My son, I must apologize
for what we are about to do.
Though gathered here to honor you,
We gather not to brutalize
Nor take delight in infant cries
That some not present might call cruel,
That some regard with disrepute.
My son, I must apologize.
Some say, How dare you circumcise
Such tender flesh, such passion fruit?
For such abuse there's no excuse.
One day I hope you realize
Why fathers cannot compromise:
That pain today will soon disprove
Such pagan shouts and vain untruths.
You would not want it otherwise.
Don't think I have not agonized:
I fear tradition like a fool,
I lack the faith of Elihu;
And so, I must apologize.
Think of your aunt who's canonized*
Of what she suffered, of her doom:
Her light will guide you like a moon
Through midnight storms that terrorize,
That cinch your spirit like a noose.
One day, my son, you'll reproduce:
Like me, you'll then apologize
That you've been blessed to be a Jew.
____________________________
* Great aunt Edith Stein, Holocaust martyr,
died at Auschwitz, August, 1942; canonized
as Staint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross by
Pope John Paul II in Rome, October, 1998.
