This Old Faith
This Old Faith
It’s like this: keeping
the name, Cohen,
I’ve no choice.
At the hour of my birth,
I was entrusted
with this old faith
like someone might inherit
a storage container.
Every month, it exacts a payment.
I could grunt and dash off
another check, signing my name
with as much attention
as I might swat away a fly.
Or, perhaps, I could visit
once in a while – feel
the rusted key’s teeth
sink into the lock,
climb inside, take a look around.
Some dreck and dross
among last generation’s bad news,
but also bronze heirlooms, gems
faceted like stars
ready for new hands
to carry them out
under an old, familiar sky. 
I have mixed feelings about this poem. On the one hand, I want to echo Richard Dawkins’ remark that there’s no such thing as a Jewish child—or Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Taoist, Jain, Rastafarian, etc. child. Religion is a fundamentally social institution, and the inviolability of individual conscience makes freedom from religion even more important than freedom of religion. Of the other hand, if one does choose to embrace one’s faith-of-origin, I can’t imagine a better way to carry that legacy.
a beauty!