The Champion

The blood of the father of law
Flows through your every red vein
While colorful, you are no chirping macaw
Your justice shines in the sun and in the rain
No one can stop you because your law is the Torah
Your tenacity makes you a myrmidon high on cocaine

The judges above you call themselves your lords
While you shepherd the clerks below
When your enemies come at you barking with swords
You hogtie them with the arguments you sow
They can only fall faceless, tripped by your argentine cords
When they walk the road you hoe, slipping on the seeds you sow

Our land is a Mediterranean mercantile den of thieves
With judicial opinions merely receipts of pencil written on leaves
The ever present and omnibenevolent spirit of Hashem grieves
The meek come to you for erudite succor
It’s a weighty responsibility, like no other
The dismay of not being able to help your weaker brother

You may not have thought so, but I can identify with you
My job was to tell my boys what the enemy would do
So my colleagues could tell them what plan of attack to pursue
When I was wrong, my boys didn’t come home
Mothers wept tears in livingrooms of stone
But this is a philosophical palindrome
Because when I was right, they did
The splendor of victory was no longer hid
And Babylon found herself of evil ones rid

The land lacks captains of truth and of justice
Spiritually, I can only call the place a hospital of hospice
But when I see you
When I look at what you do
I have hope for a future of vanquishing malice

It’s not about cars or girls or earning lots of money
You don’t live in London or New York or Bangkok
Your home is the land of milk and of honey
And with God’s inspiration
You’ll revive the nation
And reclaim the glory of which all the world will talk
And ilumine the paths by which all nations walk

The law of your heart is the same as the law on pages
Written by long-bearded craggy old Jewish sages
Filled with stories of Danite warriors of Mycenae
Of knights ancient with their valiant esquire pages
In service to an immortal king ruling all worlds for all ages
Fighting our battles each and every day

Remember this charge when you’re tired and bloody
Beleaguered with the task of protecting everybody
When they try to hand defeat by claiming you’re nobody
When you’re feet are stuck in corruption’s foul sludge
Take hold of your land by the robe of the judge
So that all the land’s captains must your justice begrudge
Evil does have its day, and it does have its hour
But God is the source of all victory and power
And the lords of all are those who ultimately serve honor

2 Comments

  1. This is inspired. So true, and leaves you challenged and hopeful.

    1. I was a little tipsy while talking to my lawyer last week, and I promised him a poem. So I took the opportunity to reflect about him and put my thoughts into rhyme.

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