Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mois Benarroch

On my going up to the Land of Israel

The time has come to talk about this:


I didn’t come here. My parents brought me.
I didn’t adjust. I pretended.
I didn’t become a Zionist. Almost the opposite.
I’m shouting because I have no place to go.
Despite all of the above, I care.
Don’t ask me how.
If I weren’t Jewish, I’d be anti-Semitic.
I know it isn’t nice to hear.
It isn’t nice to say.

עלייתי לארץ ישראל

עלייתי לארץ ישראל

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On my going up to the Land of Israel

The time has come to talk about this:


I didn’t come here. My parents brought me.
I didn’t adjust. I pretended.
I didn’t become a Zionist. Almost the opposite.
I’m shouting because I have no place to go.
Despite all of the above, I care.
Don’t ask me how.
If I weren’t Jewish, I’d be anti-Semitic.
I know it isn’t nice to hear.
It isn’t nice to say.

On my going up to the Land of Israel

The time has come to talk about this:


I didn’t come here. My parents brought me.
I didn’t adjust. I pretended.
I didn’t become a Zionist. Almost the opposite.
I’m shouting because I have no place to go.
Despite all of the above, I care.
Don’t ask me how.
If I weren’t Jewish, I’d be anti-Semitic.
I know it isn’t nice to hear.
It isn’t nice to say.
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