In Love and War
Hadassah Haskale

Who can tell the difference between guns drums thunder or bombs what's
yours or mine?
I know that little boy with his arm shot dumb, he's the cousin of my
friend, he's five,
an only son they've been trying for after seven daughters there won't be
more,
mama's got diabetes she's not eating, that's making us secure, all fair in
love and war.
My friend no enemy nor her water tank shot on the roof. Who will pay?
Repair? Restore
that child's arm and get his mother to eat and get our feet off
the backs of those who built our homes, tilled our fields, any idea?
Let my people, Let thy people, Let our people go!

"Does the soldier go home and tell his mother:
"I shot a child?"
she wonders; "how can they go on?"
Her daughter hiding on the floor asks:
"Don't they get tired?
I'm tired."

In Kiryat Hayovel*, before I'd heard these words, I felt the wound
in thunder of guns and bombs shelling.
"They say hell is after death," she said, "It's not, it's in Bet Jalla."
That's war for you, that's making us secure, all fair in love and war,
why so many wives murdered January February why folks
don't notice their inhumanity toward "the other."

"How can you blame those who were silent in Europe and not speak out now?"
" I speak out" I don't mean you, you're my friend, I mean your people.
"My people are your people, our people," I say
That's peace, that's peace for us.


*a Jerusalem neighborhood

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