Sunday 13 July 2014

Once

I went to Israel once
But before I went I was quizzed by those who would fly me there
Torah portions needed explaining because at 26 I could have been anyone
At 26 I wasn’t just free to board and for the first time in my whole life
I had to explain myself, convince someone else that I was safe
Safe enough to be let on the plane to go there, to her

I went to Israel once and I saw the lines
On her face they were deep and curved, whittled from suffering mouths,
they were rivers with no water
But on her streets I saw nothing and I walked a lot of those streets
Too stupid to be afraid and too wild to know I was stupid I just put
one foot in front of the other as I smoked like the Israelis smoke
Like rockets smoke when they hit, but not just between lips
This smoke courts a different kind of cancer

I went to Israel once and I felt free
Not the kind of home of the brave shit, but like the wind shit
The kind where you might be prepared to die if you were asked to fight
But fighting doesn’t work and it hasn’t worked and it’s not working
Blue veins of division clogged with rubbish and with tents
Whose beds are slept in, but whose children want better beds, bunk beds
Not to hide under but to climb

I went to Israel once, but it was just once
So I can’t beat that drum or point my finger because
I only know how it felt and how it looked and what kind of beautiful voodoo
It did on my soul and how cocktails and falafel danced on my tongue
But now my tongue is steeped in bile that tastes like wax
and causes the juices from my jaw to run like tears run and
tear tracks down my face like desperate fingers twisted into claws
attached to hands pushing up soil from graves
So many graves, shallow and numerous
Streets full of them, them that carry bloodied children in their arms
Them that don’t build bomb shelters for their own


I went to Israel once and I would go back
I’d go back because that’s what we do
We keep going back and forth, but always back to where it all remains
To where the ghosts of our millions found the strength to finally give up
I use the word ‘we’, though in this seemingly eternal conflict I will pull no triggers
I will throw no grenades and I will never put on a helmet
But I will ‘we’ until I can no longer because I am a Jew and for that I will not be sorry
I will not defend this fighting and I will not be baited to debate
But I will feel every death, every ounce of blood spilled will be a little bit on my hands
Every rocket fired will be a little closer to my house and I am so fucking lucky
That I live here, that I get to live here
And that I went to Israel once

Friday 4 July 2014

Answering a question that has no answer

People often ask me what it’s like to be away from Steve for so long. And the truth is…it’s not like anything. It just is.

I can’t compare how our relationship works to anything. It’s not like I’m away at war or at sea. It’s nothing as romantic as that. I’m just away. He’s just away from me, right now. To have a partner like Steve is what I imagine it feels like to be independently wealthy; I never really worry about much and I always feel secure. And as much as I’d like to credit blind luck with this, it’s really nothing to do with luck and all to do with him.

Sometimes people don’t understand me. It’s been that way my whole life and it’s clearly my problem, and something I work on every day, though at times I forget, become complacent and hurt someone’s feelings. I probably hurt Steve’s feelings a lot, but I’d never know it. Because hurting sometimes is just a part of loving me and it’s certainly not nice or fair. It just is.


When I got offered this job I never considered that I wouldn’t do it. I believe that two happy people make the best couples and if I went back to the job I had before this, I would be ok. We would be ok, but I wouldn’t be happy. That’s not to say that every day is like my birthday now, but much more often there are candles to blow out.

I don’t call as much as I should. I separate my year into pieces and portion them out methodically like vegetables on a child’s plate. I know I have time with Steve and time without Steve and that’s just how it is. I know I have time where I will never get what I want to eat for breakfast and then for that I will be rewarded with anything I want in a few months’ time. I always thought I had no patience. It turns out I do. It turns out I am a lot of things I thought I wasn't and I do a lot of things I thought I couldn't.

With every discovery I am a different form of myself. No more, no less, just different but the same. Ultimately showing yourself to someone is not a luxury afforded to all, and I know many who spend a great deal of time censoring themselves or polishing their corners until they bleed. I know people who bite their tongue so often it is now just a piece of meat in their mouth that they try to avoid. I used to bleed too, because the polishing never lasts and you have to keep at it. Eventually my corners would cut and I’d be back to where I started. I haven’t wasted time or energy on buffing my edges for many years, and though my flesh is not smooth and I do not feel particularly nice, I am very loved.

Mine and Steve’s story is not unique. We met and I loved him. He loved me back. Isn’t that how most love stories go? We rent a little flat and have no children. We have no pets and we have no plans. We are just navigating the changeable waters of intimacy, of companionship and of time. To say I love him never seems big enough, but it’s all the vocabulary I have.


So what’s it like to be away from my husband for six months of the year? It’s not like anything. It just is.