“First Edition” features original works by Northern California Jewish writers. In the first issue of each month, j. publishes a poem and an excerpt from a piece of new fiction.
Works may be submitted to firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com. Fiction excerpts may run to 2,500 words, but only 800 words will appear in the print edition, with the rest appearing online.
Tesla Rose 25 Months: Four Questions
by john oliver simon
You’re not quite old enough to ask the Questions,
ma nishtanah ha-layla ha-zeh — we try
repeat after me, but you’re not playing that
game — and as for the son, the Haggadah says,
who does not know how to ask, you should yourself
open up to him, though conscientiously
we change son to child and fathers to mothers,
if you believe it was the fathers baking
challah in the night kitchen when the Holy
and Blessed Someone sent fire-winged angels
to say leave the yeast out of the recipe
and get out of Dodge before ten drops of wine
turn into rivers of blood: Ebola, AIDS,
scabies, potato blight, gentrification
and the mortality of little children,
I’ve got a bridge across the Nile to sell you.
So the red sea of blood parted like a comb
and the children of Israel wriggled away,
but you’re just one-eighth Jewish on the wrong side,
not from the husband but the secret doctor,
your blonde grin which brightens up the universe
would gladden the eye of Leni Reifenstahl,
and Muslims are the new Jews — now the phone rings
but I keep writing — so the holiday is
problematic, it raises questions, where was
Moses when the lights went out? Who cut the cheese?
And Elijah, if he came in through our door,
would have to find a seat in your old high chair.
So we drink sweet wine with blessings and we read
what we like from the text between distractions
because it says in every generation
a woman (not to put too fine a point on it)
must see herself as if she personally
had come out of Egypt. And who knows what they’ll
call your generation: Finnegan, Coco,
Hazel Rose, Tesla Rose, those who’ll be twenty-
something in the twenties, a new jazz age,
Zelda, Scott and Babe Ruth all over again?
Next year, which will not be in Jerusalem,
you will know enough to ask the Four Questions.
John Oliver Simon is a poet and translator published from Abraxas to Zyzzyva. His three fathers (ostensible, biological and step), all of the first generation of Jews to attend Ivy League colleges, as well as his blonde goddess shiksa communist mother, descendant of the owner of the largest whorehouse on the Barbary Coast, would be surprised to learn that their one-eighth Jewish great-granddaughter can sing the prayers in Hebrew.