Jul. 30th, 2007

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PHINEHAS OF POLOTSK’S DEATH POEM
The following is a translation of Kether Torah, 36a—38a.

And now, my brother, I will transcribe for your benefit a precious jewel that I originally wrote in my youth, while contemplating the day of death in an attempt to subdue the evil instinct, as our Sages have recommended: “Let man meditate upon the day of his death:" How dare any mortal man, one who ought to rejoice upon unearthing his own burial plot, proclaim that he is the master of his own life? For, in point of fact, in this life man migrates incessantly from misfortune to even greater anguish.

Now, does this man, who is of such a lowly stature and who will never enjoy a single moment of peace—does such a person imagine that he possesses any form of control or authority? Dare a person for whom nobody could care, who left the womb entirely bare, and who will suffer all his days from hunger—does such a person dare to say that he is wise or that discernment is his birthright?
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Yisroel Markov

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