Shiri’s Song

Shiri is dead, murdered, along with her bubbly, red-headed sons
She will never be able to tell us what she witnessed, endured in the dark, dank tunnels
Our imaginations are afire
Israel is filled with poems, images of innocents dying
The Fogel family, the Dee mother and daughters, Ari Fuld
And more

The enemy throws rocks, wields knives, fires automatic weapons, plant bombs and run away

In the West, people march with the green, red and black flag carrying protestors, cheer women tearing down “Missing” posters, applaud doctors and nurses posting threats on social media, rage against Israel’s elected leader, all to encourage, endorse, enable and empower the terrorists.

And Shiri is dead

Probably killed one month after the early dawn invaders crept into her town

What to call them? Hamas? Palestinians? Arabs?

Who are these people?

Before the return of the children’s remains, even after 10/7, some people might not have understood

Now, after watching the return of her sons tiny corpses on that cold, rainy winter day and seeing the festive men, women and children, including a wild-eyed, black shrouded, missing-toothed, Arabic shrieking sorceress, a father, grinning as he held his snow-suited boy, they understand

That was Shiri’s Song and the world heard it