
Walk me like a palindrome
forward to our common home,
looking backwards at the past,
thinking our love couldn’t last,
though it’s lasted long enough
for both of us to make the tough
decision to go always forward,
west and east and south and nor’ward,
in all directions both together
bound tightly by each other’s tether,
forwards, backwards, boustrophedon,
each of us the other’s hedon.
Backwards, then, let’s go again
towards remembrance of times when
we didn’t know our love, like Rome—
amor its Latin palindrome—-
could not in seven days be built.
We haven’t gilded with our guilt
the palindrome of love we share,
while for silver we don’t care,
unurgent argent innocence,
preferring rebels’ sinner sense
to furnish it with verse I’ve written,
forwards, backwards, unforbidden.
With this love let us both roam
like the Roman palindrome.
Reread the Torah like a scroll
that once a year we all reroll,
like palindromes that we can read,
reversing it while we proceed
midrashic meanings to reveal
by finding meanings words conceal
discovered only when read backwards;
metaphoric midrash hackwords
without a script, without rehearsing,
do this like palindromes, reversing
meanings as God did to Balaam’s curses
on Israelites, becoming verses
blessing tents in which they dwelt,
reversing hatred he had felt
should be transformed to – surprise! – praise
of Jews who still the universe amaze.
This poem was inspired on 10/27/24, a day after we celebrated the festival of Simhat Torah 5785, when we follow our annual conclusion of reading all the parshiot, chapters, of the Torah by returning to the first one in Genesis 1. Thus our annual reading of Torah revolves from the end of the Torah scroll to its beginning.
After reading this poem, my son Zachary pointed out that the Torah is rounded off by verses that generate a palindromic inclusion for the Torah. Following the Torah’s first word, בְּרֵאשִׁ֖ית , in the beginning, Gen. 1:3 refers to the light that was God’s first creative accomplishment, stating in Gen. 1:3:
וַיֹּ֥אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֖ים יְהִ֣י א֑וֹר וַֽיְהִי־אֽוֹר׃, and God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.
The Torah ends with the non-extinction light in the eyes of Moses, shone upon the Israelites who observed him. Deut. 24:7-12 states:
וּמֹשֶׁ֗ה בֶּן־מֵאָ֧ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֛ים שָׁנָ֖ה בְּמֹת֑וֹ לֹא־כָהֲתָ֥ה עֵינ֖וֹ וְלֹא־נָ֥ס לֵחֹֽה׃
And Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died; his eyes were undimmed and his vigor unabated.
וַיִּבְכּוּ֩ בְנֵ֨י יִשְׂרָאֵ֧ל אֶת־מֹשֶׁ֛ה בְּעַֽרְבֹ֥ת מוֹאָ֖ב שְׁלֹשִׁ֣ים י֑וֹם וַֽיִּתְּמ֔וּ יְמֵ֥י בְכִ֖י אֵ֥בֶל מֹשֶֽׁה׃
And the Israelites bewailed Moses in the steppes of Moab for thirty days, and the period of wailing and mourning for Moses came to an end.
וִיהוֹשֻׁ֣עַ בִּן־נ֗וּן מָלֵא֙ ר֣וּחַ חׇכְמָ֔ה כִּֽי־סָמַ֥ךְ מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־יָדָ֖יו עָלָ֑יו וַיִּשְׁמְע֨וּ אֵלָ֤יו בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וַֽיַּעֲשׂ֔וּ כַּאֲשֶׁ֛ר צִוָּ֥ה יְהֹוָ֖ה אֶת־מֹשֶֽׁה׃
And Joshua son of Nun was filled with the spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands upon him; and the Israelites heeded him, doing as God had commanded Moses.
וְלֹא־קָ֨ם נָבִ֥יא ע֛וֹד בְּיִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל כְּמֹשֶׁ֑ה אֲשֶׁר֙ יְדָע֣וֹ יְהֹוָ֔ה פָּנִ֖ים אֶל־פָּנִֽים׃
And never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses—whom God singled out, face to face,
לְכׇל־הָ֨אֹתֹ֜ת וְהַמּוֹפְתִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֤ר שְׁלָחוֹ֙ יְהֹוָ֔ה לַעֲשׂ֖וֹת בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם לְפַרְעֹ֥ה וּלְכׇל־עֲבָדָ֖יו וּלְכׇל־אַרְצֽוֹ׃
for the various signs and portents that God sent him to display in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his courtiers and his whole country,
וּלְכֹל֙ הַיָּ֣ד הַחֲזָקָ֔ה וּלְכֹ֖ל הַמּוֹרָ֣א הַגָּד֑וֹל אֲשֶׁר֙ עָשָׂ֣ה מֹשֶׁ֔ה לְעֵינֵ֖י כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃
and for all the great might and awesome power that Moses displayed before all Israel.
I found an allusion that the blessing made after reading the haftarah, the prophetic text whose reading follows that of the weekly sidra, the portion of the Torah’s text that is read in synagogues every Shabbat:
אָחוֹר לֹא־יָשׁוּב רֵיקָם וְדָבָר אֶחָד מִדְּ֒בָרֶֽיךָ, and any word of Your words that is read backwards should not receive an empty response.
Gershon Hepner is a poet who has written over 25,000 poems on subjects ranging from music to literature, politics to Torah. He grew up in England and moved to Los Angeles in 1976. Using his varied interests and experiences, he has authored dozens of papers in medical and academic journals, and authored “Legal Friction: Law, Narrative, and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel.” He can be reached at gershonhepner@gmail.com.