A poem to Israel by Phoebe Harvey

The land of milk and honey, the land of falafel and pita.

Where lemon, sweet mango and pomegranate trees overshadow the street, and new seasons overflow with olives, figs, dates and artichokes.

The land where truth and opinion are never withheld, where honesty and humor flow freely without a price or tax charge.

The land that bears scars of pain and anguish, where fallen tears could create a tide, but this is a warm home where millions have been saved, each breath is a gift and you are close family to a stranger.

Littered streets, plastic cups and soda bottles thrown to the sun scorched roads without a thought, even by those whose hearts beat Zionism and who would give their lives to protect all that is Israel.

A fresh breeze in Jerusalem could tell 3000 years of history, and so could the aged man in the shuk, hands filled with shabbat candles and eyes brimming with wisdom and soul,

The land where survival against affliction is not a question, and thriving is inclination. Maybe one day there will be peace without turmoil, maybe.

The land of Abraham, Isaac, David and Jacob, the land that Moses never reached. A precious gem in the desert whose wonders cannot be fully expressed with words, A land beyond description where even a handful of earth is without silence.

A land forever misunderstood but where would we be without you? If I forget you I will no longer write with a right hand, I will no longer love with the same heart and my soul will forever be in a wandering restless diaspora.

Here we are together under the white sun being embraced by the warm desert breeze.