The Minister

One of the ministers in our government is a young (41), handsome person.  He's got 17 (!) siblings and 8(!) kids. He looks well, considering his large family background.

He belongs to the  orthodox religious circles which emphasize studying text (Thorah, talmudic books), over physical and worldly activities. In his case. he has studied beyond religious subjects, and got a profession in accountancy and industrial management.

The state invests a lot in families of this sort - religious with many kids (by way of alowances, benefits, stipends) without getting much if anything in return, in terms of taxes and army service. That causes great and persistent tension between the secular and the orthodox communities, and nothing good is going to come out of it.

The logo "Shivion Banetel" (sharing equally the burden of both security and economy) is constantly on the lips of  the secular people of the israeli society. This will actually determine the future and stability of the country in the years to come. 

Rhyming

Rhyming  adds rhytm, beauty,  solemnity to the text. I like it, and whenever possible, use it. There are rhyming dictionaries available in many languages,  and that helps  give the 'masses'  access to some basic form of rhyming 'poetry.'

Usually, it is the sad, tragic events in life that trigger the need to 'color' the text in rhymes-  at least in my case. I wrote about the loss of my dear ones in rhymed verses.

I composed  the speech for my Mom's funeral (delivered in hebrew to the participants) in three languages: romanian, hebrew, english - and used rhyming. 

Here' are some examples of rhymed little poems ( the english part only;  naturally, the romanian and hebrew parts are more elaborate, as I have a better knowledge  of these languages) :

Siblings

Mina-Ruhale, my elder sis.  I wish I could hug her and kiss.

I've got no photo of her, never had.  In Transnistria she starved to death.

Just try to imagine the tragic event:

A small girl in the concentration camp  

No food, no water, no air,  only disease.  

She closes her eyes, her tiny soul for Heaven leaves.

So, I never felt what's like

To have a sister by my side

Sharing things, dreaming together,

 making plans, helping each other.

Herman  (Hersh) my beloved brother

Tall, handsome, a real charmer

His virtuous playing the violin

Raised pleasure bumps on the skin

His great, catchy sense of humor

Became  a widely persistent rumor.

Suddenly, taken away from me

July 98, in Budapest, Hungary.

Hershole, my older brother

Was a Holocaust child survivor

Should have been given more years

To wipe out suffering and tears.

The Season Connection

In Spring,  Mom got ill and fragile.

It sure looked an ominous sign

In Summer, when all outside was bright

My mother and my brother Hersh, died.

In Autumn, with the sky cloudy and grey

Father David and nephew Shai, passed away

In Winter, in the cold, gloomy weather

We had to part from uncle Chaim forever.