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Itamar: A Poem by Matt White

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  • Dr Mike
    Itamar: A Poem by Matt White posted by Dusty at http://proisraelbaybloggers.blogspot.com/2011/03/itamar-poem-by-matt-white.html Matt White, a student in
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 23, 2011
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      posted by Dusty at 

      Matt White, a student in Tikvah; The Zionist Voice at UC Berkeley wrote this poem . It debuted March 16 at a candlelight vigil at the University of California at Berkeley, in memory of the murdered Fogel family of Itamar. We are honored and humbled to reprint it here. 

      ITAMAR

      Blessings
      and
      thank you to Suheir Hammad for your words to inspire me
      Sweet and acidic like a perfect grapefruit
      like
      a blood orange

      Gentlemen, let us bless
      “May it be your will, Hashem, our G-d,
      that there be no distress, grief,
      or lament
      on this day
      of our contentment”

      Red rooftop white wall blind sunlight bright
      soft skies in haze on Shomron
      hilltops and pine groves dot this
      village cautious advanced upon by shrubs and bushes
      fennel, sage, thistle, za’atar
      shimmy in a circle around Itamar
      cactus soldiers in a wild common battalion
      fragrant handful clutch soil realization belonging
      Homeland herbs

      Desert wind you carry the spices of Solomon
      Desert sand you twirl and strangle
      Desert veil you shroud a beloved
      Desert eyes made now of glass

      Shabbat queen
      Shabbat mother Shabbat bride
      Her garments torn on jujube thorn
      Her gullet roars no sound to mourn
      Dare break the silence day seven shorn

      Children are dead no hero was born
      Massacre you shalom ’aleikhem
      Butcher you yedid nefesh
      Shabbat woman
      Cannot wail cannot tear her hair
      Her sleep was robbed her bed invaded her joy drained of fluid her

      Prayers jewels treasures nightmares
      Sleep is robbed of Shabbat woman she cannot
      Sleep again cannot give herself in
      To rest cannot
      Sleep no more
      Crystal shrapnel on challah cover

      How can she seek to give comfort
      because Jew father
      in bed with Zionist entity baby girl
      Her purple tiny custom-made hoodie embraces his
      blue jacket with white striped sleeves
      trying to sleep
      Because in her three months she
      could but cry out that she
      demanded to grow
      can never say a first word because
      slashed throats don’t speak
      they only bleed
      only bleed

      Shabbat woman how can she seek to give comfort
      mother is cut open on the bathroom floor
      because she hid her hair in her tikhel for the world to not see
      her grace
      just as in Ramallah
      a doppelganger hides her hair in her
      hijab for the world to not see
      her beauty

      because sour iron ruby pool surrounds and soaks this crumpled kippah
      because preteen boy child is slapped down on his back
      with holes in his flesh
      a criminal for being indigenous
      did you know that a heart can boil

      did you know that doves have dirty infected wings
      that three year old has a knife enter his heart twice to stop it
      that three year old neck must be racist
      because it was designed white
      that three year old neck was hacked apart
      because
      vocal cords already
      know how to dare speak
      "am yisrael khai”

      because it ain’t no disgusting accident
      ain’t no human shield
      ain’t no clear and present danger
      ain’t no violent threat
      ain’t no combatant in a war which has sides
      ain’t no terrorist with bombs as a breastplate

      Shabbat woman what power have you
      against Gush Katif evacuation catastrophe
      against orange groves being chopped down and used as space for
      Hamas rocket launchers
      against a retreat with hands held steady above our heads
      that translated into metal rain for a decade in the life of southern Israel
      that introduced civilians to the words Katyusha, Kassam, Grad
      what power have you to weep
      when refugees from ethnic cleansing
      find themselves converted to corpses in the wilderness of Itamar

      Shabbat woman please try to caress the face of
      the survivor Yishai
      because he’s two years old
      and he has blood caked and spattered on his legs
      and he screams for his parents to wake up
      because he screams and cannot be quieted
      try to caress his face
      because his mother will never again be able to do just that

      tell Tamar and Roi that there is no justification for terrorism
      that their lives are a miracle
      that were they found they would have been murdered too

      one
      two
      eight
      a family of Jews

      Dalaal al-Mughrabi
      hijacks a bus in the second week of March 1978 Israel
      murders thirty seven
      murders from them thirteen children
      murders credibility to the Palestinian cause

      and in the second week of March 2011 Israel
      while Itamar weeps until salt claws at its eyelids
      al-Bireh devotes
      its largest town square
      to Dalaal al-Mughrabi
      to her name
      to her memory
      to her hate
      and the children of the family Fogel
      are stabbed in the heart again and again

      Salam Fayyad
      Mahmoud Abbas
      you whisper in my ear that you want peace
      you tell me on your government-controlled TV idiot box bullshit that you want peace
      My peace has no knives
      My peace has no shrouding of the map of Israel
      My peace has no networks broadcasting glorifying a previous batch of Itamar murderers
      My peace has no political party of my own design claiming responsibility for murder
      My peace has no Fatah lies
      My peace gauges no party as moderate just because the alternative is worse
      My peace has no incitement to murder
      My peace has no terrorists

      To the people the world has sent into damnation such to be “settlers”
      who CNN and Al-Jazeera would rather call “settlers” than human beings
      who Western media can’t see as innocent victims in their homeland but rather the fact that they had it coming to them
      that this was an “alleged” terror attack

      People who stand in defiance to a world that no longer cares about slaughtered Jews

      I dare you to live

      And I shriek out to the lone few of you who
      pour tar and kerosene and feces on peace negotiations
      and you’re craven enough to do it
      in the name of Judaism and Israel and Zionism

      I shriek out to you
      My Judaism has no reprisal attacks
      My Israel has no threatening the lives of innocent Palestinian townsfolk
      My Zionism has no smashing car windshields
      No invasion of property to throw stones in a third racist intifada
      No demonstrations with signs saying “death to Arabs”
      My Zionism burns with pride and kisses the cheek of the
      Civilian in the neighboring town of Awarta
      who speaks in Arabic
      and declares the injustice of killing babies

      Give me your hand as I look into your eyes I don’t care what color they are because to me they are beautiful they are gorgeous because they and I thirst to be loved my Muslim Christian agnostic atheist Arab raceless brothers and sisters

      Palestinian people I want to dance to the beat of your darbuka
      I beg you to listen when I say
      My peace has no pastries and candy passed out on the streets of Rafah
      To celebrate an infant having the breath sliced out of her

      Hamas of Gaza your candy tastes like Iranian warheads
      Your candy tastes like shells and mortars
      Your candy tastes like a crown of thorns
      Your candy tastes like charred bones and howling blood
      Your candy tastes like the murder of my people
      And your residents tell me joy is a “natural response” to the murder of Israelis

      I’m sick I’m so sick I want to vomit I surf on waves of nausea I
      spill my words like Tishbi wine into internationally deaf ears I
      can’t process my thoughts when the United Nations is controlled by maniacs I
      feel so abandoned when evil tyranny anti-Semitism can thrive

      I light my candle for Rabbi Udi
      for Ruti
      because they now have no tikhel no blue jacket with white striped sleeves
      because they now are clothed in black and white tallitot

      I light my candle for Yoav
      for Elad
      for baby Hadas
      because there are three tiny coffins in Givat Shaul
      that the world doesn’t give a fuck to see

      I light my candle because nobody is going to do it for me

      I don’t want no houses built in their honor

      I don’t want martyrdom to be answered with human growth I don’t want martyrdom to be used for political purposes even if it makes us seem weak maybe we don’t always have to have muscles maybe the desiccated byproduct of a jihadist genocidal mentality can’t be in dialogue with concrete maybe I want their souls done tangible justice I’ve given up on humans for the time being I want to see olive trees and rotem flower bloom in their name I want to see pomegranates fresh fragrant in their memory I want to see lemon blossoms sticky with nectar in their love I want to see the children in Nablus and Jenin given books explaining with truth how we’re cousins in genes and phantasms all of us and how resplendent this friendship alone on our ship our ship bamidbar in the wilderness of our land isolated vessel how children have futures in medicine art healing for all the times they were told to strap magazines pregnant with bullets across their small frail chests and denied life to others and in so doing were abused denied dreams themselves because knife tangible knife silver blade cutting throats equals knife invisible indoctrination hungry devouring brains intellect hope future washed away in milk in chalk in plasma screen violets scream in suicide

      I hold gingerly between fingers limp a natural growth
      With a drop of blood
      A white cyclamen
      With a drop of blood
      I’m scrubbing I’m scrubbing oh G-d they’re trying to make out of me
      Lady Macbeth
      I scrub and scrub until my hands fall off and I go insane

      The dolls children left on the floor and did not tidy up
      Are frozen with their beatific smiles
      They cannot play without a partner

      Shabbat queen
      Shabbat mother Shabbat bride
      Shabbat woman
      close
      your eyes
      because next Shabbat
      I want peace

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