I haven't even moved yet. Haven't packed up my stuff, gotten on a plane, and settled in a new home before fighting with your people. Which if I remember correctly I've been told since my Birthright trip are my people. I haven't even gone to a supermarket so why am I fighting with your people?!
It seems that because my father's Israeli I have more to prove. You wanted me when I didn't want you and now that I do you're making me crawl back. My ID is good enough to claim me as your own, but now when I want what I'm told is rightfully mine I can't have it. Why were my friends allowed to work in your offices without promising you their children?
I had 5 months of benefits, but you'll tell me I lived in your home for over a year. Your home. Which I've been told is my home. But I have to prove it. Do you want me to take you to my great-grandparents' home? Show you where my grandmother was raised? Where my father used to ride his bike, pick bamboo by the Yarkon to make kites?
Maybe I am being whiney about this. But maybe I'm also being told two different stories from each person I talk to. Talk to this agency. No that one. No the global one. No the local one. You need all your documents in person. We don't have them online. Apply to this agency and tell them the truth. Why did you tell them the truth? Didn't you know they'd reject you? Tell me your story again? Are both your parents Israeli? You made aliyah and left after 5 months? Oh no, you used up 12 months of benefits. Don't worry, you'll get a free flight. Who told you you'd get a free flight? You might not even get anything. You're a citizen. Just come and go as you please. Prove that you lived in New York. We want you. We don't care. Are you doing this aliyah thing?
I just want to get on a plane and come home. My entire adulthood I've been told that Israel is my home and the Jewish people are my family. Why are you casting me aside like a forgotten daughter?
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Israel, you make it so hard to love you
I haven't even moved yet. Haven't packed up my stuff, gotten on a plane, and settled in a new home before fighting with your people. Which if I remember correctly I've been told since my Birthright trip are my people. I haven't even gone to a supermarket so why am I fighting with your people?!
It seems that because my father's Israeli I have more to prove. You wanted me when I didn't want you and now that I do you're making me crawl back. My ID is good enough to claim me as your own, but now when I want what I'm told is rightfully mine I can't have it. Why were my friends allowed to work in your offices without promising you their children?
I had 5 months of benefits, but you'll tell me I lived in your home for over a year. Your home. Which I've been told is my home. But I have to prove it. Do you want me to take you to my great-grandparents' home? Show you where my grandmother was raised? Where my father used to ride his bike, pick bamboo by the Yarkon to make kites?
Maybe I am being whiney about this. But maybe I'm also being told two different stories from each person I talk to. Talk to this agency. No that one. No the global one. No the local one. You need all your documents in person. We don't have them online. Apply to this agency and tell them the truth. Why did you tell them the truth? Didn't you know they'd reject you? Tell me your story again? Are both your parents Israeli? You made aliyah and left after 5 months? Oh no, you used up 12 months of benefits. Don't worry, you'll get a free flight. Who told you you'd get a free flight? You might not even get anything. You're a citizen. Just come and go as you please. Prove that you lived in New York. We want you. We don't care. Are you doing this aliyah thing?
I just want to get on a plane and come home. My entire adulthood I've been told that Israel is my home and the Jewish people are my family. Why are you casting me aside like a forgotten daughter?
It seems that because my father's Israeli I have more to prove. You wanted me when I didn't want you and now that I do you're making me crawl back. My ID is good enough to claim me as your own, but now when I want what I'm told is rightfully mine I can't have it. Why were my friends allowed to work in your offices without promising you their children?
I had 5 months of benefits, but you'll tell me I lived in your home for over a year. Your home. Which I've been told is my home. But I have to prove it. Do you want me to take you to my great-grandparents' home? Show you where my grandmother was raised? Where my father used to ride his bike, pick bamboo by the Yarkon to make kites?
Maybe I am being whiney about this. But maybe I'm also being told two different stories from each person I talk to. Talk to this agency. No that one. No the global one. No the local one. You need all your documents in person. We don't have them online. Apply to this agency and tell them the truth. Why did you tell them the truth? Didn't you know they'd reject you? Tell me your story again? Are both your parents Israeli? You made aliyah and left after 5 months? Oh no, you used up 12 months of benefits. Don't worry, you'll get a free flight. Who told you you'd get a free flight? You might not even get anything. You're a citizen. Just come and go as you please. Prove that you lived in New York. We want you. We don't care. Are you doing this aliyah thing?
I just want to get on a plane and come home. My entire adulthood I've been told that Israel is my home and the Jewish people are my family. Why are you casting me aside like a forgotten daughter?
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
7/18/12
Dear Brooklyn,
I'll miss you
Dear F train,
You'll always be my favorite
Dear Gowanus,
I love you. Don't ever let them tell you you're too dirty
Dear 3rd avenue,
You're my best on nighttime bike rides
Dear Williamsburg,
I never gave you a real chance
For that I'm sorry
Maybe we'll meet in your next incarnation
Dear New York,
I love you and you're not bringing me down
Dear poets with babies,
Thank you for showing me that life needs to move on
Dear Bowery Poetry Club,
Thank you for shaping an adolescent me
Dear Tel Aviv,
If we meet in the way we should, you have a lot to live up to
While you'll never be in another's shadows, I hope our love can grow again
I'll miss you
Dear F train,
You'll always be my favorite
Dear Gowanus,
I love you. Don't ever let them tell you you're too dirty
Dear 3rd avenue,
You're my best on nighttime bike rides
Dear Williamsburg,
I never gave you a real chance
For that I'm sorry
Maybe we'll meet in your next incarnation
Dear New York,
I love you and you're not bringing me down
Dear poets with babies,
Thank you for showing me that life needs to move on
Dear Bowery Poetry Club,
Thank you for shaping an adolescent me
Dear Tel Aviv,
If we meet in the way we should, you have a lot to live up to
While you'll never be in another's shadows, I hope our love can grow again
Sunday, July 15, 2012
My county is sick
It's not feeling well
Hasn't been for a while
Every time I speak to an Israeli I feel like my guard has to be up
This constant fight is exhausting
It's like they want me to hate living there before I've arrived
Today a man burned himself alive
In protest of a government that failed him
He didn't use enough gasoline
He'll probably survive
And then what kind of life will he live?
Unemployed, suffered a stroke, and now third degree burns
He already moved to Haifa to avoid the expense of the city
Where else will he go?
Did we fail him?
Is this the new trend in government protest for social change?
Hasn't been for a while
Every time I speak to an Israeli I feel like my guard has to be up
This constant fight is exhausting
It's like they want me to hate living there before I've arrived
Today a man burned himself alive
In protest of a government that failed him
He didn't use enough gasoline
He'll probably survive
And then what kind of life will he live?
Unemployed, suffered a stroke, and now third degree burns
He already moved to Haifa to avoid the expense of the city
Where else will he go?
Did we fail him?
Is this the new trend in government protest for social change?
Thursday, May 31, 2012
5/31/12
I don't understand what's wrong with the NYC subway system tonight.
Why on the same train I heard a man sing in Russian in a booming baritone voice accompanied by a CD of music played on an electric keyboard
I think the only people who donated were Russian
After I and my throbbing headache fled through the open subway doors
I caught a glimpse and listen to a guy on an electric guitar singing a song
When did the train first become a place to display your art?
And when did people stop caring if there was an audience who wanted to receive it?
Now I know half of my complaining is due to the discomfort between my ears,
But I wouldn't go reciting this poem on the R train when people still haven't finished their long commute home
Why on the same train I heard a man sing in Russian in a booming baritone voice accompanied by a CD of music played on an electric keyboard
I think the only people who donated were Russian
After I and my throbbing headache fled through the open subway doors
I caught a glimpse and listen to a guy on an electric guitar singing a song
When did the train first become a place to display your art?
And when did people stop caring if there was an audience who wanted to receive it?
Now I know half of my complaining is due to the discomfort between my ears,
But I wouldn't go reciting this poem on the R train when people still haven't finished their long commute home
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
4/25/12
Today in Israel
There's a memorial ceremony in every city
Too many of our boys lost forever
We attempt to remember each and every one
Call them by name
Their faces - too many - flash across screens from Rabin Square to our living room TVs
Each one somehow looks like he could be family
Like she could've had a bright future
Like they didn't deserve their fate
Today in Israel a woman collapses in a stranger's arms
Her son was killed 10 years ago
But it stings like it happened yesterday
And she is again overcome by grief
Today in Israel
Politicians thank soldiers for their service
It is their selflessness that keeps this country safe
They are our future
Today in Israel
A new immigrant stands in silence during the siren's sound
She reflects in wonder
Feels like her aliyah is manifest destiny
Vows to hug a soldier every day
To never take this country for granted
Today in New York
I'm singing Chanukah songs in my head
I guess I'm feeling like today is pretty miraculous
There's a memorial ceremony in every city
Too many of our boys lost forever
We attempt to remember each and every one
Call them by name
Their faces - too many - flash across screens from Rabin Square to our living room TVs
Each one somehow looks like he could be family
Like she could've had a bright future
Like they didn't deserve their fate
Today in Israel a woman collapses in a stranger's arms
Her son was killed 10 years ago
But it stings like it happened yesterday
And she is again overcome by grief
Today in Israel
Politicians thank soldiers for their service
It is their selflessness that keeps this country safe
They are our future
Today in Israel
A new immigrant stands in silence during the siren's sound
She reflects in wonder
Feels like her aliyah is manifest destiny
Vows to hug a soldier every day
To never take this country for granted
Today in New York
I'm singing Chanukah songs in my head
I guess I'm feeling like today is pretty miraculous
Thursday, April 28, 2011
I know I've been quiet for a while, but maybe it's because there's just too much to say. My mind has just been one big question mark for months and every iteration of myself feels like the same. Like any number of versions of me. Was 2004 self any different than current self? Other than 7 years difference, I'm not so sure. When I was 22 possibilities were endless. Light. Room for casualty. Seven years later there is a heaviness to everything. There is weight in every decision I make.
I've realized that lately the person who makes me happiest is also the one who triggers me to reach terrible sadness. What makes it worse is that he doesn't know, and I don't put any blame on him. No, I choose to blame those around me whose unsolicited 2 cents I allow to get inside my head and in turn affect this relationship. I also blame myself for not being more direct.
When we're in the same bed, sleep comes easy for him. The roles reverse and I am the one who stays up at night contemplating my life's uncertainties. Going over mental checklists of my friends, placing them in their rightful categories: engaged, married, expecting. I do not fit in any category. I could stay like this in limbo forever. And that is the sadness, dear friends.
I've realized that lately the person who makes me happiest is also the one who triggers me to reach terrible sadness. What makes it worse is that he doesn't know, and I don't put any blame on him. No, I choose to blame those around me whose unsolicited 2 cents I allow to get inside my head and in turn affect this relationship. I also blame myself for not being more direct.
When we're in the same bed, sleep comes easy for him. The roles reverse and I am the one who stays up at night contemplating my life's uncertainties. Going over mental checklists of my friends, placing them in their rightful categories: engaged, married, expecting. I do not fit in any category. I could stay like this in limbo forever. And that is the sadness, dear friends.
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