The Mother’s Whisper

Even the withered Warriors, cracked by time
And loss, fatigued by endless battles,
Warn down by attrition,
Even they say it’s enough
It makes us weaker, they say
Not stronger
This war
Do not be deceived

Even the Angels, perched cherubim on high
Overseeing the machinations of many worlds
Through light and darkness
Wings spread across millennium
Even they say, it’s enough
The weight of your own power is crushing you, they warn
Stop before it’s too late

Even the Wind that blows through the gates of Jerusalem,
Dry, stretched, longing for the City of Peace to ease her holy fissures,
The Wind upon whose currents flew the prophets
Abraham, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad,
Even this Wind says lay down your arms
Noble people, and rest together
Breath by breath, inside your own dignity

Even the Stones, the very Stones upon which the pilgrims walk
The Stones that make up the walls
The Stones that make up the homes, the schools
The Stones that pave the roads
The Stones that make up the watchtowers
The Stones that teenagers throw
They cry, these stones, they cry out
Put me down, cast me not at your brother, your sister

Even the Ore, smelted and turned to steel
To build our railroads, our cars, our skyscrapers
Our tanks, our guns, our bombs, our knives
Even the Ore, pulled from this fertile land
Even the Ore says, enough, stop
You abuse me

Even the tear ducts, the pathways of release
In young and old, wise and foolish, brave and fearful
Even the tear ducts, who work overtime
In this Holy Land, shedding bitter waters day in and day out
Even these tear ducts say, enough,
We’re dry, parched
It’s enough, no more

Even the Mothers, the wise ones of centuries past
Buried deep in the earth, their bones turned to dust
Even the Mothers, they whisper
(You can hear them if you put your ear to the ground)
Shhhhh, my children, shhhhhhhhhhh
They counsel, quiet your vengeful hearts
Still your fearful minds
Look into your neighbor’s eyes, they tell us,
He’s as afraid as you
He is as afraid as you
Learn his name, speak his tongue, bake him bread
Hold his child in your arms
And he will not harm you
And you will not harm him
Soften the shield around your heart,
The Mothers whisper,
The weight of your fear has grown too much to bear
The fire of your rage does not serve you
Quiet, children of Abraham,
Quiet the noise around you
Look within
You know the truth lives there

About the Author
Aaron Davidman is a writer, actor and director. He is drawn to stories of ethnic history and cultural complexity that challenge our assumptions of the “other”. Aaron served as Artistic Director of Traveling Jewish Theatre in San Francisco from 2002-2011. His play WRESTLING JERUSALEM, a solo performance about the Israel/Palestine story, is touring throughout the U.S. and is being made into a feature film. Aaron received his theatrical training at Carnegie Mellon University, earned a BA from the University of Michigan and an MFA in creative writing/playwriting from San Francisco State University.
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