Jul 20, 2015
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Jul 18, 2015
Jul 16, 2015
Please God, Softness [#poem]
© Rabbi Menachem Creditor
Last year it was a gun
that broke my heart,
missiles tore my soul.
Today I heard a Palestinian grandfather
pray to not bury his grandchildren,
piercing me with his eyes.
There will be analysis of his facts.
(He, of course, has only his eyes.)
History will be written and rewritten,
never to be agreed upon.
But his eyes, his eyes, his prayer...
that simple, wrenching prayer...
So much blood.
So much pain.
God's tears pour through my eyes
because God's tears poured through his.
Please God, I'm begging
for our sharp edges to disappear.
Rabbi Menachem Creditor
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 5, 2015
(c) Rabbi Menachem Creditor
All I want to know is:
what would my number have been?
This face of mine, suddenly unfamiliar,
belongs to time long gone.
So why wouldn't my arm be the same?
upon which I stand, shaking,
in my own home, my People's home:
Whose feet are they, really?
On this day,
marking the beginning of our defeat,
our walls breached:
Will this time be different?
All I want is:
Let there be no more numbers.
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