Before my father takes him home,
my grandfather sits on my bed
to tell me good night.
Exciting Shabbos, wouldn’t you say?
I nod, my body feels awake,
but my mind is tired.
Etan, I have not heard your voice enough today.
Can you tell me good night?
Usually I don’t have too much trouble
speaking to him,
but when someone asks me to speak,
everything around me grows bigger and bigger
and I become small.
He pulls a small bag from his coat pocket,
a leather pouch tied tightly.
He coughs quietly, unties the pouch,
and empties it into his hand.
I sit up. He is holding a green stone.
It shines, even in the dim light.
This, he says, is a bareket,
an emerald, an ancient, powerful stone,
like from the breastplate of Aaron!
Feel it. He centers it in my hand.
It’s the size of a quarter, feels smooth,
even soft, but when I hold it to the light,
I can almost see through it. I look up.
Did this come from? I think.
The box? He can read my mind. Yes. An ancient treasure.
There are many things in the box,
but for you I thought of this one.
Your heart has been a little closed up.
This might help open it up again.
When you feel afraid to speak,
hold the stone in your hand,
tight tight tight,
and it will bring you courage.
He closes my fingers
around the smooth stone,
bends down toward me,
and brings his lips just close enough
to whisper the words
Good night.