Nova: A Reflection
I am a sixth grade Humanities teacher in New York City and two weeks ago I spent my spring break on a Jewish National Fund Mission trip to Israel. On our itinerary was a visit to the site of the Nova Music Festival. During the bus ride back to the hotel I felt compelled to write this poem about my impressions:
Nova
What does it mean to witness?
There is a grove of willow trees leaning
toward Jerusalem
Branches reaching out, like fingers
stretching in all directions under a cloudless sky.
Ribbons of light cut through the thin leaves,
Making them nearly transparent as they filter the sun.
A breeze blows from the west
Clearing some sand off my sneakers,
Upsetting the stillness of the sunlight.
A more tranquil place cannot be found.
And yet.
And yet.
The nightmares those trees have seen.
The screams those trees have heard.
Screams from women being ripped apart
Clawing the earth
Stuck
Trapped
like those trunks to their roots.
Women’s blood covering those roots,
A horrifying imitation of irrigation.
Men too.
Raped, butchered beyond recognition,
The pain swallowed by the earth beneath.
Those trees have felt the vibrations of
pounding feet on that earth.
The desperate attempts at escape.
The out of breath, heart racing run
Away.
So too have they felt the tip toe silent feet,
in hiding.
Knowing that a single sigh
A single sob
A single sound of despair
Could mean despair.
The four o’clock sun is warming my cheeks.
I imagine each pair of eyes looking into mine
as I close my lids.
I imagine how different the sun may have looked at sunrise
in October,
That fateful morning,
Coming through those same branches.
I imagine that the trees are bent in deference,
An apologetic bow,
In quiet repentance
For standing by
as witness.