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A Hanukkah poem about the role of ritual in preserving the national identity of a scattered people: Because one hundred and thirteen generations Of Jews lit candles for eight days and prayed (No doubt a miracle--flames in earthen jars), Nor could they, spangled abroad like lonely stars, Inter their music, or cull their recitations, Each cantillated word is death delayed. Some memories are miracles: the jars Empty yet dancing with light, the generations Touched also by fire, burning like distant stars, History twinkling with their recitations Lest words be forgotten and the future die. They prayed On their way naked to the ovens; they prayed Resting by Babylon's stagnant waters; they delayed Reeling into memory's end, the earthen jars Aflame with words, afire with recitations, In words their mountains, their rivers, deserts, stars; Nations flowing towards silence, the generations