Hobnobbing with the Philosophers: Chet

Detail from “The School of Athens”
a fresco by Raphael (1483 – 1520)
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By Maik Strosahl

I don’t remember why I first looked up the letter Chet in the Hebrew alphabet (or aleph-bet), but I thought it interesting enough to write about.
    Chet is the eighth letter and it has a shape like a doorway where the blood of the lamb was daubed during the first passover. It is said to be the letter of life (Chayim) and living (Chayah).
    I remember growing up learning about all the stories of the Old Testament and New, the enslavement of the Israelites and their deliverance after the ten plagues that befell the Egyptians. I had a big yellow book with illustrations titled “My Book of Bible Stories” that detailed all of these events, culminating with the miracle crossing of the Red Sea and the shattering of the Pharaoh’s armies when the waters closed back over their chariots and the sea bed.
    While my beliefs have changed over the years, those early stories are still embedded, still stirring within the way I look at the world, and even how these eyes approach a little letter from a language I really do not know.
    The original version of the poem ended before the last two stanzas of the present offering; I felt the poem needed to be brought forward to be relevant.

Chet

It is the blood of the lamb
splashed over the doorway,
proclaiming to death
this house should be passed over,
these people would be spared,

and if they had faith,
they were set free
that night from their slavery,
guided out of Egypt
by the light of a full moon,
though slowed by children and cattle,
though chased by war chariots,

blood poured into the Nile,
blood dripped down the doorposts,
the blood of their enemies
spilling into the sea,
delivering these souls safely
through to the other side,

chayim and chayah
amongst the dead and dying,

the armies
washing up on the shores,
stiff warriors who drifted off
to search for answers
from the humiliated gods
they found themselves approaching.

The book,
the words,
the very letters,
long ago pushed aside,
even now haunt my thoughts,
continue to steer my actions,

eyes still open to wonders,
eyes still tempted to believe.

Copyright © 2023 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there.