Olive Poem by gershon hepner

A taste as old as cold, cold water,
don’t put them in long drinks, but shorter,
martinis or a Bloody Mary.
They clear the head and make it airy,
with taste more frugal than fresh meat,
more old than ancient wine, as neat
as cashews, macadamias,
and tongue, though not as gamey as.
If still your fancy is not tickled,
try having one the Greeks have pickled.

Now as for olives’ essence, oil,
to butter man is only loyal
if he has never tasted theirs,
an essence the Almighty cares
so much about that He demanded
to light menorahs and commanded
that olive oil should by the Jews
be burnt and constantly in use,
as if to say: “The olive tree
was made by me so you may see
how lovely are my groves.” Oh Lord!
The greatest glimpse that you afford,
to those few who try hard to qualif-
y holiness-wise, is the olive!

So don’t burn candles every night
of Hanukkah - they may be bright,
but olive oil on Hanukkah
is purer and organicker.


11/7/00