Selected Poems from Voices Israel 1998

LOT'S WIFE IN ZFAT
a New Olah's Lament
by TZIPORAH HECKELMAN

The red on the hills across the wadi:
Is it your way of blushing with regret
At the coming of the cold, black emptiness?

It signals me, in my sadness,
A blessing, be it blush or fanfare
For the most fearful curse is black silence.

I said, in my resolution,
You cannot be there and here
Now, in the land of my returning
I discover that longing does not end b'shuvi l'Zion.

In looking back
I am frozen to salt
Distillation of tears,
Of aching, longing,
For those I love
Whom I may never touch again.  

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nov.7.96
by CLAIRE ROSE

he was hiding
not wanting
to be disturbed
I pulled him
with strength
from his hiding place

he didn't know
what I wanted
from him

he was content
he knew what he wanted
he wanted to be left alone

did I love him?
did I want him
to stay with me

my hamster bit me.

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AFTER THE BLAST
by TOBY KLEIN GREENWALD

Just an ordinary morning
I get up early to light the boiler
take the rolls out of the freezer
ask Hillel
Did you brush your teeth?
Have all your books?
Is your sweatshirt clean?
A stroke on the cheek--Have a good day.

Find Matanya's shoes
and tzitziot
boil up the veggie hot dogs
remind him to go to Ilan's
after school

A call from Na'ama
sleepy laughter on the phone
send the blue skirt with Adina
a hug, Be happy
Ephrat already left, I forgot to say good-bye
A kiss to Noa running to the bus

Like a thousand other mornings
Of sweatshirts and hot dogs
of hugs and strokes and kisses

Like a thousand other homes
with cats or dogs
or fragile birds of Paradise in hesitant bloom
with street signs and lampposts

Like a thousand other homes
with papers on the table
dishes in the sink
laundry crumpled on the couch,
waiting to be folded

Like a thousand other homes
with tzedaka boxes on the kitchen shelf
siddurim in the bookcase
mezuzot on the doorposts

Like a thousand other mothers
who cannot protect
their children.

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YAHRZEIT
by WENDY DICKSTEIN

my father died
quietly and by chance
in the holy city of Sfat.
In his eulogy the rabbi could not say
he had fulfilled all the commandments.

still
he is buried there
with the Ari, the Holy Lion,
and the rest of the Kabbalist sages
beneath the hills
to which all mouths turn
in time of prayer.

he paused there
in his wahnderings and he was gathered to his fathers
in the place towards which
we
     slowly,
             scrupulously,
                     all our lives
                              strive.

my father lived
trustful as a child
without great intention
coming always to the highest place
quietly,
and by chance.

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A PRAYER FOR MY DAUGHTER
by DVORA KREDA-GELLER
(Second runner-up, l996 Miriam Lindberg Israel Poetry for Peace Prize)

If it be your pleasure, Lord,
a prayer for my daughter
so young, she thinks knives cut birthday
cake and are used to butter

the dolly's bread; and blithe, that jets
and sirens leave her charmed;
so pure, she sleeps with bears and tigers
and rises next morning unharmed;

in whose experience boo-boos
only hurt a minute,
till kissed; so small, her body fits
inside my body's pocket;

Favor her at school and work,
and when she rides the shiny
red-and-silver buses, grant
arrival. Your face shine

on her in crowded stores; among
the pretty pomegranates...
so red! Ripe enough to burst!...
guide her competent hands.

And when my darling stands beneath
woven cypress and cedar,
may her bridegroom not wear khaki,
May he wake beside her

through long years. And Lord:
provide her rooms with laughter,
and grace her speech that she may shape
a prayer for her daughter.

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LEONARD
By RICHARD SHAVEI-TZION

I watched a friend pass from us
he wandered, waned
breath ebbed, was gnawed away
not in a second, an hour
but through a journey of day and night
we held his hand, whispered in his ear, gave him
our sleep our hope our cry

Yet he traveled
on the far side of a chassm impassable
alone
the lost desert nomad
drifting
no direction, inevitable destination
the quicksand of time

I have seen through him
the oasis of life that we must cling to
with the made joy of the redeemed
pluck its fruit
frown through the tall trees
at the glint of sprayed sun
wonder at the waterwell
savour the succulent's spring scent
gaze across the cast night sky

For tomorrow
when it is our turn
to enter with uncertain step into
those blazing white sands
to wander without return
our comfort may just be
that we have filled our souls with
that oasis.

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ADOPTED
By LESLIE COHEN

My neighbor adopted
an eight-year-old
naughty boy
from a broken home
trained and practiced in deviousness
looks over his shoulder
when he ties tin cans on the cat's tail
"Are you going to punish me?"

My neighbor hugs him
"Yes,
but I'll never send you away."
..................................................
I too have adopted
love
in my daily battle
against the demons
the ticking clock
a death more certain than cancer violence neglect.
I tie on armor
wrap my face in a smile
breathe it inward
to deceive the enemy
another morning.

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THE UNEXPECTED PLEASURE OF VIOLETS
by LILA JULIUS

How many ways I find to not enjoy myself
small pleasures turned into their opposites
After much talk I clear the weeds
from underneath the air conditioner
discover violets from some forgotten transplant
Their hidden purple feeds me
Yesterday I said, "I gave up gardening,
It took me years before I would admit it."

Here on my knees, earth sucking moisture
from the pores, wedging itself
beneath the fingernails, I breathe ...
Why not enlarge the bed?
track down the spade?
this little strip does not compare with Genya's
on the right.

I could go yard by yard in each direction
but save myself from two hours in the garden now
and out of it forever.

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PASSOVER IN INDIA
By WENDY DICKSTEIN

This is the season of our freedom
the mangoes ripen
and jasmine fills the night with its pure wild cry
the shadowless bone dry land
puts on the flesh of hope in a new season.

beyond the darkened garden

of my festive house

scrubbed clean of crumbs

ready to welcome the itinerant prophet

lives a low caste hindu family

rich in nothing but children every year.

the last crop brought a double harvest

and the poor mother

echoed Sarah's incredulous veiled laugh --

a boy and a girl

and the constant wonder at the perfect repetition

outran the worry of two more mouths to feed.

the girl died first.

then just as passover came down

with its full blooded moon

the boy sickened and died in a single stretched out night

I watch them bear away the tiny corpse

tied in a small parcel of white silk

gone like the babies of Egypt this ancient night

I wander from my window with a torn question --

Dayenu -- would it not have been enough?

Let us commence the holy ritual supper

open the door, drink the four cups of wine

reclining to the left

retell the old story of our liberation

borne on the wings of hideous heaven-sent plagues.

and here

beneath the heavy mango tree

the angel of death smooths down his tired wings.

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HAIKU
By SOLLY HARRIS