This Dinner Guest’s Personal Exodus?

Even as a strong IRAC (Israel Religion Action Centre) supporter and its feisty director, Anat Hoffman I can’t agree with everything she and her organisation do.

In the past week, for example, I felt more embarrassed than engaged when she used her newsletter, The Pluralist, to suggest that the tradition of ‘inviting’ historical guests to celebrate the festival of Succot be widened to include “seven Israeli-Arab and Palestinian treasures, including  performers, politicians, and poets”. 

 Perhaps I’m not alone in feeling it’s the wrong time to mix religion and politics and that anyway her choice was rather arbitrary. Why did she not, for example, include the much-admired Egyptian writer, Ali Salem who had been widely ostracised by his fellow countrymen after visiting Israel in 1994 and died during September aged 79?

But never mind! It’s given me a reason to look at the work of one of Hoffman’s proposed ‘guests’, Taha Muhammad Ali, a Palestinian poet and short story writer who lived in Lebanon with his family during the 1948 Israel War of Independence  but went on to spend the rest of his life in Nazareth where he owned a souvenir shop. He died there in 2011.

The Poetry Foundation says of Ali: “Self-taught through his readings of classical Arabic literature, American fiction, and English poetry, Ali started writing poems in the 1970s. His collections in English include Never Mind: Twenty Poems and a Story (2000) and So What: New and Selected Poems, 1971–2005 (2006).

Adina Hoffman’s biography of Ali, My Happiness Bears No Relation to Happiness: A Poet’s Life in the Palestinian Century, won the 2010 Jewish Quarterly Wingate Prize.

“Exodus

 

“The street is empty

as a monk’s memory,

and faces explode in the flames

like acorns—

and the dead crowd the horizon

and doorways.

No vein can bleed

more than it already has,

no scream will rise

higher than it’s already risen.

We will not leave!

 

“Everyone outside is waiting

for the trucks and the cars

loaded with honey and hostages.

We will not leave!

The shields of light are breaking apart

before the rout and the siege;

outside, everyone wants us to leave.

But we will not leave!

 

“Ivory white brides

behind their veils

slowly walk in captivity’s glare, waiting,

and everyone outside wants us to leave,

but we will not leave!

 

“The big guns pound the jujube groves,

destroying the dreams of the violets,

extinguishing bread, killing the salt,

unleashing thirst

and parching lips and souls.

And everyone outside is saying:

“What are we waiting for?

Warmth we’re denied,

the air itself has been seized!

Why aren’t we leaving?”

Masks fill the pulpits and brothels,

the places of ablution.

Masks cross-eyed with utter amazement;

they do not believe what is now so clear,

and fall, astonished,

writhing like worms, or tongues.

We will not leave!

 

“Are we in the inside only to leave?

Leaving is just for the masks,

for pulpits and conventions.

Leaving is just

for the siege-that-comes-from-within,

the siege that comes from the Bedouin’s loins,

the siege of the brethren

tarnished by the taste of the blade

and the stink of crows.

We will not leave!

 

“Outside they’re blocking the exits

and offering their blessings to the impostor,

praying, petitioning

Almighty God for our deaths”.

Google-plus Tags: #PerfectlyWritePoetry, #Natalie Wood, #This Dinner Guest's Personal Exodus, #Anat Hoffman, #IRAC, #Ali Salem, #Taha Muhammad Ali

  © Natalie Wood (02 October 2015)

The Burden of Great Age

When Goldie Steinberg died on August 16, 2015 she was aged 114 and the oldest verified Jewish person in the world.

Mrs Steinberg had also been reportedly the world's sixth oldest living person, the second oldest to be living in the United States and the oldest person ever born in the Russian Empire.

Mrs Steinberg (neé Gurfinkel), born in Kishinev, had survived the town’s infamous pogroms of 1903 and 1905. She emigrated with her two sisters to the United States in 1923, became a seamstress and married a jeweller, Philip Steinberg in 1932. He died in 1967 and the couple had two children, four grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. She died at the Grandell Rehabilitation and Nursing Centre in Long Beach, New York.

------------

Summer’s Lease

 

Was it supposed to be like this?

The shaded sun at ninety-two

more fiercely robust than was

I ever – even in my prime!

 

Here I rest. A desiccated

cliché, half forgot – dazzled

by the glare from life’s fading flash,

yet captive to its mopish melody.

 

Should it be this way?

Too hot, too cold; no day, no

month quite right; but all the same.

Another week’s fled so fast.

Sabbath’s here again.

 

For this final ‘now’ I survived

mass slaughter secreted in a

stranger’s house? Withstood

a revolution, two world wars,

sailed a depthless sea?

 

Seasoned seamstress though

I be, life’s unravelled, jagged,

somewhat frayed; a weary round:

‘Knit one, pearl two. Sit up, dear.

How many sugars in your tea?’

 

Should I feel like this?

Burdened, not upraised by one

hundred plus fourteen pillared years

that overarched a century and more.

Now it it’s time for me to go. I want

to be free.

Google-plus Tags: #PerfectlyWritePoetry, #Natalie Wood, #The Burden of Great Age, #Summer's Lease, #Goldie Steinberg

© Natalie Wood (22 September 2015)

A Day of Love - and Hatred

Israeli authorities are ‘convinced’ that Jewish extremists perpetrated the firebombing of two adjacent homes in the northern West Bank Arab village of Kafr Duma during the early hours of Friday 31 July.

Three of four members of the young Dawabsha family have since died as a result of burns sustained during the Molotov cocktail attack. Many Israelis are outraged by what happened and like me, still hope against much material evidence that Jews were in no way involved and that the attack was part of a local feud.

The poem below is my own response to the affair which coincided with Tu B’Av – Israel’s Valentine’s Day.

 

More Writing on Another Wall

 ‘Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin -

You have been numbered, weighed, divided’

(Book of Daniel, 5:25)

 

I remember the moon

at Harvest, a bloated orb

birthing hate and heart-ache.

 

I remember too, where once

white-clad fireflies, we’d dart

through tremulous vines, garlanding

first loves with patterned lights of

whispered futures we’d never dare define.

 

But now? No!

Surely not the same!

They could not have been

our boys – their fathers’ sons –

who stole out that night –

not as ordained for lovers’ wooing.

But dressed to kill, their faces scarfed

against the murderous flames

they fuelled and then fanned.

 

There are no better days

for us than Tu B’Av and

its mirrored sister, the sacred

fast of Yom Kippur. But the

night of love that turned to

hate is that for which we’ll

now eternally atone.

 

Some say the fire at Kafr Duma

was set by local scoundrels working

on a feud. How clever to kill their

mortal foes; divert the blame and

foment yet more unreasoned hatred

against us Jews.

 

But the writing’s on the

Dawabsha family’s wall

for all to see. We may

pretend no more.

 

‘This is our revenge.

Long live the King Messiah’.

Don’t think the end is here.

 

Google-plus Tags: #PerfectlyWritePoetry, #Natalie Wood, #A Day of Love - and Hatred, #The Writing on the Wall, #Kafr Duma, #Dawabsha Family

© Natalie Wood (16 September 2015)

Alwayswriteagain: כתיבה וחתימה טובה 5776

Alwayswriteagain: כתיבה וחתימה טובה 5776: With every good wish for a happy, healthy and sweet Jewish New Year, 5776 from Natalie Wood and Brian Fink in Karmiel, Galilee, Israel. ...

Reigns in Spain – Mainly All the Same!

 

“Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,

....” (Hamlet, Act 1 Scene 2 – Shakespeare)

Yesterday, I posted  an item showing how the events at the Rototom Sunsplash Festival in Spain involving Matisyahu, the ex-Chassid rapper, bore an uncanny resemblance to historic anti-Jewish riots in the same area.

Below is my own take on the affair.

It Was Just Spain Again

Matis, the lapsed converso rapper

who’s cast his kosher colours off,

shaved his beard, bleached his hair,

yet dared to face a baying anti-Jewish

mob by praising Zion.

what was, was; what will be, will be –

lo que fue, ha sido y lo que será, será

“Funny,” he said, as Spain’s new

inquisitors sneered, jeered, offering

a thousand exquisite ways of dying.

 

“The fervour here’s so hot,

I’m frying in the déjà vu glow

of a classic way of burning.

 

“The shades of Isabella and her

spouse still walk the walk in

modern Spain –

it’s plain for all to see!”

 

what was, was; what will be, will always be –

you gotta learn lessons from history -

lo que fue, ha sido y lo que será, será

 

“Spain’s past is no strange land; things

still look the same as in Barcelona

six hundred years away – and more –

when Jews like me were among four

hundred souls butchered in cold blood.

“Just as now, when the few with

power strived to quell unrest,

the antique city fathers tried in

vain to save their Jewish

neighbours.

 

what was, was; what will be, will be –

lo que fue, ha sido y lo que será, será

 

“This year Rototom Sunsplash

flung love and peace around

one-quarter-million people,

including sixteen thousand kids

young enough to sit upon my knee.

 

“Still, there’s been no spare

kindness left for me and still

most adults care more for

spraying pain, knifing notes

of discord than spreading

comfort by strumming

happy notes of harmony

in the sun.

what was, was; what will be, will be –

lo que fue, ha sido y lo que será, será

 

“I am Jewish, not Israeli.

Yet those who hate put me on trial;

forced my public view on Zion and

Israel’s battles with her foes.

Know Torquemada yet

lives! Please also know I just

want grace, goodwill for all.

“Let my music ring a pure note

to embrace each of those who seek

its shelter. True artists want only

this. No more”.

what was, was; what will be, will be –

lo que fue, ha sido y lo que será, será

Google-plus Tags: #PerfectlyWritePoetry, #Natalie Wood, #Reigns in Spain - Mainly All the Same!, #Matisyahu, #Rototom Sunsplash, #Spanish Inquisition

© Natalie Wood (29 August 2015)

‘Matis’ Affair Proves Jews Still Tried for Their Beliefs

On Sunday of this past week  Matisyahu, the US Jewish rap artist performed at the Rototom Sunsplash Festival in Benicassim, Spain amid heckling and jeering by pro-Palestinians in the  audience.  Earlier,  he had been barred from performing – then re-invited – because of the international storm caused by pressure from Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions activists for him - an ex-Chassid - to publicly back a Palestinian state.

What many fans do not realise is the enormous political and historical irony in this story as in August 1391 almost to the date of this year’s Sunsplash,  400 Jewish citizens of Barcelona were were massacred by rioting anti-Jewish mobs.

Indeed, the events of last week were a near echo of what happened 624 years ago when the local authorities tried to protect the Jewish community against the attacks which had been instigated mostly by Castilians who had previously taken part in pogroms in Seville and Valencia.

Meanwhile, as this year’s festival attracted 250,000 people from 73 countries, including 16,000 youngsters aged under 12 years, two facts are now clear:

• The BDS movement is not just anti-Israel. It is quite nakedly antisemitic.
• Its failure at  Benicassim is a severe dent in its campaign to persuade the next generation of music lovers to join its cause.

 

 

Matis, who went on to defy his enemies by singing his song Jerusalem at Sunsplash, also  issued this statement:

"The festival organisers contacted me because they were getting pressure from the BDS movement. They wanted me to write a letter, or make a video, stating my positions on Zionism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to pacify the BDS people. I support peace and compassion for all people. My music speaks for itself, and I do not insert politics into my music. Music has the power to transcend the intellect, ideas, and politics, and it can unite people in the process. The festival kept insisting that I clarify my personal views; which felt like clear pressure to agree with the BDS political agenda. Honestly it was appalling and offensive, that as the one publicly Jewish-American artist scheduled for the festival they were trying to coerce me into political statements. Were any of the other artists scheduled to perform asked to make political statements in order to perform? No artist deserves to be put in such a situation simply to perform his or her art. Regardless of race, creed, country, cultural background, etc, my goal is to play music for all people. As musicians that is what we seek. – Blessed love, Matis".

I conclude with the lyrics from Jerusalem*:

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

In the ancient days, we will return with no delay
Picking up the bounty and the spoils on our way
We’ve been traveling from state to state
And them don’t understand what they say

Three thousand years with no place to be
And they want me to give up my milk and honey
Don’t you see its not about the land or the sea
Not the country but the dwelling of his majesty

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Rebuild the temple and the crown of glory
Years gone by, about sixty
Burn in the oven in this century
And the gas tried to choke but it couldn’t choke me

I will not lie down, I will not fall asleep
And they come overseas, yes they’re trying to be free
Erase the demons out of our memory
Change your name and your identity

Afraid of the past and our dark history
Why is everybody always chasing we
Cut off the roots of your family tree
Don't you see that's not the way to be

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Caught up in these ways and the worlds gone crazy
Don’t you know its just a phase, case of the Simon says
If I forget the truth then my words wont penetrate
Babylon burning in the place, can’t see through dark haze

Chop down all of them dirty ways
That’s the price that you pay for selling lies to the youth
No way, not okay, oh no way, not okay, hey
Ain't no one gonna break my stride, ain't no one gonna pull me down
Oh no, I got to keep on moving, stay alive

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do, Jerusalem

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

Jerusalem, if I forget you
Fire not gonna come from me tongue
Jerusalem, if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

* Jerusalem is track #8 on the album Youth and was co-written by Ivan Corraliza, Jimmy Douglass, Matthew Wilder, Gregory Prestopino and Matthew Miller.

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© Natalie Wood (28 August 2015)

At the Art Café, Tzfat

At the Art Café, Tzfat

Last night I ate inside

a painting. 

The north light had long since

fled, fearful of the glare from

Klezmer’s flashy riot.

But the deft strokes of

the sinking sun inked in the

infant lights of the rising moon,

so spreading a silken sheen across  

stack on stack of blueberry hills,

whose sweet and  dainty tops when

viewed in fine relief offered a

glimpse of Heaven.

Fabulous – or not – arched cascades

of strident colour with their brazen music

twirled triumphant torrents in mid-air.

Their dance seemed somehow magic.

But in the bid to win a race to I knew

not where, they hurtled heedless,

 headlong back to earth and on

exploding lost their unworldly fire.

The scent of mint and lemon fading,

it was time to go. Now the canvas 

shrivelled and in one furtive backward 

glance became a furled, forlorn thing, 

kicked to shreds by gluttonous crowds.

© Natalie Wood (22 August 2015)