THE
KILLING
Yitzhak,
now old, is bound on the altar of peace.
Zealots,
swirling — tzitzis — twirling,
shout
cruel words.
Nazi!
Traitor! Dictator!
Young
Amir thinks he hears God's voice,
answers,
"Here I am."
A
pistol is raised,
but
the angel does not speak.
Yitzhak's
blood stains the song of peace.
Bullets
cut deeper than a knife,
in
a Tel-Aviv square thickets and rams
are
difficult to find.
The
square fills with tearful memorial lights.
Molten
wax covers the ground.
Yet
Yitzhak's voice is heard
through
Leah his wife.
"I
am dead. I can do no more.
Please
do what we started
Shimon
and I."
A
RALLY IN NEW YORK
Manhattan.
Sunday
morning.
Windy,
cold, bright.
Jews
and Gentiles,
crowd
into Madison Square Garden
past
doors heavily guarded by police.
They
pay tribute to Rabin.
The
very young and the very old,
the
ones that pray and most who don't,
listen
to words of praise.
"Good
harvest of his life's work."
Many
are turned away.
In
groups they stand outside exchanging words.
Solidarity,
community, support Israel
I
hear them say.
And
as they depart, "Shalom Chaver."
WE
MUST ASK
At
the cemetery, with flowers in hand,
I
see two Yeshiva students
spitting
on Rabin's grave.
Nausea
rises from my gut.
Shouting,
I ask
how
strong is this hate
when
it insists on desecrating
this
good man's grave?
For
you are not of Hamas, but
one
of us.
Yeshiva
teachers
are
you not ashamed
when
the killer and these hoodlums bear
your
name?
Did
Hitler order himself burned
to
prevent Jews from spitting
on
his grave?
THE
VERDICT
In
midst of spring
when
hilly slopes are green and in bloom
iris,
larkspur, poppy
and
fragrance of orange and vine
is
in the air,
verdict
and sentence are pronounced.
Judges
eloquently proclaim:
Killer! How dare you say:
"I
did it for the glory of God."
You
must know that the human bomb that killed
on
a Tel-Aviv bus did whisper the same.
Didn't
your errant Rabbi or Mullah
teach
you not to take the name of the Lord in vain.
We
abhor your false certainty, vanity, pride.
By
violating the Third Commandment
you
have toppled the other nine.
A
YEAR LATER
Hebron
-
The
earth is heavy with bones
of
Abraham, Sarah, Yitzhak.
For
millenniums Jews have buried here.
Soil
shared with Salam, Nassir
names
on stones
bleached
faint by sun, sand, salt, rain.
Each
day graves of Jews and Arabs mount,
Baruch
Goldstein cruelly adds to the count.
From
the cave, an angel's voice is heard,
"Let
Yitzhak's blood
enter
the hearts of men."
RABIN'S
FOREST
On
a rocky hill west of Jerusalem
a
forest is reborn.
Tender
seedlings planted
by
grateful Jewish hands in burned soil.
When
he was called a traitor and Nazi
a
wall of flames raced up these hills
as
if to warn the nation
that
nature's fires, once started
burn
with their own will.
Dressed
in pine he was carried up
these
charred and bouldered hills
and
laid to rest on Mount Herzl, still green.
Nourished
by his, and others, interred flesh,
new
roots begin to grow.
Almond
trees blossom
pines
golden needles throw.
Ravens
and hawks build nests,
and
in time a flock of white doves
will
fly from this forest.
- Bernard
Otterman