Moyshe Shimel (Maurycy Szymel)

My child, don’t be frightened
of the wind
that bends the trees to the earth,
of the dark that pours over all the roads,
of the rain
that beats with heavy treads on the roof
and of all, of all, that gives rise to the night,
trembling in the wind –
my child, don’t be frightened.
Because the wind must bend trees to the earth;
it’s propelled from behind
by other winds,
winds from mountain to woods
compelled with anger, with violence.
Over all the desolate fields, over all the gloomy roads
that will ultimately reach their goal –
as does everything that lives.
And the rain, the rain
must fall for the grass to grow –
so, my child, don’t be frightened.
For the coolness of the night
that pours down from our roof,
for the trees, for the rain
and for all the paths
that know where they lead,
open the windows and the doors,
let the wind come in,
and the lightning and the fragrance of grasses
and sing:
Praise be the One
that causes the winds to blow.

Translated by Miri Koral