The facts

October 31, 2021 § Leave a comment

It is not death that we fear but rather, life.

In this endless medley of circles we cut off our oxygen, pretend that we are breathing, pretend that we are not breathing, declare war on every atom that enters our lungs.

It is death, death we fear, we declare!! at the top of our voices.

We dance as though on tightropes.

It is not death that we most fear, but a life well lived, love and commitment, dreams fulfilled, failure, success.

We are so afraid to live that we believe ourselves perpetually ill or on the way to death, that great, unpreventable disaster.

We live inside the trauma of our own mortality so wholeheartedly, that we commit to waking up ill each day, being witnesses to the slow, cellular decay of our frail human bodies.

What if we say tomorrow- one day- we will live not in the shadow of death but in the sunrise of the astounding miracle of our aliveness.

Don’t learn the lesson of your aliveness too late, my lovely.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Sara Yehudis. May her memory be a blessing and a comfort.

For Sara, forever ago

October 29, 2021 § 1 Comment

In memory of Sara Yehudis, who passed silently on Wednesday 27th October 2021, a huge, quiet hole in my heart.

You came from forty shades of everything under the sun-

Not that you saw that wretched sun regularly.

Such struggles, I imagine, we know less than half.

My darling, you suffered.

Through these hours since you have passed, the turmoil, the search for the next of kin, the formal identification, the endlessness.

I find myself in two parts. One part numb; sleep-deprived, malnourished but not hungry. The other part, finds itself on the outside looking in.

This could have been me. Levaya without kaddish, no shiva. The inate human selfishness kicks in- who will sit for me when it is my turn?

Sara my love, take me with you. Let us go to a quiet place above and paint watercolours of those strange people and places we encountered down below, or let us idealize, fantasize, artistic liscence.

Is it my time too? I long for the return of my alienated happiness, but have given up hope of its full restitution.

I wonder if you forgive us, if you can ever forgive my ignorant heart, which stubbornly keeps beating, as yours waits patiently to be reunited with the earth from whence it came.

Failure, is the only lesson I take from this, my dearest friend.

My love, I promise you all the forbidden things. I will shout kaddish over the mechitza. I will eulogize you until the cows come home and the walls come down.

Morte tua, vita mia.

If ever there was a time to scream:

Illegitimi non carborundum

Pillar of Salt

October 24, 2021 § 2 Comments


October 23, 2021 § 1 Comment

Somebody once helped me, and because of her I lived.

I think of that when I rise, when I lay, I say

Hear me, oh God of Israel, ah, here you are-

Yes, you.

Watch over her now, because she needs you, and I need her.

Because we speak our truth together.


October 23, 2021 § Leave a comment

If there were no spiders, who would weave the webs that catch the raindrops?

Perhaps the raindrops would be too scared to jump, knowing there is no soft landing.


October 20, 2021 § Leave a comment

It’s time to speak about the war.

The war outside, the war inside of you.

You are a mirror, society is a mirror- we are only as many pages deep as the books assigned to us by cold curricula.

How can you live in a teapot, Alice, in an upside down world, with a tipsy topsy roof and raspberry windows?

How can you live inside the whisper of what was supposed to be, but could not?

Inside the story of your self-sabotage, dripping with doubt? The self-sabotage of the state of Israel is my self-sabotage.

We olim. Work. Silent. We write, privately. Rarely participate in public discourse

Inside the denial of your own dreams- and you have worked so hard to eat cheese before every bedtime. Shame.

A part of you is that sarcastic, wizard, little girl.

A part of you is an adult, scarred by war.

To the lighthouse, then?

No other English girls live on this street, in this neighborhood. You are the only Jew in the village, so to speak.

But you feel at home because the anger and resentment of losing one month of sleep as bombs rained without so much as an introductory note, one month spent squatting in the stairwell with your pale-faced neighbours- that earned you the right to call yourself at home here.

It’s strange, you had intended to write in the first person, about the moral consequences on the individual as a result of the collective refusal of a society to make peace.

But in a crisis, after a crisis-

I call it going to ground. I grab my pen. I write. I ground my everything.

October 20, 2021 § Leave a comment

‘The moon is so big and beautiful. It is here to stay.’

Words I heard you sing so long ago.

Cheshvan- Time Heals

October 19, 2021 § 2 Comments

Too late

I learned the half-life of love.

You, my love high, leave me after hours, but these conditions into which we bind moments…but no.

There is time.

Time is what I learned through you-

Love’s shelf-life.

For no thing is immortal, not even love.

Love is bound to time, and time expires.

I have made a solemn vow to love every living thing equally, even pain, which has taken on a life of its own within me recently.

On one thing we can be sure, time is beyond whatever we think we are in control of.

I resolve to love moments, for the half-life of the love you bring me backfires, and I crave more. So no more craving.

I’m present.

I’m growing.

May I bring joy and receive joy with gratitude.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Guru Jagat. Hope to join you in my next life as a fish. Without you, I would have been a toad in this lifetime. BDE


October 15, 2021 § Leave a comment

A life of quiet contemplation

Well lived

Well grieved

Well healed.

The arrow nicks no low-lying branches.

Dead Men

October 15, 2021 § Leave a comment

Dead men do not an empire make.

Dead men lie in the shadows of war and

Piece by piece overshadow the peace of

Sons and daughters that might be, but will not be.

In this case,

Is it not better to build, build, build

Until there is no more land,

Until there are more mouths to feed than food,

Until the empire caves in upon itself?

Our empire, built by the living,

On the graves of our regrets, our guilts, our painful secrets, our abandoned pasts?

Which historical narrative are you currently using to cover up the truth about the present?

Have you asked yourself, recently?

Where Am I?

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