You’ve seen them.
You know you have.
Six infants
under a white sheet;
Six heads revealed.
Or five and a half;
The remainder of one
blown into the Gazan dust
by Israeli bombs.
The teenage girl,
face resting
on the ground;
The light joy
of a music festival
splattered red
on her party dress
courtesy of Hamas.
Wages and ancestry
of oppression and terror.
Wages and ancestry
of hatred and revenge
History claws its way
into today,
shaking off
the sliver of security
that was never truly there.
There is no security
in fences and walls.
No security
in guards and gates.
No security
in armed to the teeth.
No security
in underground tunnels.
No security
in safe rooms.
No security
in the killing innocents.
I start there, today. My heart is broken. I cannot end this. It is not over.
I try to write. You have seen that I have not been able to write on the horror of the assault on the kibbutzim and the crushing of Gaza. It seems there is nothing to say, or, perhaps, so much to say that it spills over my computer keyboard, rendering it useless.
I will not, cannot, link to the thousands of diatribes and thoughtful commentaries on this war, this horrible killing of the innocent, the one attack provoked by the other. The other provoked by the one. Alliterative attacks and violence going back decades now.
I am exhausted by it. Is it not time to stop? Stop the litany of grudges, resentments, fears, the cacophony of self-justification, the rhetoric that is tone-deaf to the suffering of the other. Stop the lawn mowing, the rocket-launching, the stone-throwing, the blockading, pass controlling, wall-building, land-seizing, settlements, stop this tragedy that provides its own self-justification, a self-licking ice cream cone of violence?
I am so deeply, historically, embedded in the world of Judaism, though not born into it, that I weep and tremble seeing the rise in anti-semitism, globally, that has come with this war. (As a Queer person, I know, as Pastor Niemöller said 90 years ago, that coming for one of us means coming for all of us.)
I am deeply, historically embedded in the world of anti-colonialism, a colonialism that left permanent scars on the colonized, scars that continue for generations. For those, in this case, who can watch but not touch from Gazan refuges the flowering of lands that were once their homes.
I can see all of that, ALL of that truth. In my heart. Today it tears me apart.
My heart and my mind do not know how to reconcile the contradictions. The combatants do not know how to reconcile them, either. As a practicing Buddhist, I can send lovingkindness to all parties, though it sometimes feels like throwing petals into a hurricane.
I retreat into poetry, the form that captures, explores, and leaves unresolved, all the contradictions. The form that lets anger, hatred, love, sorrow merge, leaving a mystery. It is inadequate. It is where I am today.
CODA: Peter Beinart hosts an outstanding Friday discussion on global events, particularly on the Middle East events, and especially on relations between Palestinians and Israelis. For a truly enlightening perspective on the current war, presented by two Gazans, visit today’s session at
Thank you so much for writing this, Abby. It captures perfectly the heart-rending situation and the shattering of my soul.
Thank you, Abby. The genocide taking place in Gaza is soul-breaking, heart-stopping madness. That the US is the enabler, supporter, funder, cheerleader for the slaughter of the Palestinians makes living in this country more and more impossible.