Poetry

From Holocaust to Protest: the Poetry of Tuvia Ruebner

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This year, Purim’s danger feels to me heightened. Two days ago, bombs exploded in Brussels, killing over 30 people, wounding hundreds. The terrible images of carnage and destruction claimed our television screens and newspapers yet again, announcing the new age of terror that is changing life in Europe forever. Fear is the common lot now, as terrorist bombs make no distinctions in race, religion or nationality; inevitably, fear for oneself becomes fear of the other, with all its accompanying prejudices and even hatred.

Poetry

Ancient Grief

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I can’t keep up with all the tragedies. What do I do
to carry,
to embrace,
to hold
all this despair? I am emptied. Swollen with
uncomfortable silence,
pregnant with futility,
overwhelmed,
nauseous,
and numb,
I’m left mounting
scraggly defenses
to keep from caving in. and then I remember
the gentle nudge
of a memory,
edging in sideways
from the Great Beyond
(or was it
the Great Before),
another reality
aching with the
same quiet
desperation,
the words familiar
as the tattered edges
of a worn
comfort blanket.