The bus ride into Jerusalem
Is lined with palm trees
The weather is mild and lovely.
Everything is backwards here.
The hotel is named Cesar
My roommates, Ash and Jess.
Charging an iPod blew the
Power out on the whole of
Floor 5 - wasn’t me.
In North America our youth are
Studying.
In Israel their youth are fighting.
Maybe we care about the environment
Because there’s nothing else to care
About.
Josh says ‘Right on’ and
Traveled from North America to
Peru by hitchhiking
Africans resume their spots
At the bottom of the ladder
British imposed a rule: all houses
Built with stone. Stone is known
To carry energy. Maybe that’s
What’s in the air. What’s different.
The cars are small here, like
They should be.
The view is white; the desert is vast
Walls surround an Old City
As if a wall can protect from modernity
We pray at the Western Wall
Because it’s “some people’s religious custom”
We wash our hand with a bucket
Instead of under the tap
Because it’s “some people’s religious custom”
We separate women from men, because?
Women wail at the Wailing Wall
But we walk away in silence
Backwards of course, as not to
Turn our back to the issues.
The terrain is anything but flat
Much more beautiful than our plain planes.
Limestone formed from coral reefs
Created caves.
Greeks fighting Arabs lived
Here
Cold. Small. Smooth. Beautiful.
Josh’s Spanish guitar plays at the back of the bus
Jews covered in dust.
Orthodoxy seemed threatening
To our logic
My soldier friends are heroes
In this country
We’ve learned so much already
In this one city of Jerusalem
Israeli men can catch your
Attention
With a glimpse of their deep set eyes
They are contemplative and
Honest
Light brown and blue
Here’s looking at you
Did the Holocaust survivors
Really survive?
It was quiet. Serene. Peaceful
Where all the dead bodies lay.
Kids. Soldiers. Placed back
Among nature. Surrounded by the
Stone they grew up with.
I love to be at the top
Looking down on Israel
From Yad Vashem
From Tel Azeka
From Haas Promenade
From my first kibbutz.
A man has a passion for making
Mosaic art
His homeland is his inspiration
Falling leaves off mystical trees
Looks like tiles taking their place
On the grassy floor.
Marc freestyles on Josh’s Spanish
Guitar
Singing a soft melody
Never really know what will
Happen next.
Our soldiers are gone
They’ve taken a part of me
With them
But left me with memories of war
Brave enough to return to their
Fight after knowing how safe
We are.
Through healing each other we overcame
Our sicknesses
By visiting an artist we fed our souls
With truths of Kabala.
We planted trees to sooth our hearts
By knowing we’re all a part of this land.
By the beach the wind howls
Rain quenches Israel’s dry hands
Chimes aggravate in the narrow
Corridors of the Israeli market
Sounds like ‘Him’.
Space is infinite in the desert
Gypsies and devils dance around
A blazing fire while drums
Beat and people scream.
The day in the desert Ares worked his magic
Surrounded by mountains only seen on Planet Earth.
We lay still. Scared. Paralyzed in thought.
He asked us to see a light
In the middle of our forehead.
I did. We breathed. I was
Alone with friends in the
Desert, lying on a rock bed,
Like they used to do.
Kal broke down. Ben fell asleep.
I said ‘thank you’ to Ares.
Thanks for making me. Us. Believe.
You know where the water is
Light, light blue?
At the lowest point on the
Earth.
Cradled by rift mountains
And dried up valleys
Drop back - relax.
Now we’re parting
Now we’re flying
It’s hard to believe this trip is ending
I don’t want to forget
My fast friends
But I know this experience will never
Escape my heart.
