In the Shadows and the Light

In markets bustling, on quiet streets
A whisper coils, a hatred repeats
Old lies dressed in modern guise;
Flames fanned beneath indifferent skies
They scratch the walls with ancient blame
Rewrite the past to stoke the flame
A swastika etched on a synagogue door
The past not past, but rising once more

I grieve but I’m not just grieving. I burn
The lies return, and people don’t learn
My anger fierce is fed each day
By poisoned headlines, false displays
It’s the misinformation that cuts the most 
Twisted truths passed mouth to post
History blurred, context denied
Centuries reduced to a single side
And still the trolls, the cynics shout
Erasing facts with fear and doubt
But I see through the viral spin
I refuse to let hate win

I remember too clearly how it begins
Through schoolyard veins, where innocence thins
Chased for being Jewish, my back to the wall
Laughed at, mocked, told Hitler didn’t kill them all
“Not enough,” they said since I still breathe
A frightened child with teary eyes
the pain I wore a thin disguise

And yet I rise. I name it. I don’t forget
The wound is deep, but deeper yet is my pride
My fire. My claim to truth
My Jewish soul, forged from youth
Yet in the face of each dark tide
A light stands tall, and will not hide

Hadassah, hands that heal, that build
Where war once roared, where blood was spilled
Born of vision, fierce and wide
Henrietta Szold at its side
Planting roots in holy ground
Where olive trees and hope are found

I am Jewish. This is mine
The grief, the fire, the names that bind
I hold Israel not as myth or lore
But as a promise I can’t ignore
Not just a place upon a map
She lives within my beating heart

Hospitals that don’t see race
A child of every faith finds grace
Where Hebrew, Arabic and prayer remain
Spoken soft through loss and gain

While ignorance sharpens cruel debate
Where algorithms serve up rage and hate
Hadassah answers not with war
But medicine, and something more
A mother’s touch, a surgeon’s art
A beating, ever-brave Jewish heart

For every slur, a stronger voice
For every wound, a healing choice
The stars above may flicker dim
But never out, though times grow grim
So long as hearts like Hadassah’s beat
Antisemitism will know defeat

And I, though angry, do not bend
Standing with the living, unbroken to the end
I speak for the proud

With all I am, I now defend
The light my grandchildren will extend
May they stand tall, with courage wide
And carry our past with pride inside

Within the flame where memories gleam,
Beneath the eye of justice’s beam,
I stand once more with all my might
I rise, I speak, my soul alight
Unbowed, unbroken, I guard the light.

I will never forget my first trip to Israel with my husband. It was the month that the first Palestinian suicide car bombing struck at Mehola Junction in the West Bank, shattering a fragile sense of hope.

Yet, as violence flared there, secret peace negotiations between Israel and the Palestinian Authority were quietly unfolding in Oslo, with both sides beginning the historic process of mutual recognition. It was during that time that I visited Yad Vashem, The World Holocaust Remembrance Center.

Especially moving for me was the Children’s Memorial. Walking through that sacred space, surrounded by flickering lights representing 1.5 million young lives lost, I felt a sorrow that words can scarcely capture.

The silence was haunting. But what struck me most was the echoing of today’s fears inside that memorial. Once again, we are worried for our children and grandchildren, not only in Israel, but right here at home, where antisemitism is rising in our schools, on college campuses and online.

That moment crystallized for me the unbreakable link between memory and responsibility. As a mother, grandmother and Hadassah leader, I refuse to let history repeat itself. I carry the legacy of those lost children as I speak out, educate and advocate.

I stand with Hadassah, The Women’s Zionist Organization of America, because it doesn’t just heal bodies; it strengthens our people, our future and our voice in the world. We don’t just treat illness; we heal communities. Through medical innovation, youth support and fierce advocacy, Hadassah builds strength. You can join this mission. Raise your voice. Sign petitions. Educate. Speak to your legislators. Talk to your neighbors. Educate your community. Hadassah is your platform.

My poem above honors the grief we carry, the injustice we’ve witnessed and the light we refuse to let go dim. It is for every Jewish child who has been made to feel afraid or unwelcome. It is for every parent and grandparent who worries.

And it is a promise: Never again! This is not a phrase of the past—it is our mission today. My voice joins with Hadassah’s in asserting: “We will not be silent. We will not bend. We will guard the light, so that our grandchildren can stand tall in its glow.”

Now please, get out there and be the light!

Marcie is a member of the Hadassah Writers’ Circle, a dynamic and diverse writing group for leaders and members to express their thoughts and feelings about all the things Hadassah does to make the world a better place. It’s where they celebrate their personal Hadassah journeys and share their Jewish values, family traditions and interpretations of Jewish texts. Since 2019, the Hadassah Writers’ Circle has published nearly 650 columns in The Times of Israel Blogs and other Jewish media outlets. Interested? Please contact hwc@hadassah.org