, then he turns and rides, him and his guard and most of his horse, leavin’ behind footmen and archers and a chief or two.
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The twang, the zhing, the translator fell. And as he spoke his sing-song dirge, like a lithe and graceful dancer, Umar twisted and slipped his bow from a sheath and turned, and with his other hand slid an arrow, quiver to bow like a slow, ecstatic Zoroastrian dance, as if to spread his hands to fly. Slowly, steady, like a horse-drawn hearse, word after word, clip after clop he psalmed our way to the burying ground. And shock freezes my limbs as I grasp what I done.įrom the tomby silence, the Jew found a voice. Pale as a shroud a dead man wears, my translator Jew.
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But you, behind your sharp edge sword, make your region of peace a killing field.” And our Torah teaches that in the highest reign the region of peace is the world* of God, and has no borders in this Pharoahy world. And our Torah teaches in the highest rung, the Lor is one and His Law is one for the homeborn and the stranger alike. A sword is for kings and wolves such as them. But our Torah teaches, at the highest rung, the message of the Lor needs no sword. “Who can say the way of truth? The sages know many a ways. “Poor as we are, we will pay your tax, and live to serve our Lor as we may.”īut other words, phrase by phrase opened my lips and my mouth declares: And then the Jew stood in silent scowl, with Umar a-mount, hand on sword.Īnd I a-spin in the charged words, lost myself and my particular voice. Phrase by phrase he spun his vortex of words which his Jew translated phrase by phrase. Or if you reject the only Lor or reject our rights over your land, then jihad will be our permanent state. Or if you are warped by an earlier book, taxes you’ll pay as a proof of your warp. “But if you want to live in our Region you must assume Muhammed’s way, and he the Prophet is the end of the line. * the direction to face in prayer now towards Mecca And if not now, the time will come when the Lor will grant you the strength and will for you to return and restore your House, as our Prophet teaches in Surah Seventeen. There we once turned our kiblah* to you and there we can bend our knee with you. The Prophet has taught this in Sura Five. “Why are you Jews living here? You have a land where you belong. Now hear the decrees that we are imposing: Ours the Lor that all the realms must proclaim and praise.
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“We warrior prophets are raising a sword of peace, and bringing the era of submission in our regions of God. Soon as I seen him, I begins my speech, anxious and hyped I couldn’t hold back, when the caliph booms out, probably, “Silence dog!!” Then he waits a pompful moment and launches into the speech that he prepared: Weary and feary and wary he seemed, but a rancor rippled across his eyes when he seen the Elders of Zion and me. And there we are, us ancient bookmen, facin’ the Arab war machine.įrom the midst of the horse’s tails and hooves they brung forth our translatin’ Muslim Jew. Turbans bejeweled and the brocade capes, banners a-flutter and tassels a-horse.
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