First POEM POST!!!

Since the other day, I've been feeling this new poem. It's still in early stages, but the frustation of being too Jewish for the activist world and yet not Jewish enough for the Jewish activist world is starting to mount.

Which way to Zion?

I see me on the tv
or at least,
it could be me.
knitted yamulka unable to contain
the massive locks escaping from underneath,
smiling in the desert, holding a gun.

I see me
on the tv
or at least, it could be me,
bellowing chants and holding signs
one says "Israel out of Palestine"
with swastikas equated to magen davids.

Worlds I lurk just beyond,
one foot in each,
learning niggunim from the man on channel one, or
comparing organizing tactics on channel two.

I'm tired.
Tired of trying to settle a familial grudge,
always defending, demanding a place at the table.

Tired of peers who normally see eye to eye
staring like I have a fifth on this one.

walls crumble in the wake of my presence,
I've scared dictionaries into re-ordering words,
Ruby K Ben Pinchas HaCohen

punctures fools like faulty logic.

I'm too fat to squeeze into your skinny definitions ofLeftist Zionist.
Too substantial to fit any "Traitor/Apologist" titles onto,
your labels aren't wide enough to cover one strand of my hair.

The machitza between Bad Jew and Bad Activist haa been demolished
so you can unify in telling me how wrong I am.
so you can unify in telling me how wrong you are,
because you're both missing the point.

Organizers who fight for justice
because they're Jewish,
who see Palestinians as people
because they're Jewish,
love Israel
for the same reason.

I see me
or at least,
it could be me,
standing outside places I love
places that are as much a part of me as my heart and lungs,
still looking for a way in