Poems

The following pair of poems reflect my experiences while visiting to major sites in Israel; the Western Wall and the Temple Mount/Dome of the Rock. My words are not meant to be inflammatory, however they are inherently political and religiously charged based on my context and on my actual experiences at these places. In the same vein, my mentioning of the phrase Allahu Akbar, is not meant to be negative, provocative, or disrespectful.  I use it strictly based off of actual experiences and my need to process those experiences through poetry. My hope is that my poetry will promote deeper thinking about the concepts of insiders, outsiders, and “in-betweeners,” and prompt a discussion about sacred space, history and the politics of conflict.

Bailey

(First posted on blogspot in 2015)

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Wall

The steps gleam in the sunlight

And they feel heavy under my feet

Who walked here?

I walk here.

I walk here?

I enter the gates, those gates David entered?

Those gates, Romans entered.

Those gates, Crusaders entered.

Those gates, Caliphates entered.

These gates. I enter.

I feel small under their history, their ancient gaze.

I feel small under God’s eyes. Under the wall.

The wall!

I feel insignificant.

I feel set apart.

I feel outside.

I feel outside inside in a world of insiders and outsiders.

I feel like I’m inbetween worlds not Muslim, not Haredi. Not Israeli.

I feel small.

The wall: where Jews have longed to pray. Where Jews have cried, begged, for freedom, redemption, for the messiah.

I stand conflicted. I stand crying for freedom, for equality, for women to wear teffilin, for my own political reality.

I am uncomfortable. Is this even my place, my space? Why am I here? Who am I to say that I should stand here in pants and not a skirt?

Who am I?

In the long run of history, in the eyes of God, in the shadow of this. Wall. I am small.

When I look up into the eyes of the woman who stares at my jeans covered legs.

When I look up at the partition on my right

When I’m told I don’t belong by eyes, by shaking heads, by hands

I am ashamed. in that moment.

But moments later. I am defiant!

I AM a JEW!

I AM a Woman!!

I AM ME!

Why do I bother you so much?

Why do I anger you?

Do you really think the world will end due to my uncovered elbows?

Who put you and only you in charge of God’s world? His Her’s It’s?

Why you? Who are you to judge me?

Who are you?

We all walk the same steps.

We look up at the same wall.

We see the same things with different eyes.

The stones glimmer and the wall sees.

God sees. God hears. Not from the wall, but from our hearts.

The stones glimmer and the wall sees.

___________________________________________________

The Mountain

From the Mountain you can see the world.

The dome sparkles in the sunlight and the olive trees sway in the wind.

The humming of old men at prayer fills your ears

While the water drips from a faucet nearby.

The Mountain is palatial. It is expansive. It is oppressive.

The old men once peaceful at prayer lash out in song.

Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!

God is Great!

God is great!

God is great!

She is great!

The words of God they shout tear into your skin

They make you want to run away–

They’re supposed to.

The men sit in their circle.

My hands sweat and running away sounds like a great idea.

I am not welcome here.

Allahu Akkbar!

I am not welcome here.

Allahu Akbar!

You are not welcome.

There was a man who said the Mountain had once been for the Jews, then for the Muslims, then for the Christians, then for the Muslims…

A cycle of insiders of outsiders of insiders.

He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t hide it.

He didn’t yell.

Allahu Akbar!

God is great!

Allahu Akbar!

God is great!

Allahu Akbar!

Who is YOUR God?

Why am I on this mountain?

Why are we fighting?

Why do we all feel uncomfortable in our own skin, our own place, our space…

Sacred space.

Allahu Akbar!

God is great!

Allahu Akbar!!

God is…

The call to prayer can be heard from the rooftops.

It begs this city to hear it’s cry.

It begs this city to see its pain.

It begs. It begs.

Allahu Akbar!

I am here.

I am stam.

I am stam.

I am uncomfortable, an outsider in my own skin, in my heritage, in yours, in his, in hers.

We are in-betweeners.

We fuddle through our prayers our Allahs our Adonais, our God’s.

We struggle to find a footing in the shifting sands of time, on mountains on walls, on rocks, on stones.

We throw them. We cry to them. We pray with them. We…We…

Allahu Akbar.

Adonai Echad.

Allahu Akbar.

Shemo Echad.

Allahu, Adonai.

Akkbar, Echad.

_________________________________________________________

God is one.

We. We. Are One.