If you are ever in Damascus
and long for somewhere cooler,
the question that you ought to ask is:
“How do I find Maaloula?”
It’s cool, you’ll like the mountain breezes,
it’s quaint and it’s archaic,
the villagers feel close to Jesus
for they speak Aramaic.
Example. When they say: “Our Father
who art in heaven,” they
don’t use the Arabic, but rather
words Jesus used to pray.
I wonder, if they learned the Talmud
would they put on a hat,
or would they use a safety helmet
in case they fell down flat
upon their faces, since they’re speaking
a language that is dead?
Would Jesus know what they are seeking
when they say “daily bread”?
Their tongue is virtually extinct,
linguistic dinosaurus;
its meanings hardly are distinct
unless you’ve a thesaurus.
Can they, I ask, adjudicate
in Aramaic laws,
like Jews who still Talmudicate
in words the world ignores?
I hope they can, and that they manage
to keep their language stable,
to add to English, French and Spanish,
their Babel to the cable.
No word has an equivalent,
like x’s algebraic,
I hardly am ambivalent
about old Aramaic.
In Talmud study and my prayers
I use this ancient language
whose death would cause Maaloulian heirs
and Jews enormous anguish.
Shlama rabba the words expressed
by Jews since they oppose
its opposite, which that they detest,
bilingually wars’ foes,
shalom the Hebrew leitmotif
recalled by Jews, balladish,
concluding with complete belief
in peace, the core of Qaddish.
The penultimate verse of the Qaddish is for shlama rabba, two Aramaic words that mean “great peace.” The last verse is a prayer for shalom, the Hebrew word for peace:
יְהֵא שְׁלָמָא רַבָּא מִן שְׁמַיָּא וְחַיִּים עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשרָאֵל. וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן: [קהל: אמן]
Let there be shlama rabba, great peace, from heaven and life on us and on all Israel, and let us say amen
עוֹשה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרומָיו הוּא יַעֲשה שָׁלום עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשרָאֵל וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן: [קהל: אמן]
Let him make shalom, peace, in His high places, He will make shalom, peace, on us and on all Israel, and they will say amen.
In “Ancient Syrian Town Seeks Interfaith After Long War.”” NYT, 4/15/25, Ben Hubbard and Hwaida Saad write:
Inside a centuries-old monastery atop a mountain in western Syria, a priest swung an incense holder on a chain, led his flock in melodic chants and delivered a timeless sermon on the importance of loving one’s neighbor.
But when the congregation gathered for coffee after the service, their current worries surfaced, about how peaceful Syria’s future would be.
Would the Islamist rebels who ousted the strongman Bashar al-Assad in December ban pork and alcohol, impose modest dress on women or limit Christian worship? Would the new security forces protect Christians from attacks by Muslim extremists?
“Nothing has happened that makes you feel that things are better,” said Mirna Haddad, one of the churchgoers.
“Hanging these bells provided relief to people,” Father Barkil said. “In the end, they are the voice of God.”
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.
