If I can help in any way, let me know.
“If I can help in any way, let me know.”
Well, for now just dig one of my poems on the subject:
Motto from Odyssey Bk. 1, Ll. 48-59 not produced here due to lack of Greek fonts.
ALIYAH
Give me wings to fly away.
Make me light as air.
I’ll ride any eastward wind
That will blow me there,
Where I’ve pointed every prayer;
At my heart, Jerusalem.
Feed me fish from inland seas,
Fruit from valleys that are home
To my wandering, exiled soul.
Land of Israel, make me whole.
“I languish in the utmost West.
My heart, though, dwells in Eastern lands,”
The poet wrote in Moorish Spain,
And came to bow and kiss the dirt,
Where he was murdered, home at last.
I climb the subway stairs and shout
To rain-swept New York City streets
O, give me wings to fly away!
O, make me light as rootless air!
I languish on this sea-girt isle.
My heart, though, dwells in my own land.
They came from far in leaky boats
That wind and canvas slowly led.
A dyer and a dyer’s son
Were all who met them, rest long gone.
Rebuild, restore, revive and plant
600 years of fruitful trees.
My roof is letting in the wet
And I owe last month’s mortgage yet.
I have no wings.
I’m anchored down.
O, make me light as ocean winds.
My feet are here. My heart is there,
Where weary spirits spring up new,
Rebuilt, restored, revived and strong
From ancient soil that’s ever-young.
Black smoke rose from the death-scorched land
Where skeletons were forced to march
In lines that led to murder rooms,
Where strangers seized a last embrace,
Were brothers in the chimney tops.
The few remaining traveled home,
Where none of them had ever been.
Our wife, the Land, was put-upon
By suitors keen to take our place,
Her brave sons silenced by brute strength.
The faithful land outlasts them all,
And now I hear her siren call.
O, give me wings to fly away.
O, make me light as light of day.
My hands and feet are tied too fast
To win free of this wooden mast.
It anchors me, but I still hear,
While others work with wax-filled ears.
To them the day precedes just night,
Which brings another day as bright
As that before, and then one more.
O, give me wings to fly away.
O, make me free as boundless waves.
My youthful hopes still fill my sight
Like dancing, flashing Northern Lights.
But they lie East, behind the dawn
In land I must set foot upon
To truly see and feel and know.
And where my heart is, there I’ll go.
This one for Arzei Levanon, my niece’s neighbor, butchered like an animal by two low-lifes about a month ago while praying in the mountains.
TO RAIZEL IN BAT AYIN
The sun that shines on Galilee
Has dyed your brown hair copper-orange
In wiry veins of mirrored light.
Your countenance is hard and sharp
As Uzi slung across your back.
Young tree, defend your roots, your sap,
Your branches, leaves, the fruits you bear
Beneath the sun of Galilee.
The earth beneath the Western Wall
Has anchored you eternally
In stones they only hold to throw.
Your gait is certain, straight, and clear
As Jordan River’s rapid flow
Between Binyomin’s land and Gad’s.
Proud hawk, fly high and build your nest
Among the jagged crags of hills
Surrounding our Jerusalem
Beneath the sun of Galilee
Among the stony hills.
The sky above Bat Ayin’s loft
Is bluer than your children’s eyes.
And underneath that canopy
They look below beyond the lies
Of vultures hunting rancid meat.
Young cubs avoid the poachers’ snares
Among the cactus thorns and brush
That are your home and refuge place
Among the ancient burial caves
And painted cliffs that suckled you
Beneath the sun of Galilee
Among the stony hills, the farms
That sprouted from dry sand.
The ocean’s waves beat on the beach,
Like giant rhythmic drumming hands
The song is old and young at once
Is bitter gall and honey sweet.
It’s mixed from drops of blood and tears,
The tune from cries of pain and joy
From exiles of two thousand years.
Come home. Come home and free your land
At last from its captivity
Beneath the sun of Galilee
Home to the fire-built house of God.