SABBATH LIE
(Yehuda Amichai)

On Friday, at dusk on a summer day,
while the smell of food and the sound of prayers rose from the houses,
and the rustle of the Shabbat angels’ wings could be heard in the air,
I, still a child, began to lie to my father:
“I went to a different synagogue.”

I don’t know whether he believed me or not,
but the taste of the lie was good and sweet on my tongue,
and that night from every house
hymns mixed with lies rose up
in honor of Shabbat.
And that night in every house
Shabbat-angels died like flies in the lamp’s glow,
and lovers blew life into each other mouth-to-mouth until
they began to float upward or burst apart.

And ever since, the lie has been good and sweet on my tongue,
and ever since, I always go to a different synagogue.
And my father repaid my lie when he died:
“I went to a different life.”