It is ugly, this beauty.

It aches in a way that tastes of bile.

The light reflecting off the wall shines a spotlight on the pain…the empty feeling where feeling should be…her presence missing from the picture.


The in-between.

Where the day is and isn’t.

Starting and beginning…the pause between the two.

I am paused.

She was just here…with me.. this exact spot only yesterday three years ago.


She paused.

And all I want is to be able to stop time from taking me away from that moment.

Disappear into the stillness

Find her holding her breath waiting for me to start the clock again.

She is missing in the space between time…missing me…the way I miss her.

Time is ruthless.

Night is falling.

It will not let me wait for her.

These Three Weeks

The fires crackle again…it’s that time of year…

The fields rustle…and gently sway…as the flames leap closer…

Towards dried stalks of wheat and barley…an offering…


Where are you?

Shouts the snaking river of heat…

Searching…for something more…something real…to consume…

And the walls…surrounding her…hiding the pain…in the name of salvation…almost ready to fall…

They will hold fast…stay strong…just for a little more…

So that…the white ball…of exploding fury…can light up…from within…

The walls…falling…down…down…down…

Until the days pass…and the nights reign…and the fires come…again.

Move Me

The air is spliced by the deafening sound of anger, hate, and rage.



We erupt in movement, our thoughts singular, our hearts united, as we clean the blood-soaked streets.

We call, we confirm, we asses, all the while churning thoughts of hope, courage, and strength through our weary minds.

It is all so easy really.

It is all so natural.

I wait for the lines to clear and dial methodically.

The voices answer, one after the other, in subdued tones laced with deadly assertions.

“I’m ok.”


“All clear.”

I pick up my daughter from gan and hold her hand tight, willing our bodies to mold back into one so I can protect her.

She wants to skip.

I tear myself from her in tired resignation.

I marvel at how well we all manage, this nation of souls trudging along this savage destiny.

Traces of lives forever changed are washed away by little green trucks fitted with brushes.

It is already over.

We move on.

We live on.

I am not moved much…and that…moves me…


Forever, My Yerushalayim

You have been written about, sung about, and prayed about.

You have been featured in the greatest poems by the greatest poets.

Every aspect of your being has been explored.

Yet, when I approach you each day, I cannot describe you at all.

Each and every day I am assaulted by the vision of you, as I come around the bend, and I cannot look away.

You stir so many feelings inside me, feelings I don’t even know if I want.

You pull at me, choking me with your air and strangling me with your long reaching arms.

You stop my heart and slowly bring me back to life.

I wonder at our relationship.

Where have we met before?

Why do I feel as though you are angry with me?

Why can’t I understand what you mean to me?

How do you enter my body and take hold of my soul?

The longing you evoke, how do you do that to me?

And…that tingling sensation…is like…

…a whispered secret I cannot decipher.