First aliyah—June 3- June 13, 2004 Ben Gurion/ The Kotel/ Shofar/ Transformation/ Stray Cats and Cigarettes/ Reva L’Sheva/ The Negev/ The Galilee Ben Gurion This woman clanged a changebox, An old wrinkly woman in a black shroud, Molded into an enclave in the Jewish Quarter . She clanged her changebox and spoke in Hebrew, I don’t remember the Hebrew. Her meaning transcended the language barrier, Clanging the changebox, wailing archaically, But I was pulled away, Continuing down the stone steps— The Kotel right below me, The woman clanging, wailing in Hebrew above. I was pulled away, But I remembered Ben Gurion. The Kotel The Kotel loomed before me, this dream I latched onto since Sunday School. The women pushed into me, The ones behind me surging like a wave, In front they were davening , Bodies jerking, heads buried in siddurim , For one moment, everything clicked, My breath hitched and water seeped from my eyes. But the sun was bearing down, And the time was running short—always running on Birthright . The women in front of me davening— All I had was a note to G-d, my pulsing anxiety— The women behind me pushing— So I swallowed my fear and dashed to an open sliver, Splayed my fingers against the rock, The rock laid down by Solomon, the rock in my ancestors’ dreams, But all I could do was desperately shove my note Into an overflown crack, And whisper “Oh G-d, oh please, oh G-d preserve me,” Then back away, Spitting out the pushing women, My heart gasping, my mind Feeling unfulfilled. Shofar It took awhile for me to feel comfortable In the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, Knowing that Doron would leave us Defenseless American travelers, I sat awhile and watched Israelis pass, My strength returned with Yeshiva boys with kipot and earlocks , Schoolgirls with dark frizzy hair—sharp Jewish features, Chassids scuttling by with their coats and tophats, Soldiers in their fatigues, The Jews—my people—settled over me. And then came the punctured sound, The ram’s horn blared, This primitive wailing, evoking hidden memories, Next to me, someone explained, “It’s Israel; they can always blow the shofar here.” And suddenly I was smiling In archaic Jerusalem, with Jews walking by, Celebrating the only Jewish homeland. I didn’t know then That Diaspora Jews blow the shofar anytime too, And now I’m bereft, With no hidden comfort in Eretz Yisrael. Transformation I saw the Kotel from a distance, Appropriately roped off by biblical olives, I wanted to run through those trees, And embrace Judaism’s most holy site, My hidden dream. Walking around the park, overlooking the Kotel, We passed Arab-Israeli women bundled up in black scarves Their young sons in faded shirts and dusty trousers. The little boys started shouting boldly, “Hello, hello!” I huddled into myself, Red-faced at my American looks Where all I wanted was to be a Jew Who had finally found her way home. But I also wanted— To touch them. Stray Cats and Cigarettes The first stray I saw was curled In a stone flower box in the Old City, Others blurred in my memory Until the last— A tabby in the park in Tel Aviv. I gasped at their smallness, Sinew stretching across rock structures, Hardened for battle and Fighting the pungent air. I gaped at the Israelis, Toned, buffed, tanned by the army, Lithe bodies poisoned only by cigarettes, Yes the ashtrays Were everywhere And the vending machines Held more cigarette brands than candies. Israelis blackened their lungs into a stupor But the cats flexed their claws and endured. Reva L’Sheva I don’t remember their music, I remember the gossip—“the rave of the Israeli Chassids!” I remember their instruments—drums and electric guitars, I remember the flashes of people dancing. But mostly I remember the balcony. Walking outside on my second night in Jerusalem, I wove through the throngs of peers—all oblivious to— The stone walls of the Old City. They bathed in fluorescent light from underneath, Like a blinking shield of gold, Making it seem more removed from us Than usual. The Negev Was like Wasteland after bustling Tourist spots. Slowly eating up a Beaten up truck while The cities were pounded Down by human hands. It was a warning, staring At us from behind our Glass bus windows, that No life could survive here. But we did. Stumbling over Rocks while the others rode Camels. I realized desert was Not as soft as fiction Made it out to be, nor as Hot while the sun surrendered Itself to the dusk. And Doron suggested that We meditate on different Sand dunes, to seek solitude Like our ancestors. But I Had just lost my hat, and could Not force my brain to pay Heed to the collective past. So I searched while others found G-d. Galilee There Staring across the thrashing trees Alone in a sea of color. There As the wind buffeted our solid forms And my Shabbat clothes whispered Of the day of rest. There Atop the lush grass of Kfar Giladi , Hebrew rolling off my mind Like the hills I held in my gaze. There Did the land cease to be Israeli or Palestinian, Jewish or Arab. There Did I finally find peace in Israel.
|