Inspired by Dane's "The Conflict" and written for Yom Ha'Hatzomaut and Yom Ha'zikaron (Independence Day and Memorial Day)
Tears of Israel
A car whizzes by,
Ignoring me and my duffel
Too big to fit in a trunk.
No one picks up a tired soldier
To take him home, to his family.
Those old days of respect and honor
For the soldiers on a daily basis.
Are no more.
Why am I standing here for Israel?
The vast, empty land dots
With new cities spreading rapidly
Before my eyes. They fill
With bitter tears.
No. Those would not
Stream down my cheeks if
The week had been better
In the Gaza, not in Be’er Sheva
Where Ima believes I am.
Why am I crying for Israel?
Echoes of fire, screams
Curses in Arabic.
Doors banging from the kicks.
Where is your husband? Your son?
Those scared, wide dark eyes,
Beneath the hajb, begging not
To hurt her, to touch her.
In her arms, sounds of whimpering.
Wait, wasn’t that the same
Child who came to me the other day,
Asking for a little shekel to buy
An ice cream bar?
Why am I fighting for Israel?
The blacks.
In their hats, headscarves, long skirts.
Proclaiming their right to be here.
Imposing every rabbinic law,
So outdated. I must plan
An elope to Cyprus. I must stay
A whole weekend in one place.
They run the country, but this is the 21st century.
Not 19th century Poland.
Why am I obeying for Israel?
Those sweet, luscious lips
Adventures in the valleys of the Galilee,
The mountains of the Golan Heights.
The beautiful tanned skin, so soft to my touch
The burning sun in the Negev,
The cool mud of the Dead Sea.
The dangling gold earrings from her ears
The yells in the shuk,
The laughter and music on Ben Yehuda.
Her tongue, pressing against mine,
Spicy falafel from an Arab,
Fresh fruit from the kibbutzim.
The gorgeous, sparkling eyes filled with happy tears
The shores of Tel Aviv from air,
The magic of Jerusalem.
Oh, this American girl, so innocent.
So drunk, as the legendary birthright stories go.
Why am I protecting Israel?
The cries of a new Jewish baby.
The Hatkivah from the children’s voices.
The blue and white flag wrapping around the shoulders of teens.
The uniform and the gun on every young soldier.
The weariness on the faces of the adults.
Can only live once. So much.
And I am not even twenty-two yet.
Why am I dying for Israel?
But.
Egypt, Roman Empire, the Crusades, Spain,
Poland, Nazi Germany, Soviet Union
All have failed
To get rid of me.
Standing strong, proud, on a building overlooking
The Kotel.
With the flapping blue and white flag ten meters away,
In the desert sunset behind me.
My hands firmly grasping my M18,
Ready to protect the Jews below me.
Tears of Israel
A car whizzes by,
Ignoring me and my duffel
Too big to fit in a trunk.
No one picks up a tired soldier
To take him home, to his family.
Those old days of respect and honor
For the soldiers on a daily basis.
Are no more.
Why am I standing here for Israel?
The vast, empty land dots
With new cities spreading rapidly
Before my eyes. They fill
With bitter tears.
No. Those would not
Stream down my cheeks if
The week had been better
In the Gaza, not in Be’er Sheva
Where Ima believes I am.
Why am I crying for Israel?
Echoes of fire, screams
Curses in Arabic.
Doors banging from the kicks.
Where is your husband? Your son?
Those scared, wide dark eyes,
Beneath the hajb, begging not
To hurt her, to touch her.
In her arms, sounds of whimpering.
Wait, wasn’t that the same
Child who came to me the other day,
Asking for a little shekel to buy
An ice cream bar?
Why am I fighting for Israel?
The blacks.
In their hats, headscarves, long skirts.
Proclaiming their right to be here.
Imposing every rabbinic law,
So outdated. I must plan
An elope to Cyprus. I must stay
A whole weekend in one place.
They run the country, but this is the 21st century.
Not 19th century Poland.
Why am I obeying for Israel?
Those sweet, luscious lips
Adventures in the valleys of the Galilee,
The mountains of the Golan Heights.
The beautiful tanned skin, so soft to my touch
The burning sun in the Negev,
The cool mud of the Dead Sea.
The dangling gold earrings from her ears
The yells in the shuk,
The laughter and music on Ben Yehuda.
Her tongue, pressing against mine,
Spicy falafel from an Arab,
Fresh fruit from the kibbutzim.
The gorgeous, sparkling eyes filled with happy tears
The shores of Tel Aviv from air,
The magic of Jerusalem.
Oh, this American girl, so innocent.
So drunk, as the legendary birthright stories go.
Why am I protecting Israel?
The cries of a new Jewish baby.
The Hatkivah from the children’s voices.
The blue and white flag wrapping around the shoulders of teens.
The uniform and the gun on every young soldier.
The weariness on the faces of the adults.
Can only live once. So much.
And I am not even twenty-two yet.
Why am I dying for Israel?
But.
Egypt, Roman Empire, the Crusades, Spain,
Poland, Nazi Germany, Soviet Union
All have failed
To get rid of me.
Standing strong, proud, on a building overlooking
The Kotel.
With the flapping blue and white flag ten meters away,
In the desert sunset behind me.
My hands firmly grasping my M18,
Ready to protect the Jews below me.
Am Yisrael Chai.
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