# Let My People Go

Eduard Dolgunov

ÐžÐ¿Ñ‚Ð¸Ð¼Ð¸ÑÑ‚Ð¸Ñ‡ÐµÑÐºÐ°Ñ Ñ‚Ñ€Ð°Ð³ÐµÐ´Ð¸Ñ Ð² Ð¿ÑÑ‚Ð¸ Ñ‡Ð°ÑÑ‚ÑÑ…: Ð´ÑƒÑˆÐµÐ²Ð½Ñ‹Ð¹ Ñ€Ð°Ð·Ð³Ð¾Ð²Ð¾Ñ€ Ð´Ð²ÑƒÑ… ÑÑ‚Ð°Ñ€Ñ‹Ñ… Ð´Ñ€ÑƒÐ·ÐµÐ¹ Ð·Ð° Ñ€ÑŽÐ¼ÐºÐ¾Ð¹ Ð²Ð¸ÑÐºÐ¸ Ð¾ Ð¿Ð°Ð½Ð´ÐµÐ¼Ð¸Ð¸, Ð¼Ð¸Ñ€Ð¾Ð²Ñ‹Ñ… Ð½Ð¾Ð²Ð¾ÑÑ‚ÑÑ…, Ð±ÐµÐ·ÑƒÐ¼Ð¸Ð¸ Ð¸Ð½Ñ‚ÐµÑ€Ð½ÐµÑ‚Ð° Ð¸ ÑÐ¿Ð°ÑÐµÐ½Ð¸Ð¸ ÑƒÑÑ‚Ð°Ð²ÑˆÐµÐ¹ Ñ‡ÐµÐ»Ð¾Ð²ÐµÑ‡ÐµÑÐºÐ¾Ð¹ Ð´ÑƒÑˆÐ¸.

"Let My People Go"

An optimistic tragedy (in five parts). "Save our souls"!

Part One - (historical!)

Oh, something's happening in the world, a good friend comes to me,

And quietly he says to me, pour me a "Whiskey", buddy.

My soul is burning, I have no strength, this internet's a pain.

Whenever I turn it on, it's Floyd, a virus, or the pandemic's nasty stain,

Now Belarus, now Ukraine, or the sour taste of stale jelly.

We finished the bottle quickly, the second's turn came around and suddenly,

— And what do you know about the Messiah?

— my tipsy friend asked me.

— Well, who is he, where is he from? What did he preach, how did he live?

What did he promise to give the people, so they could happily exist?

What does he look like, how tall is he? Who are we waiting for, in the end?

And how can I recognize, I'll simply ask, our Messiah, the father of fathers, my friend!

And who was Moses anyway? Was he of Ethiopian descent?

I haven't seen a photo of him, and did you read his passport, gent?

And maybe, Floyd is his descendant, the successor of all his ideas?

Perhaps, anointed by God? Perhaps, a black Judean?

Perhaps, sent by the Creator, to lead his people out of captivity?

To freedom, to the sun, and with a crown, to raise the slaves from dust and misery.

And maybe, that our Creator, who called Floyd to his side,

Said to him: Return, young man, your path is not yet fully tried.

But, on the way down from heaven, while our George was descending,

He fell into the Devil's nets, and stayed there, never-ending.

And the quiet voice of the Prince of Darkness said: George, do you understand!

Take your people and lead them, you know where to go, command.

Look at how Moses wandered through the desert sand,

Don't repeat his mistake, serve your time in the prisonland.

For you have walked a difficult path, you will show them the way,

You've done time more than once, and you know the essence of life, I'd say.

Don't walk through the desert for 40 years, well, think about it, do you need it?

Bake matzah on the sand, wait when from slaves, a nation, not a herd, is resurrected?

But to smash windows, rob, beat, you don't need brains for that, my brother,

You showed how one must live, so return your people to the herd, like a father.

Your merits are uncountable and we will not forget them,

That you robbed and stole, we will not recall and fret them.

In a golden coffin we will remember George, the whole world will weep,

Lie in the dust, sob, groan, sadly bend our knees deep,

And kiss your sweaty feet, and cover your body with a flag,

That's what we will do!

Part Two - (pragmatic!).

My friend raised his eyes here, looked at me and suddenly said:

You don't understand? Look at me, haven't you understood yet, my dear, not sober, comrade?

— What should I understand, I can't quite grasp it here?

— I asked, pouring another one.

The friend proclaimed: I am the "Messiah"! I came to save you, I'm heaven's messenger, the initiated!

I came to gather you, whoever survived, who hasn't bowed to the antichrist,

Who still wants to live, wants to plow the land and, of course, hasn't completely drunk himself blind.

I asked my friend: Well, what do I have to do with it?

I don't understand, brother, my role in this bit,

You're the "Messiah", the boss, why do you need me?

And I love to drink, especially, you see.

— That you love to drink is no trouble, here, of course, willpower is needed,

You are all mortal, you know, not without sin, and the Jews, well they—even more so, indeed it.

You will be "Moses" by my side, you will lead our people, where I point,

I will save you, believe me, I will lead everyone out, to those places where there are no Jews to anoint.

I chuckled slyly, poured and asked:

— Well, and where are those places on the planet,

Where the Jewish shoe hasn't yet stepped and he hasn't answered for it?

— Just look at yourself, — I raised my glass,

— Some seer you are, big deal, you're just drunk on your ass.

Where will you lead the people? Can you even walk on your own?

— Where?

— the "Messiah" pondered, — well, even to Birobidzhan!

And here I even sobered up, what a grandiose plan,

And quietly I asked my friend, — But why to Birobidzhan?

What are you, "Messiah", God be with you, where are you taking us to?

Do you really think that anyone will go there with you.

And what awaits us there, ahead?

And suddenly, we hear a voice:

— "Take your people and lead! Go, my friend! Go Down, Moses!"

— See!

— my friend raised his finger up, to HIM, we must believe,

Let's have another 20 grams and hit the road, we need to check the time before we leave.

And, by the way, Stalin wasn't a fool, he looked ahead, through the years,

He built barracks there, he thought about the chosen people, wiping away their tears.

He wanted to isolate us, even back then,

Well, and now, God himself ordered it, our hour has struck, amen.

We won't argue with the leader, to avoid unnecessary nerves,

He saved you from the Russians, and I'll save you from the blacks, as it serves.

We'll change the east, from the middle to the far,

We'll make a long journey, straight intercontinental, following a star.

And there are no Jews there now, and Africans, by the way, neither,

They don't give welfare there, to the unfortunate black brother.

There's the Amur river, fishing, halibut soup to eat,

Not a single black man and no coronavirus to meet.

He ran his fingers for a long time, over the curves of the globe,

Leading all his people away, from the coronavirus robe.

Part Three - (realistic!)

So we pass the time, cursing Armageddon,

Today I am "Moses" here, and tomorrow he will be the one.

We argue, quarrel, grumble and listen to Armstrong's flow,

— Will you be the third?

— we whisper to him, and he to us: — "Let My People Go!"

And so we sit, gulping "Whiskey" and not knowing the words' translation,

We sing along in Russian: — "Let my people go from this nation!"

Hardly did the giant-jazzman know, that there would be a situation,

When the three of us would sing, sitting in isolation.

Not such a bad company, ours, brother, so grand,

"Moses", Armstrong, "Messiah", straight international band.

In the morning opening my eye slightly, I tried to stand up tall.

Not my fate! My second eye, wouldn't open at all.

No matter, I thought, I can do with just one,

To see what happened, to my friend, what's done.

Armstrong sang in despair and for the umpteenth time,

He asked the Pharaoh, to let us all go from this clime.

Under the table the "Messiah" snored, hugging the globe,

He certainly knew the way, for the refugees from Sinai's robe.

Suddenly the phone rang, right in his pocket's seam,

The "Messiah" licked his lips, took out the machine,

And with shaking fingers pressed the buttons on the screen.

— Well, who's calling so early in the morning, what a damn pest?

And then, he added, — Who else? Who is it, at the apparatus, to protest?

Hey, comrade, you must understand, it's hard for us in the morning,

If you call so early, at least tell us, who is calling?

And, please, introduce yourself, if it's not beneath your station,

So what if you're the GOVERNOR... Who? Governor of the Jewish Autonomous Region!?

Here the "Messiah" even sat down. Rubbed his forehead, shook his head,

And looking at the phone, quietly to me he said,

— Either I've gone mad, or it seemed so from being drunk,

The Governor is on the line, from Birobidzhan, what spunk!

He was asking, like, how are things, how's the coronavirus there,

Are we walking with masks or without and how's the medicine care?

That a signal, he said, came to him, confidential and true,

That we will lead our people, to the far east anew.

Is it true, he asked, or not, what if it's misinformation,

If yes, then where will we sit, in self-isolation?

He asks to urgently inform him, the essence of our plan,

So he could manage to escape with his family, from Birobidzhan.

He is not used, he says, to hobnobbing with Jews,

And wouldn't it be better for all of us, he says, to set off for China's views?

Tell me, my friend "Moses"?

— the "Messiah" asked me in a trance,

How will you explain this call, from mother Russia's expanse.

The three of us sat in the room, Armstrong and you and I,

So who, after all, sang to them — "Let my people go" to the sky.

And where did the leak come from, of secret information,

If we sat deafly in self-isolation.

He took the disc out of the tape and examining it, he said with a groan:

— It seems, I found, my friend, their secret channel known.

Part Four - (heartbreaking!)

And then I woke up from the shaking and hear: — You ragged alcoholic!

Well, come on, wake up, you shabby "Moses", melancholic!

I saw my wife's face, but without glasses, not clear,

I only heard: — The "Messiah" has come, brought by the devil near.

In gloves, masks we sit and listening to Armstrong's tone,

Quietly we are sad, drink and sing softly on our own.

About his own Louis sings, only in English flow,

And, about what troubles us, we sing in Russian, you know.

He asks the Pharaoh, to let the people out to be free,

Saying, the people are tired of living, in slavery and captivity.

Our request is more modest and not contradicting God's grace,

We ask: Coronavirus! Give us freedom, leave this place!

So we could take off our masks and spitting on the weather's whim,

With a friend, taking a bottle of "Whiskey", go out into nature's brim.

Well, and otherwise, what are we to do, in life's inflation,

"Moses" and the "Messiah" in self-isolation.

Part Five - (not as an advertisement!!).

"Whiskey" is the best there is, in this situation.

What can you do friends, SELF-ISOLATION!