It’s been bothering me for years – the way Bibi has treated the democratic party for years. As a fervent democrat (I went all the way with Adlai in 1952) my issue may initially have been swayed by party loyalty, but every time Netanyahu spit in the face of the democrat presidents I want to throw up.
The past week was the worst. After Biden made it clear by waiting a month to call Bibi (even though his government officials had been in conversations with Ganz and other officials from months), clearly hoping it would affect Bibi’s ability to manipulate their connection for the coming elections, Bibi is trying to make book on this phone call. One thing I’m sure of, Biden won’t consult with Bibi on the Iran deal.
Instead of going out to nature today we wound up cleaning up the tar from our shoes from our walk a couple of days ago. Even though Ezi took the cleaning outside, the whole house smells of kerosene. And the situation has gotten worse
The whole coast from the northern border down to Ashkelon is full of tar. Friends who are more active than we feel today have gone to the shore to help clean up, and some even volunteer to spot creatures wounded by the tar – turtle eggs for example. The cause of the tar is probably dumping some ship from the north, but whatever it is, it is deadly to the plant, fish, amphibian and animal life here. We’re under siege.
later: it seems that this tar comes from a ship that got flipped in the storm. That may mean the leak will go on for a while causing even more damage to the environment, and apparently, to the health of those who are trying to clean it up.
Last night, as the children picked tomatoes from our window sill in the middle of the storm, I was amazed by the power of this rain that was still much diminished from the night before. And then, this morning, when I opened the window, and saw that still more tomatoes had ripened, this poem would not leave my mind.
There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom’s electric moccasin That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran Those looked that lived—that Day— The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world!
how we remain human under more and more restrictions? We can’t imagine evgrandchildren be able to renewt erything is supposed to change on sunday when so many places open up. Will all the lonely people in the country find partners after a year of being alone? Will all the grandchildren be able to renew their ties with their old grandparents who have been keeping themselves safe and apart?
one of my strange comparisons – that comes unwillingly but inevitably – has been with my parents’ successful negotiations during the war. who am i to complain when they spent 6 years in semi=hiding, trying to get out of Danzig before the Germans conquered Poland?
so we spent an afternoon and evening with children and grandchildren, going through our fears and relief, and forgetting to be very careful – pretending – for the moment – all is well.
yes, the sea was still wild after the storm. not evilly wild, maybe even joyfully wild. But we made the mistake of trying to walk along the shore and after filling our soles with tar and soot, it chased us away.
Even the buoy couldn’t stand up to the storm.
And the poor trees along the shore suffered as well.
i keep thinking of the poem by Adelaide Crapsey: “On Seeing Weather-beaten Trees”
I keep getting asked why i don’t write sonnets, ghazals, villanelles, haikus. Today I got the answer from Tad Richards. It’s a great article and I highly recommend it. Click here for it.
YOU try talking about the holocaust. I’m having so much difficulty getting myself together to read some poems and talk about them today: If you want to come and support me and Sabine join up and click here.