The name he heard was similar,
Letters and sounds familiar,
But Yusuf barely recognized himself.
The looking glass reflection,
Captures the present,
Hints at the past.
“Search for it יוֹסֵף”—Yusuf thought he heard the mirror whisper.
“You have your grandfather’s eyes,”
Staring right back at me.
His grandfather’s name was Ibrahim,
His grandmother adoringly called him “Abba.”
“Father,” in Arabic, he mistakenly believed.
And he spoke perfect Arabic,
Except when he prayed in private,
That’s when Yusuf would detect a foreign accent.
“Look deeper.”
His grandmother observed rituals,
Not practiced in the Muslim faith.
The candles she lit on Friday night,
Always warmed up their home.
“Keep searching, questioning.”
Yusuf began to search,
And question.
The evidence confused him.
Hidden identification papers,
Misspelled his grandfather’s name as Abraham,
Signed with an unfamiliar surname,
“Halabi” (from Aleppo).
Fear began to overwhelm him.
Were my grandparents converts?
Who am I?
“Ask the question.”
“Jadd,” Yusuf began to address his grandfather,
“Yes, Yoseph,” Avraham answered.
