I Hear the Third Temple is Hiring – A Poem for Haftarah Emor

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I’m going through the list of things required of priests
for jobs in the third temple and realize I’m, probably,
not going to get the job.

I’m okay with not letting my hair go wild, but that
definitely rules out my son who, if you mention
the word haircut is ready to join the other team.

(the team of people who don’t cut their hair.)
I’m okay with not going near a corpse. Honestly
I have so little to talk about with dead people.

But with wine so intertwined with my every
Jewish movement, I don’t think I can roll with
its prohibition during priestly duties.

I’m okay with not eating things that died of
natural causes, but to be fair, I already make
a point of not eating things that were killed.

I’m not sure I’m okay with wearing a linen hat
instead of a wool one. Just feels like we’re getting
awfully picky with the uniform.

I can’t say it’s an issue for me to only marry a
descendent of the House of Israel as I think I’ve
already got that covered. Do they take

married people into the priesthood? I don’t see
anything about that in the job description.
I’m a little concerned about the salary too.

I see the point about not receiving anything but
God. I’m all for God’s presence but I’m not sure
the bank will accept that as a mortgage payment

and, though I’ve never tried to buy a sandwich
using only the Lord as collateral, I’m not sure that
would go well. Is that like a higher level of Apple Pay?

Finally, it seems like it may be a risk taking this job at all.
I don’t have the heart to tell the search committee, there
may never be a third Temple.

And even if there was, if they’re going to put it
where I think they’re going to put it, I’m really not
willing to relocate. Can I telecommute?

My third temple comes when people lift their voices.
It comes when song spills from their breaths.
This is the holy place I will build.