Israel denied me to allegedly prevent "illegal immigration." My only crimes are being American, Jewish, and supporting Palestinian liberation.
This poem addresses the fact that we all have a sense of home, real or imaginary, and we all have things holding us back.
Written on the shore of the Dead Sea, this poem explores how appearances can be deceiving and what the future may have in store for humanity.
This poem expresses many of my often contradictory feelings about being a left-wing, Ashkenazi, American-Israeli.
For 7 hours it was not Jewish-Israelis against Palestinians, but rather the forces of occupation against those who are opposing it. This is something I knew before, thought I understood and truly believed in, but again had never felt or experienced.
Meanwhile, a cute family were posing for a photograph. They smiled as they basked in the joy of the Jewish conquest of Jerusalem 49 years ago. Their backdrop? A shuttered Palestinian coffee shop. It was an almost comically perfect portrait of the dual realities that coexist in space and time in this city.
How do we take our values and our intuition regarding the ways in which oppression is perpetuated around us, and begin to actually mend the fissures and tears breaking apart the very worlds in which we inhabit?
Can Marcel Ophuls' 1969 documentary "The Sorrow and the Pity" about the French resistance in Occupied France (1940-1944) help us understand the occupation of Palestine (1967-present)?
All That's Left on Twitter