# Songs of Exile/The Burning of the Law

See Disputation of Paris at Wikipedia for historical context.
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THE BURNING OF THE LAW
To Meïr ben Baruch ben Meïr, born in Worms in 1220, was given the title "Light and Great Light," reserved for the greatest Rabbis. In 1286 he was imprisoned as a hostage for the Jewish emigrants, and in 1293 he died in prison, though a ransom had been offered for his release. He had refused it, fearing to create a precedent for the extortion of money from the Jews by their imprisonment and ransom, The following Kinnah, in which he mourns the burning of the Law at Paris, is read on the Ninth of Ab, and has the form of the "Zion" poems for that day, of which Jehudah Halevi's Ode to Zion (p. 37) is the chief.
Stanza 2, line 1, "panting for thy land's sweet dust,"Amos ii, 7.
Stanza 7, line 4, Proverbs xxiv, 31.
Stanza 9, line 4, Psalm cxxxvii, 8.
Stanza 18, line 4, Isaiah xl, 2.
Stanza 25, line 1, "Taking His holy treasure," Proverbs vii, 20; line 2, Proverbs vii, 19.
Stanza 26, line 3, Isaiah xxx, 17.
Stanza 30, line 4, Jeremiah ii, 2.
The Burning of the Law
By Meïr of Rothenburg
ASK, is it well, O thou consumed of fire, With those that mourn for thee, That yearn to tread thy courts, that sore desire Thy sanctuary;
That, panting for thy land's sweet dust, are grieved, And sorrow in their souls, And by the flames of wasting fire bereaved, Mourn for thy scrolls;
That grope in shadow of unbroken night, Waiting the day to see Which o'er them yet shall cast a radiance bright, And over thee? ​Ask of the welfare of the man of woe, With breaking heart, in vain Lamenting ever for thine overthrow, And for thy pain;
Of him that crieth as the jackals cry, As owls their moaning make, Proclaiming bitter wailing far and nigh; Yea, for thy sake.
And thou revealed amid a heavenly fire, By earthly fire consumed, Say how the foe unscorched escaped the pyre Thy flames illumed!
How long shalt thou that art at ease abide In peace, unknown to woe, While o'er my flowers, humbled from their pride, Thy nettles grow? ​Thou sittest high exalted, lofty foe! To judge the sons of God; And with thy judgments stern dost bring them low Beneath thy rod.
Yea, more, to burn the Law thou durst decree— God's word to banish hence: Then blest be he who shall award to thee Thy recompense!
Was it for this, thou Law, my Rock of old Gave thee with flames begirt, That in thine after-days should fire seize hold Upon thy skirt?
O Sinai! was it then for this God chose Thy mount of modest height, Rejecting statelier, while on thee arose His glorious light? ​Wast thou an omen that from noble state The Law should lowly be? And lo! a parable will I relate Befitting thee.
'Tis of a king I tell, who sat before The banquet of his son And wept: for 'mid the mirth he death foresaw; So thou hast done.
Cast off thy robe; in sackcloth folds of night, O Sinai! cover thee; Don widow's garb, discard thy raiment bright Of royalty.
Lo, I will weep for thee until my tears Swell as a stream and flow Unto the graves where thy two princely seers Sleep calm below: ​Moses; and Aaron in the Mountain Hor; I will of them inquire: Is there another to replace this Law Devoured of fire?
O thou third month most sacred! woe is me For treason of the fourth, Which dimmed the sacred light that shone from thee And kindled wrath;
And brake the tablets, yea, and still did rage: And lo! the Law is burnt! Ye sinful! is not this the twofold wage Which ye have earnt?
Dismay hath seized upon my soul; how, then, Can food be sweet to me, When, O thou Law, I have beheld base men Destroying thee? ​They cast thee out as one despised, and burn The wealth of God Most High; They whom from thine assembly thou wouldst spurn From drawing nigh.
I cannot pass along the highway more, Nor seek thy ways forlorn; How do thy paths their loneliness deplore! Lo! how they mourn!
The mingled cup shall taste as honey sweet Where tears o'erbrim the wine; Yea, and thy chains upon my shackled feet Are joy divine.
Sweet would it be unto mine eyes alway A rain of tears to pour, To sob and drench thy sacred robes, till they Could hold no more. ​But lo! my tears are dried, when, fast outpoured, They down my cheeks are shed; Scorched by the fire within: because thy Lord Hath turned and fled.
Taking His holy treasure, He hath made His journey far away; And with Him hath not thy protecting shade Vanished for aye?
And I am desolate and sore bereft, Lo! a forsaken one: Like a sole beacon on a mountain left, A tower alone.
I hear the voice of singers now no more, Silence their song hath bound; The strings are broken which on harps of yore Breathed forth sweet sound. ​In sackcloth I will clothe and sable band, For well-beloved by me Were they whose lives were many as the sand— The slain of thee.
I am astonied that the day's fair light Yet shineth brilliantly On all things:—it is ever dark as night To me and thee.
Send with a bitter cry to God above Thine anguish, nor withhold: Ah! that He would remember yet His love, His troth of old!
Gird on the sackcloth of thy misery For that devouring fire, Which burst forth ravenous on thine and thee With wasting dire. ​E'en as thy Rock hath sore afflicted thee, He will assuage thy woe, Will turn again the tribes' captivity, And raise the low.
Yet shalt thou wear thy scarlet raiment choice, And sound the timbrels high, And yet amid the dancers shalt rejoice With gladdened cry.
My neart shall be uplifted on the day Thy Rock shall be thy light, When He shall make thy gloom to pass away, Thy darkness bright.