From Jerusalem, 1967

בַּקַּיִץ הַזֶּה שֶׁל שִׂנְאָה קְרוּעַת־עֵינַיִם לִרְוָחָה
וְאַהֲבַה עִוֶּרֶת אֲנִי מַתְחִיל שׁוּב לְהַאֲמִין
בְּכָל הדְּבָרִים הקְּטַנִּים אֲשֶׁר יְמַלְּאוּ
אֶת בּוֹרוֹת הַפְּגָזִים׃ אֲדָמָה וּקְצָת עֵשֶׂב
אוּלַי אַחַר הַגְּשָׁמִים רֶמֶשׂ קָטָן לְמִינֵהוּ
אֲנִי חוֹשֵׁב עַל יְלָדִים גְּדֵלִים חֶצְיָם בְּמוּסַר אֲבִיהֶם
וְחֶצְיָם בְּתוֹרַת מִלְחָמָה
הדְּמָעוֹת חוֹדְרוֹת עַכְשָׁו אֶל תּוֹךְ עֵינַי מִבַּחוּץ
וְאָזְנַי מַמְצִיאוֹת יוֹם יוֹם קוֹל צַעֲדֵי מְבַשֵּׂר

In this summer of wide-open-eyed hatred
and blind love, I’m beginning to believe again
in all the little things that will fill
the holes left by the shells: soil, a bit of grass,
perhaps, after the rains, small insects of every kind.
I think of children growing up half in the ethics of their fathers
and half in the science of war.
The tears now penetrate into my eyes from the outside
and my ears invent, every day, the footsteps of
the messenger of good tidings.

Yehuda Amichai, From Jerusalem 1967, 7

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem in this summer of wide-open-eyed hatred. May such seeds bear miraculous fruit in the coming months.

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