~ hamalka ~

Thank you for being here
Because you are not there. -G.Stein

one day

I will say

this is how i felt about

the war in 2014

one day 

I will say

that I was awakened

that summer by explosions

I just bought my Jewish Film Festival Pass.

14 films

8 days

My Jewish Heart Bleeds For Israel’s Crimes

Let’s talk about the Bible
Let’s talk about all of the histories,
of the winners and the losers
the rich and the poor
the dead and the living.
The oppressed
who oppress

Let’s talk about colonialism
oppression and racism,
color of skin and diseased ideology

Let’s talk about the myths
of the chosen people
of the holy land.
while the chosen people 
get more chosen
and the holy land
gets less holy

Let’s talk about trauma,
intergenerational and
interpersonal,
how nothing is new under the sun
and every death of a child
and woman
and man
feels new and horrible

Let’s talk about children,
about the right to live in safety
with your parents, with your grandparents,
loving your neighbors well
because you love yourself well
because you were taught
by your government

Let’s talk about policy
and politics
and anthropomorphism
the hierarchy of religious rhetoric
and when you raise your hands
but your struck down
by bombs
literally and metaphorically

Let’s stop teaching children war
first hand
Let’s stop teaching each other
how to better hate the other
Let’s stop feeling bad for a country
who took a myth seriously
Let’s talk and put an end to this evil 

Master’s of War. By Bob Dylan.

Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks.

You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly.

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain.

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion’
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud.

You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins.

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do.

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul.

And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand over your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead.




You should go get your 90 minute massage, maybe then you’ll feel better about Palestine.

Let us liberate ourselves from the obligation to support unconscionable acts by a government which we did not elect, from telling ourselves that our security and our identity are threatened by a people whom so many of us have never even met. Let us instead offer our voices in solidarity with the small but persistent political Left, who are being beaten on the streets of Tel-Aviv for their anti-war stance. And then, let us act on the basis that many of us are citizens of countries whose governments support or tolerate, both financially and ideologically, the systematic dehumanization of the Palestinian people.

—Sally Kantar, “Not In Our Name” MONDOWEISS

157

157 are dead

157 dead women, men, and children

157 others

157 humans

157 hearts 

157 flesh and blood

157 minds

157 humans

157 are dead

157 are voiceless

157

and the number will rise

what would my grandmother say?

6 million was horrid. 

what is a word that is more sorrowful than horrid?

157 is horrid.

157 is a word that is more sorrowful than horrid

what will my grandchildren say? 

I cry for 157

May their memories be for a blessing.