This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

In the Coun­try of My Heart

In the coun­try of my heart,

no con­sti­tu­tion. Bor­ders always 

shrink­ing, mil­i­tants in the north 

bar­rag­ing the mid­dle with missiles. 

Girls in uni­form, sen­tries in the south, 

fil­ing their nails, and rarely look­ing up. 

Not refuge, my heart, but refugee, 

ruled by pot­ted succulents 

left behind. My heart, 

presided over by an ema­ci­at­ed fox 

for­ag­ing for garbage in its temples 

at dusk, by a high­way of cit­i­zens marching 

with flags, singing of pio­neers and glory –

while in its halls of jus­tice – silence.

In the orchards of that country 

apples drop from rot­ting trees 

return­ing nec­tar to the oozing 

earth: crusty milk. No poet laureate 

to soothe with sounds, none to ask, 

Coun­try, my Coun­try, What can I do for thee?

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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