My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: Israel

I’ve Walked-Poem

I’m at work
my left foot
every heartbeat

I’ve walked a million miles on concrete like the
children of Sinai, though their steps were on desert sand.

Walking in circles, graves disappeared,
lost between the wind and gloomy sandstorms.

Until at the mouth of the Jordan
they entered and washed away their tears.

Tears for that fallen generation
interned forever
by a blanket of Middle-Eastern soil.

Hodu L’Adonai Ki Tob

As I was driving
towards synagogue
I reflected on my life.

My life is full of blessings
It’s hard to see
with how busy I’ve been,

but I saw a quiver full
of happy children
all sitting
underneath the shade.

Their smiles and sweet ease,
made my heart skip a beat.

My new job,
I couldn’t have asked
for better position.

My wife patient, loving
and wise.


I have something
to smile about.

to be glad about.

to be grateful for.

All I can say is,

Hodu l’Adonai Ki Tob
I thank You for it all!

We Tremble Before Our God

On Yom Kippurim
we tremble before our God.
Appearing before Him naked
afflicting and denying ourselves.

Solemn, paying heed to our lives.
Praying for His mercy.
Relying on His kindness and
His everlasting grace.

We ask The Almighty
For forgiveness.

We search our souls.
We beat our chests.
Only He knows our fate
we are his children
Birthed in the desert
Birthed in its
heated turmoil.

Dispersed throughout
the Earth we, His children,
plead for the promised
redemption to be finally
led back to our land.

We ask to be made whole
again, to restore our lives and
to be forgiven once and
for all.

How Was Your Day?

I meander from foreign
words to consonant-less sounds,
and from verbs to
concept-less blurbs.
Things I hide knowing that
a fool is framed within his mental
confidence. Clean and cleared
whitened Bluetooth keyboard,
meticulously shined
by a sticky finger
I can never chide a chive
finely chopped like garlic
fried in virgin Holy land oil;
my friend brought it to me as a gesture of love and goodwill.
Knowing that I pour myself out to guests, eat, eat,
I give you my heart; directed at your stomach,
like a Zionist tunnel, no need for protection
this meal will heal
and bring unity
and endless
Sabbath conversation.

District 9 | The Gaza Syndrome

The reason why Gaza and other areas inhabited by regional Arabs has been turned into a ‘District 9’ type atmosphere is because, and only because, regional Arabs do not know how to control their aggressive and unnecessary war urges. If they would use the same energy to live side-by-side peacefully, like the Druze Arabs, the Middle East would be a world model of tolerance a second al-Andalus!

Instead regional Arabs have shown the world their contempt for order, peace and tolerance, and ultimately their ignorance. Instead, everyone who recently comes into contact with the al-Andalus historic model is stunned that the Arab culture has fallen so low. To the point that it’s “incredible” to most that Arab culture rose so high in the first place.

This is the shame of current contemporary Arab culture and values, their insurgent fanatical brothers have dissolved any kind of credibility for the rest of Arabs. The fate being that they are despised worldwide, a grotesque people who’s only motive in life is to bring darkness and mayhem to the World.

Zion, Don’t Leave Us Behind

O Zion, the idea of you still echoes as a distant dream.

Even though we are left again, like broken jars.

Why do you exalt your Germanic ideals; while,

Reproaching nearer cultures and silencing the voices that make up the rest?

Don’t you see that we are holy vessels fashioned by God, the other children that our father Jacob had?

We remain in unclaimed exile, anxious to return to our promised land.

It’s time to stop putting stumbling blocks in our way.

So that we can return undaunted and unfettered;

and, restore the land like the prophet said:

“I will now bring Jacob back from captivity and will have compassion on all the people of Israel” “I will gather them to their own land, not leaving any behind.”

On The Voice of Humanity: The Voice Of The Many


Sometimes in life, you run into some extraordinarily meaningful gems. Tidbits of information, knowledge that transforms our way of thinking or it encourages us, because it affirms that which we are doing, is important. In other words, it brings value to our lives. If we are fortunate and keep our eyes open, we can catch these voices and apply them to our personal repository of important information, to be used when the time is right.

We rely on certain voices to help us transition from one place to another. In the most simplistic form, when we are children, the voices of our parents guide our path. These are loving voices expressed in the familial narrative. They are the voices that shape our future, more or less.

Orally transmitted and written words, which I refer to voices, come in many forms; Parents, literature, conversations, poems, religious dogma, all these bundled up into a practical package help define who we are. That is-it helps to define what we believe to be true, is in fact true or not, even if that “truth” is temporary.

The sublime beauty in what I am describing is that simple conversations, quips, the interaction between two friends, two lovers, or the conversation between teacher and student, can bring about remarkable insights which we can apply to our lives. They are the voices that we allow to influence our thoughts and perhaps our future.

How many times have we’ve been touched by a sentence in a book? Certain words arranged in such a way that when put together, speaks volumes to our soul? Like a symphony whose composition correctly orchestrated, brings audible pleasure, mere notes arranged in creative and inspired ways, that magically touch our hearts. These are the voices, the laughter, tears, drama of humanity. Neatly arranged for our pleasure, our fulfillment, our knowledge. Perhaps these prearranged sentences, paintings, songs, i.e., these voices, will help define our future or strengthen our resolve.

The voices which we allow to shape our lives are manifold. They come in many forms which we sift through mentally, which we judge and accept into our mental vault, if its worthy enough.

History records these voices, the voice of humanity. In essence, the historian becomes that epochs voice, disingenuously. I say that with all due respect to the learned. However, how can one mere person become the voice of a generation? So many voices speaking, living, singing, and crying? How can one poet define our humanity and our lives-the multitude of voices, conversations and thoughts?

We’ve been conditioned to think that way. That Herodotus speaks for that distant Greek generation. Or that, Plutarch is the harbinger of our Western grand narrative. The narrative that codifies the many voices into one. The narrative that overlooks the many “other” voices, selecting whose voice will be heard. The  other contributing voices so nonchalantly unaccounted for, its as if they didn’t exist.

Yet we, the many, the individual, now inescapably understanding that others have a voice, made painfully noticeable because of our modern technology. Unfettered and undeterred, how can we exclude those other voices? The ones which have been purposely left out by the historian, by the poet, by modern progress?

History is selfish, it distorts the voices and it clamors for singularity in a sea of many. History is ugly, it champions the voice of the strong. Strength measured by that cultures idiosyncrasies while trying to mold it, like a renaissance sculptor does with the marble of Europe, and calling it universal beauty? How egotistical and self-serving, the historian, the chronicler of humanity truly is.

Not even the revelation at Sinai, that powerful and mighty voice that gave autonomy to the children of Israel, is universal.
It’s a voice, a voice in the sea of voices that we must filter through. Every voice is necessary. Every voice has a purpose to fulfill. Every voice needs to be acknowledged as the voice of humanity.

La Paloma


La paloma siémpre
torná a su nido
Aunke se va leshano-
suenyá tornar.
Komo mosotros
Djdios, que sonyámus
tornár a la tyerra
ke Mos dio El.

Via Dolorosa


I heard a
pious woman
once sorrowfully
her experience
in the Holy Land.

She wept.
She said,
As she walked
the Via Dolorosa

She could recall
the steps
a condemned man

We Jews have
all been condemned
to take

bearing our cross,
We took these steps in
Sevilla, Toledo
and Lucena.

Every quiet step
a reminder of
who we are.
Jesus wept.
So have we…

Poured Out Like Water


I need a drink so bad!
I’m longing
for a cold glass of water,
I wish I had.

I can’t wait to swallow it down.
Refreshing my parched thirst,
which really hurts.

Remember, King David fighting all day.
As the Philistines
surrounded the
Bethlehem way.
He articulated his
Heart’s desire…

His men overheard
his pleas.
Valiantly they
rushed to meet his

Men of honor fought
to give the King of Israel
a precious cup of water.

Slowly he poured
the libation,
before The LORD.

“God forbid, I drink the blood of my men”,
The King so eloquently said.

It’s hard to grasp
How the King stayed his lust?
When all I can do is brood
over a cold glass of water.
© Copyright 2013 Samuel De Lemos