Poem March 28, 1953 Issue

NAAMAN'S HEALING

Adelaide Rothenberg

There is a prophet in Samaria,
and he will cleanse thee of thy leprosy
if thou but go to him, the maiden said.

In fitting splendor and great company
I came and waited at the prophet's door,
assured he would come out to honor me,
and heal me thus and thus, as I had planned.

But nay, he sent a message bidding me
to dip in Jordan seven times, and then
my flesh would come again: I would be clean.

I? Wash in Jordan?
Are not the rivers of Damascus
better far than Israel's?
And what presumption
can bid Naaman, captain of the royal host—
outranked by none except the king himself—
to stoop to such inglorious, childish things?

Indeed, I was enraged and went away.
My servants came and wisely reasoned thus:
A great thing thou would'st do, if thou wert bid;
why not this cleansing deed?

Then I came down
from my vainglorious pedestal of self
and dipped—
full seven times,
not hastily—
in waters mingled with repentant tears,
which washed away the mask of vanities,
and I beheld my need,
humility.

I thank Thee, God of Israel,
For I am clean!

Adelaide Rothenberg

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