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יִרְאַת ה׳

(Yirat Hashem)

The Fear of G-d

They wrapped themselves in wounds till wounds were crown,

And feared man’s breath above the Holy Name;

They raised the Golden Calf, then bowed them down,

And charged the Judge with every guilt and shame.

From selfsame dust were stranger, kin, and friend;

Yet Abel’s blood cried out from furrowed ground.

They deemed the curse a blessing in the end,

And swore that slaughter kept the nation sound.

They kissed the wall and crowned the State as king;

They slew the child and named the slaughter peace.

Yet still the voice of blood to Heaven did sing,

Never shall G-d’s righteous judgment cease.

“Remember well My covenant,” G-d said,

“Be thy brother’s keeper; fear Me instead.”

———-

“The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground.” (Genesis 4:10)

“I have remembered My covenant.” (Exodus 6:5)

“And now, Israel, what does the LORD your G-d ask of you? Only to fear the LORD your G-d, to walk in all His ways, to love Him…” (Deuteronomy 10:12)

“Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.” (Leviticus 19:16)

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9)

“The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native among you; you shall love him as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:34)

“Do not oppress the stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9)

“You shall surely rebuke your fellow, and not bear sin because of him.” (Leviticus 19:17)

“You shall not make for yourself a carved image… you shall not bow down to them.” (Exodus 20:4–5)

“Justice, justice shall you pursue.” (Deuteronomy 16:20)

“Because you did not serve the LORD your G-d with joy and gladness of heart… you shall serve your enemies whom the LORD will send against you.” (Deuteronomy 28:47–48)

#poem #poetry #mine #Jewish #Jewish writers #Torah #anti-Zionist Jews #anti-Zionism #free Palestine #palestine #all eyes on Palestine #no G-d but G-d #Fear of G-d #religion #interfaithdialogue #interfaith harmony #interfaith relations #writing

You call the immigrant but passing guest,

Who owes your hearth obedience and grace;

Yet boast the Lord hath made your nation blessed,

As though His hand were bound to one small place.

You bid the weary bow before your door,

And praise the Judge whose mercy knows no wall;

Yet tread as kings upon creation’s floor,

Forgetting dust shall one day claim us all.

This earth was never deeded to your name,

Nor signed by Heaven with immortal seal;

We borrow breath, and every earthly claim,

Then yield the field no pride can ever steal.

Judge not the “guest” while Heaven marks your span:

You are G-d’s guest before; you are but man.

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Matthew 7:21–23

You praise the cross and raise your flags while strangers beg for bread,

The widow, orphan, and refugee wait in pouring rain.

You build your walls and bless yourselves, then bow hollow pious head,

Though scripture says, “Remember them,” again and yet again.

You say, “Love thy neighbor,” then demand their papers at the gate,

As if compassion needs a seal before a soul deserves to live.

You scan their names, inspect their wounds, decide what’s just or fate,

Forgetting every breath you breathe was never yours to give.

How strange to worship one who fled and had no place to sleep,

Then turn away the ones who cross with nowhere left to go.

You call yourselves shepherds while abandoning the sheep,

Then wonder why your fields lie dry, why mercy does not grow.

You boast of walls and guarded lands and call your fear “the light,”

As if the Judge of all the earth requires a fence to reign.

Yet every prophet cried aloud that justice—not mere might—

Is found in feeding those who hunger, sheltering those in pain.

Your wealth and favored passports will not open Heaven’s door,

No empire writes the Book of Life, no nation bears His claim.

The final crossing rests with G-d, not those who rule the poor,

And all your earthly power will wither in His Name.

For G-d will ask what you have done when strangers came in need,

Not how secure your borders stood, nor how your fortunes grew.

When orphans wept and strangers knocked, what answered was your deed—

Did mercy open up your gates, or fear condemn those in view?

And on that day no title, rank, nor document shall stand,

No favored flag, no wealth, no throne will help you cross the sea.

You built a thousand gates on earth to keep out those you banned,

But G-d will set the final crossing—and none will escape His decree.

So hear the truth they blur in halls of gold and prideful authority:

The Jesus they invoke in power is not the one who came.

He walked a Jew among the poor, in humble solidarity and minority,

He died among the outcast, not beneath any empire’s name.

So, no, G-d does not bless the United States,

Its towers rise from profit carved in stolen ground,

It calls itself righteous, though it seals its gates,

And draws its lines as if it, not G-d, is crowned.

#me #poetry #poem #mine #original poem #original writing #women poets #religion #jewish writers #jewish #christianity

As a babe, I wore my father’s Moroccan lullabies like a winter Amazigh cloak,

my mother’s warm smile bent her eyes to mine like tide returning to shore.

I was guarded in their embrace from the worst of what the world spoke,

before antisemitism and Islamophobia learned how to settle at my door.

As a child of my time, hateful forces were already long there, held at bay,

though they still moved in quiet, thinning air.

My parents stood between me and the sharpest edges of their sway,

so I first knew the world through love, not through its crueler glare.

But I am now the adult my parents’ Jewish–Muslim love has made,

though the world still fractures and the air grows harder to breathe.

I was raised on firmer ground, and I will not be swayed,

so I stand where old hatreds sharpen—and will not be pulled beneath.

I learned to trace the fault-lines hidden in an inherited light,

to walk through corridors of rumor where certainty unthreads,

to sift the quiet fractures that settle just beyond sight,

and hold my ground in language where distortion confidently spreads.

My father has now returned to the One who gathers every soul like dawn returns to prayer,

yet his voice still lingers, a song that roots itself beyond forgetting.

My mother grows fainter where she once made me strong, and still I move through the story they laid in care,

held by what they built in me—truth and love braided through all they were begetting.

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