My Heart is in the West

My heart is in the West,
and I am in the Middle East.

How can I brandish the menorah
with exile’s anguish,
when it softly glows
at the hummus place, the makolet?

How can I keep my promise,
or ever fulfil my vow,
when the diaspora is choked by Edom
woke and strangling in chains.

I would gladly leave behind
all the pleasures of Tel Aviv,
if only I might touch
the blood-flecked sand of Bondi.