The Book of Lashes

By Mois Benarroch

"The Book of Lashes by Mois Benarroch is full of true poetry of the oldest genre of Hebrew poetry: Prophecy." Yitzhak Laor, Haaretz 11/29/2005


"The Israeli Bukowski." Yaron Avitov, Yediot Ajaronot, 1/11/2000


For the first time in English we get a full translation of the book "The Book of Lashes", a book that revolutionized modern Hebrew poetry in the 21st century and created a new movement of social and engaged poetry.


 Mois Benarroch is the winner of the most prestigious poetry prize in Israel, the Yehuda Amichai poetry prize, which was awarded to him in 2012.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mois Benarroch
• Release date: Aug 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201514198

Mois Benarroch

"MOIS BENARROCH es el mejor escritor sefardí mediterráneo de Israel." Haaretz, Prof. Habiba Pdaya.

Book preview

The Book of Lashes

Every Friday evening and every Saturday noon, as we used to leave the synagogue and get some beatings on the way home so we will walk straight on the sidewalk, or sometimes just like that with no reason at all,

We used to arrive at Papa Levi and Mama Mercedes’s huge house

And there we used to run the halls just like children one after another

And after the other

And every couple of minutes, an uncle, one of many, amorphous and unfamiliar

Hit us on our backs or on the cheek, and that was part of this united family

And nobody considered this cruelty, or unusual, there were those that hit and others that just shouted, and there were others too, like my father, that kept silent

and accepted the crime. There was no one that could have saved me there, not one in this sodomy that will say it is not right to hit weak little children, but back then, we didn’t know better, and we went there every Saturday, resisting occasionally, and sometimes accepting our faith and as kids do, get bitten and go back to play.

And keep running, and keep getting bitten, and when we grew up we hit others too

The weaker ones. Those were lessons about the cruelty of life, where I learned to avoid the next hit, mainly that, unsuccessfully.

To S.D.

A.

It is silly to die this way!

It is silly to die this way!

It is silly to die this way

So talented

Such a beautiful voice

Such beautiful poems

It is silly to die this way

On a European sunny day

To fall down the stairs

Stupid stairs

Idiotic gravity

It is silly to die this way

So beautiful

So full

Your whole life ahead of you

It is silly to die this way

It is silly to die this way.

B.

Let the others die

In stupid accidents like that

Not you, with your wonderful voice

Let all the workers of evil die

If there is any logic in this world

And there isn’t

Let the others die

Not us

The talented ones

The voices of the universe

The voices of consciousness

Let the others die

The ones that didn’t learn how to sing

That didn’t learn how to talk

That didn’t learn how to write

Let the others die

Not us

The talented ones.

It is silly to die this way.

C.

Who the hell knows where does time go

What meaning does life expectancy have

If any

What meaning does talent have

If any

That pushes others to creation

What meaning does talent have

One that didn’t mature yet

One that can grow, and where does it grow

Are there trees that grow into the ground

Will your grave grow a nicer tree

Nicer than trees other graves grow

Will the oil of your soil be purer

I really do ask

Because I want to know

And at the end of the road god better have

A good explanation.

Forgivness

Dear world

I am sorry for being too sensitive

For not knowing how to accept your hypocrisy

For not learning how not to talk about the wrong doings

For my words that became barbs against your stupidity

But then again, why should I be sorry, I am not sorry at all

When all you want is to tame me

So I be silent for a bit, so I won’t talk

About the wrong doing, about the disgrace, about the