I am not a lover of Israel, of course. I have no reason to be. But I don't hate Jews.
And I tell myself, a moon will rise from my darkness.
The poem is in my hands, and can run stories through her hands.
Against barbarity, poetry can resist only by confirming its attachment to human fragility like a blade of grass growing on a wall while armies march by.
When I passed the age of 50, I learned how to control my emotions.
History laughs at both the victim and the aggressor.