All of This Is Yours

David Karpel

Where Yaakov dreams on the ground,
Rashi says all of the Land of Israel
folds under him, I imagine like
an origami promise. All of this is yours: 

Folds in which Aramaic scripts of old
detail measures of wool, wheat, and wisdom;
drawings depict towns, cities, and the roads
connecting them; everything coated in desert
dust, smears of sweat from the Writer’s knit brow,
the earthy odor of olive groves, citrus, sweet dates,
and the salt spray of the sea; while wine,
milk, and honey thoroughly stain the creases. 

Sages argue whether this is a miracle
or if Rashi is merely using figurative language
to solve the problem of God’s assurance:
“What’s all mine,” Yaakov could ask,
“these four cubits, or this fold of land?”
According to the Talmud, this question
is moot, as the miraculous ease by which
the earth swivels and crimps sets into effect
another promise:  the conquering
of this land will be effortless. 

*

When the classroom fills with my
10th graders talking, joking, texting, I too
wish I could make a vow as certain,
a distillation so concise I would fold it
to fit in their pockets next to their phones,
written clearly and simply on each page
the wisdom they need to thrive
without ladders for angels
or the voice of God. 

But to what end?
Who could imagine
promising them 
that anything worthy
comes without struggle?

Like anyone on the run,
this even Yaakov learns.