This piece is one of an ongo­ing series that we are shar­ing from Israeli authors and authors in Israel.

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. 

The Live Pulse of Eter­nal Silence

Dry leaves swirl

Above the red-tiled roof of a shed in the backyard. 

The busy wind whis­tles, flinging

Leaves from point to point.

As a girl I lis­tened to the wind

shak­ing the trees,

to the rus­tle of tiny leaves grip­ping branches.

I gazed at vio­let mountains

Touch­ing blue sky stretched taut across horizons.

At night the heav­ens crowd­ed with gold dots,

Infi­nite stars, minis­cule stars

Twin­kling like street­lamps in some dis­tant city.

The nois­es of nature echoed in a lim­it­less space

The live pulse of eter­nal silence.

Time short­ens as it reach­es the end

And life is anoth­er day gone by.

Patch­es of sun­shine spread

Through a dark­en­ing room

And I gaze at the red-tiled roof

And the gloom that creeps up slowly,

The black shad­ow that crawls along

Unfurl­ing over everything.

Real is a Pass­ing Illusion

In the sun­down of body

The flesh fractures,

Real is a pass­ing illusion

A brief deceit.

It’s the blow­ing wind moving

The light flickering

Between jump­ing shadows

Between col­ors,

It’s the green brimming

Out of the earth,

The blue skies,

Free birds traveling

Between heav­ens,

Wild hors­es galloping

Along the long beaches

Frothy white waves

Explod­ing

Shard after shard.

A sweet water lake lingers

Between naked moun­tain slopes.

It’s the wind wafting

Between frag­ments.

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

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