The poems in this post are part of a special section, curated by Ori Z Soltes and Robert Bettmann, The Jewish Experience.
What I Will Remember
By Sarah Sassoon
These days in Jerusalem
we are swapping horror stories
over hot cups of tea
the tea brings no comfort
At the party they raped over 200 girls
they killed their boyfriends
they left the girls alive
the terrorist under investigation says
so they would remember them
What I will remember
that one of the girls was from a religious home
was too embarrassed to tell her family
what happened to her
to go to the hospital the next day
to be treated to receive the morning after pill
to prevent her pregnancy
What I will remember
how the man of a fallen soldier
from our neighborhood
stepped down from the van
and cried Gibor Nafal – a hero has fallen.
What I will remember
how I smiled at a stranger because my heart was raw
and I was seeking reassurance that there is still love
for strangers in this world
What I will remember
how there were too many funerals to visit
too many houses of mourning to visit
What I will remember
how neighborhood high school kids volunteered
to dig graves
What I will remember
how everyone banded into an army
of volunteers to cook for soldiers
to help over 200,000 survivors
from the South evacuees from the North
how we could not do enough
What I will remember
the mud from soldiers’ boots in the entrance
of the Aroma coffee shop the blessing
of two cups of hot chocolate in the rain
what becomes holy because it’s so human
What I will remember
how people thought we can fight this war
with fair metaphors and simple similes
rather than cliched truth
What I will remember
how I lit candle after candle
night after night
wishing my grandmother was alive
to receive her advice glad she is dead
because she would be so sad.
What I will remember
the two burnt ribs
bent together from a last hug
a symbol of what Israel is now
an embrace of each other
what it is to love
what it is to not let go
until the end
The Ash Test
By Sarah Sassoon
This is how you check
how much fibre is in wheat
burn it down to the ground
rub your face with it
smell note on a scale of one to ten
how much it hurts to feel
how much you cannot
tell the story of your son
the more you cannot feel
the more fibre there is
it’s a special kind of torture
to have a soldier son
note what’s burnt between my fingers
how history is ridged, razed between thumb
and forefinger
is my fingerprint original
if it has been burnt through and cut
too many times with a knife
whilst chopping onions for stew
the first cut is always at birth
they say it does not hurt
the cutting the mother
it is natural
the birth
there is ash the size of a cigarette tapped on the side of the street
falls by the tree does not ignite the carpet of fallen needles
piney with resin with promise
what is bran if not a protective outer coating
what if my germ is allowed to germinate
I cannot stop measuring
the days of my son
they say the ash content
does not affect the quality of the bread
they do not know how we Jews measure
what’s left
in between hold me
tell me what is left
after the burning
we live and die by that number
To the God of no name
By Sarah Sassoon
i appreciate the God of no name
how enormous it is to be a God
how small and nameless we name things
in order to know them i name
the pomegranate’s orange bell’s yellow stigma,
night-blooming jasmine, the jay perched in
– between pines i do not know
how to name this prayer
i call out the name of my son
what man’s name does the strong Judean wind carry
but i named him and have let him go
to war i have named each tear
after angels Gabriel Michael Refael
i do not know the name of all the tears
where they fall from i thought i had more
faith i thought my prayers would protect
yet i keep praying into the blue and white
Czech coffee cup my eyes are on the news
when really i should raise my eyes
to the impossible mountains I am seeking
to an alchemizing prayer
how to turn hate to love
how to hold on to what can not be named
Sarah Sassoon is an Australian born, Iraqi Jewish writer, poet, and educator. She is the author of the award winning picture book, Shoham’s Bangle and This is Not a Cholent. Her poetry micro chapbook, This is Why We Don’t Look Back was awarded the Harbor Review Jewish Women’s Poetry prize. Her poetry and personal essays have been published in Consequence Forum, Hadassah Magazine, Michigan Quarterly and elsewhere. She is an editorial advisor for Distinctions: A Sephardi and Mizrahi Journal. She is also the co-author of the The In-Between, a female literary dialogue about identity and belonging with an Arab Christian and Austrian-Serbian. She received her MA in English Literature and Creative Writing from Bar Ilan University. She lives in Jerusalem with her husband and four boys. Visit www.sarahsassoon.com
Featured image in this post: NP India burning 41 (6315316978), CIAT, creative commons via wikimedia commons.
