Written Christmas 2022
Our land is wasted where the olives grew,
And concrete jungles brood where forests stood.
Death of the land is manifest in blood:
In killing it, you kill our people too.
Angry we stand, in cages at the gate,
Denied the land our families once knew:
Your Wall oppresses us, disgraces you,
Confining you within your world of hate.
In this cave a Child was born, they say.
Through him, can hateful barriers break down?.
Can light pervade our shaded midnight town?
Can dark December lead to shining May?
We need to hear the angels’ loving song.
But still we wait. Humanity, how long?
Lighting of Christmas tree in Bethlehem; photo: Haaretz
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