Early poem by David Koker (27 November 1921 - 23 February 1945)

Sabbath

We looked up at each other from our reading

quite simultaneously. And through our eyes

there passed the very same serene surprise

that everything could be so good and pleasing.

Within these walls, where joy all haste is spurning,

where in their sunlike, unassuming shine

white, slender Sabbath candles now are burning,

life’s smallest things can seem both whole and fine.

Glimmering light-spots dancing on the ceiling

the table of a never-ending white,

with dishes motionless and softly gleaming,

the wine, the pure white bread. Oh how this sight

expressed such solemn presence, nonetheless

seemed so aloof. We find ourselves constrained

for just one instant by bright giddiness

yet to what’s innermost have been ordained,

and like the things around us self-contained

have we become as we observe each other,

re-find ourselves in space so bountiful.

Each in his solitude and yet together –
such was our Sabbath, and so wonderful.