Forty – you counted them and kept them;
seven times did you cease work and worshiped toward the mountain, Salvation, from bondage.
You adored Him out of fear and admiration, you were bound by the canopy that covered you – and you strayed.
His servant finds his work becoming harder, toiling,
I am becoming heavy:
I had floated so as he descended,
but each layer that brought us closer to the scene sent my letters soaring upward,
the lightness of my form taking the stone-cold stare of each statute broken:
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six:
In one fell swoop you broke all of these, O Israel!
How you have fallen – you’ve taken gold not your own and cast it in an idol,
you wanted a messenger in the medium of the land you were taken out of;
Aaron – you lay the blame on others and sullied all their names, still took the mantle and made scapegoats ever after – was it fear, Aaron?
After the first poor soul that confronted them?
Did you create diversions to save your skin or theirs?